note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the black pearl by mrs. wilson woodrow author of "sally salt," "the new missioner," etc. illustrated [illustration: "'i'm feelin' particularly good right now.'" (page )] new york and london d. appleton and company copyright, , by d. appleton and company published august, printed in the united states of america list of illustrations "'i'm feelin' particularly good right now'"--(frontispiece) "i'll show you what i'll do'" "there stood the black pearl alone" "holding cautiously to a little branch, she bent over him" the black pearl chapter i it was just at sunset that the train which had crawled across the desert drew up, puffing and panting, before the village of paloma, not many miles from the salton sea. after a moment's delay, one lone passenger descended. paloma was not an important station. rudolf hanson, the one passenger, whom either curiosity or business had brought thither, stood on the platform of the little station looking about him. to the right of him, beyond the village, blooming like an oasis from the irrigation afforded by the artesian wells, rose the mountains, the foothills green and dimpled, the slopes with their massed shadows of pines and oaks climbing upward and gashed with deep purple cañons, and above them the great white, solemn peaks, austere and stately guardians of the desert which stretched away and away, its illimitable distances lost at last in the horizon line. hanson, of the far west, was used to magnificent scenic effects, but the desert that sparkled like the gold of man's eternal quest, that lay with its sentinel hills enfolded and encompassed in color, colors that seemed as if some spinner of the sunset courts wove forever fresh combinations and sent these ethereal tapestries out to float over the wide spaces of the wilderness--this caused him to catch his breath and exclaim. it was truly a sight to take any man's breath away; but even such a view could only arrest hanson's interest temporarily. he was hungry, and the station agent, a weedy youth, was making a noisy closing up. intentionally noisy, for when one is the agent of a small desert station, the occasional visitor is apt to whet one's curiosity to razor edge. roused by these sounds, and by his growing hunger, which the cool purity of the air only augmented, hanson turned to the boy. "where's a place to stay?" he asked. "there ain't but one," replied the youth; "the san gorgonio hotel. you walk right up this street until you come to it, on the left side. it's got a sign out, electric," he added with some pride. he looked curiously at hanson, standing tall and straight with his ruddy, good-looking face, keen, quick, gray eyes and curling light hair. "going to be here long?" he asked tentatively. "i don't know," returned hanson idly. "guess not. no string on me, though, even if i'd choose to put in a month or so here. this way, you say?" he lifted his suit case and began to walk in the direction the station agent had indicated. "say," the latter called after him, "you don't want to miss the show to-night." "what show?" hanson turned, interest amounting almost to eagerness in his tone. "benefit." the boy rolled the word unctuously under his tongue. "i guess maybe you saw why in the papers. the river got on a tear and cut into a nice little town here on the desert, drowned some of the folks and did a lot of damage generally, so we're raising some money to send to 'em." the stranger's interest had increased perceptibly. "sounds good to me," he said heartily. "what's your features?" "just one," the other answered impressively. "we don't need no more in this part of the world, if we got her." "her!" cried hanson, and now his cold eyes were alight. "who the hell is her?" "why, the black pearl!" as if surprised that anyone should be unaware of the fact. "'course we got a few thousand square miles of desert waiting to be reclaimed, and any amount of mountains full of ore, but to us they's small potatoes and few in a hill beside the black pearl." hanson swore softly and ecstatically. "if that ain't that good old blind luck of mine hitting me again after all these years," he muttered. "say, son, i'm making no secret of my business. don't have to. i am a theatrical manager--vaudeville. got great backing this year and am out for new features. set my heart on the black pearl and got to figuring on her. sweeney had her on his circuit last winter. well, sweeney, let me tell you, is pretty shrewd. he knows a good thing when he's got it, so i thought there was no show for me. presently, i hear that she's scrapped with sweeney and is off to the desert like a flash. so she's really here?" "sure," said the boy. "so," continued hanson, who was loquacious by nature, but sufficiently shrewd and experienced only to let himself be so when he thought it worth his while, "i begin to figure on my chances. i learn that sweeney's trying to coax her back by letter, so i says to myself: 'rudolf, you just chassez down to paloma and see what you can do,' but honest, son," he put his suit case down in the road and pushed his hat back on his head and put his hands on his hips, "honest to god, i didn't expect anything like this, the first night i got here, too." his companion shifted his quid of tobacco to the other side of his mouth and nodded understandingly. hanson's eyes were fixed ruminatively but unseeingly upon the golden desert, its sand dunes touched with a deep rose soon to be eclipsed by the jealous tyrian purples which were beginning to mass themselves gorgeously beneath the oranges and flame of the setting sun. "gee whiz!" he muttered, "and i was figuring that if i hung round here a week or so and played my hand all right, i'd maybe get her to do a few steps for me in the parlor. oh, lordy! and now i got a chance to see her before the footlights and size up her capacity for getting over them." the station agent looked puzzled and a little offended. "there won't be any footlights," he said; "and you're mistaken if you think she's up to any rough work like climbing over them, any way." hanson laughed loudly. "that's all right, son, you ain't on to the shop talk, that's all. but now, where is this show and what time does it begin?" "oh, in an hour or so, whenever pearl's minded, and it's to be held at chickasaw pete's place--saloon. you see," apologetically, "we ain't a very big community, and that's the only place where there's a decent floor for her to dance on." hanson raised his brows and laughed. "well"--he pulled out his watch and looked at it--"i've got time to wash the upper crust of sand off anyway, and get a bite or so first. i suppose i'll see you later. up this way, you say?" the agent nodded assent. "it's a good betting proposition," he mused. "he knows what he wants and he usually gets it, i'm thinking, or there's something to pay. but what'll the pearl do? i guess she's the biggest gamble any man could tackle." as his new acquaintance had predicted, hanson had no difficulty in finding the san gorgonio, a small hostelry not by any means so gorgeous as its name implied, being merely an unpretentious frame building with a few palms in the enclosure before it, and there he speedily got a room and some supper. it might be deemed significant that he gave more time and attention to his toilet than his food, but that may have been because he believed in the value of a pleasing appearance as well as in a winning address when transacting business with a woman. in any event, his motives, whatever they might be, were quite justifiable, as he undoubtedly possessed a bold and striking type of good looks which had never failed of receiving a due appreciation from most women. assured, aggressive, his customary good humor heightened by the comforting sense of his luck being with him, he finally emerged into the open air to discover that the stars were out and that it might be later than he thought. the air, infinitely pure, infinitely fresh, exhaled from the vast, breathing desert, and the delicious aromatic desert odors touched him like a caress. he drew them in in great draughts. the air seemed to him a wonderful, potent ichor infusing him with a new and vigorous life. hanson was sure of himself always, but now, in this awakened sense of such power and dominance as he had never known, he threw back his head and laughed aloud. "gosh!" he muttered, "i feel like all i got to do was to reach up and pull down a few of those stars and use them for poker chips." he exulted like a sleek and lordly animal in this thrilling vitality, this imperious and insistent demand for conquest. chickasaw pete's place, as he soon discovered, was no more pretentious in appearance than the san gorgonio. it also was a long, low frame building with some great cottonwood trees before it and a few palms with their infinite and haunting suggestions of the tropics. it was with a sense of mounting excitement which still held that strong element of exultation that hanson crossed the porch, opened the door and walked in. he saw before him a long room well lighted with electricity and with a shining polished floor. the bar ran along one side, and behind it lounged a short, stout, round-faced man with very black hair and eyes and a perpetual smile. this was the bar-keeper, known familiarly as jimmy. at the rear of the room, covering about half of the floor, were rows and rows of chairs, occupied by both men and women, strong, sun-burned looking people in the main, but with the invariable and unmistakable sprinkling of "lungers" in various stages of recovery. hanson saw his friend, the station agent, leaning across the bar talking to jimmy, and knew from the interested glances cast in his direction that he was the topic of conversation. at the opposite end of the room was a piano. a young man sat before it facing the wall, while beside him there stood a woman intently tuning a violin which she held tucked under her chin. approaching middle age, she was rather stout, with a sallow, discontented face, which yet held some traces of its former evanescent prettiness. both lashes and brows of her faded light eyes were heavily blackened, and the rouge which lay thickly on her cheeks only served to accentuate their haggard lines. the hair, dark at the roots, was blondined to a canary color where it rolled back under her hat, large and black, of a dashing gainsborough style and covered with faded red roses. for the rest, her costume consisted of a white shirt waist, a wine-colored skirt and shoes with very high heels which were conspicuously, and no doubt uncomfortably, run over. her violin finally tuned to her satisfaction, she bent her head to speak to the young man at the piano. he turned to answer her, and for a moment his delicate, sad face was outlined against the wall behind him. then, with an emphatic little nod, he began to play and the woman lifted her violin and swung in with him. the only virtue she possessed as a violinist was that she kept good time, but although it was extremely unlikely that any member of that audience recognized the fact, the boy was a musician by the divine right of gift, a gift bestowed at birth. a wheezy old piano, and yet he drew from it sweet and thrilling notes; a hackneyed, cheap waltz measure, and yet he invested it with the glamour of romance. a ripple stirred all those waiting people, as a wind stirs a field of wheat, a movement of settling and attention. hanson, who had been careful to secure a seat in the front row of chairs, was conscious that his heart was beating faster. "this is where she whirls in through that door by the piano," he muttered to himself with the acumen born of long knowledge of the stage and its conventions. he had a swift mental vision of a graceful painted creature, all undulating movement, alluring smiles, twinkling feet and waving arms. this passed with a slight shock as a girl entered the door by the piano, as he had foreseen, and walked indifferently to the center of the room, and then, without a bow to her audience, began, still with an air of languor and absorption, to take vague, sliding steps, gradually falling in with the waltz rhythm, but, even so, the movement was without any definite form, certainly not enough to call it a dance. as she swayed about, listless, apparently indifferent to any effect she might be producing, hanson had a full opportunity to study her, and, in that concentrated attention, the man and the manager were fused. he was at once the cynical showman discounting every favorable impression and the most critical and disillusioned of audiences. in this dancer he saw a woman who was like the desert willow and younger than he had supposed; straight and supple, with a body of such plasticity, such instant response to the directing will of its possessor as only comes from the constant and arduous exercises begun in early childhood. "been trained for it since she was born, almost," was hanson's first unspoken comment. she wore a soft, clinging frock of scarlet crêpe. it was short enough to display her ankles, slender for a dancer, and her arched feet in heelless black slippers. in contrast to her red frock was a string of sparkling green stones which fell low on her breast. her long, brown fingers blazed with rings, and in her ears, swinging against her olive cheeks, were great hoops of dull gold. her black shining hair was gathered low on her neck, her unsmiling lips were scarlet as a pomegranate flower, and exquisitely cut; and the fainter, duskier pomegranate bloom on her oval cheeks faded into delicate stains like pale coffee beneath her long, narrow eyes. "she ain't done a thing yet; she ain't even showed whether she can dance a few bars or not, but, lord! how she has got over!" was hanson's unspoken comment. "clean to the back seats. there's nobody else here." although still aimlessly moving with the rhythm of the waltz she no longer merely followed the music. she and it were one now. and hanson, a connoisseur, familiar with the best, at least in his part of the world, recognized the artist whose technique is so perfect that it is absorbed, assimilated and forgotten; but its essence remains, nevertheless, a sure foundation upon which to build securely future combinations and improvisations. the black pearl was generous to-night. she was the program--its one feature. she gave the audience its money's worth, judged by their standards, which were measured by time; and yet, when she finished, she gave one no idea of having exhausted her repertoire. in fact, she could not have defined that repertoire. dancing was her expression, and the black pearl was conscious of infinite and unsounded phases of self. most of the features of the program were familiar to hanson by her reputation. they included some old spanish dances, some gypsy ones and others manifestly her own. but dancer though she was by nature and training, her personality dominated and eclipsed her art. hanson was not imaginative, but as he watched her he seemed to be gazing at some gorgeous cactus blossom opening its scentless petals to the burning sun. beneath and beyond her stretched the gray wastes of the desert turning to gold under her feet, but still untrammeled and merciless, holding strange secrets close to its savage heart; now, exerting all its magic of illusion in delicate and exquisite mirages, all of its luring fascination which has drawn men to it from the beginning of the world; and now revealing itself desolate and unashamed in all of its repulsive, stark aridity. the pearl certainly made no effort to attract. if a glance from those narrow eyes enthralled, it stung too. it was the flame of wine in the blood, the flick of a whip on the raw, which roused in a man's heart, in hanson's at least, the passionate disposition to conquer and subdue. finally she gave a slight signal to the musicians, her steps slowed, the music stopped, and she went over and sat down beside the woman, who had placed her violin on the piano, and then flung herself into a chair, where she sat, carefully dabbing her warm brow with her handkerchief. the vague pictures which hanson had been seeing vanished. "gee! she got me going!" he said to himself, half dazedly, "hypnotized me sure." this, the manager. but the man exulted: "she ain't easy. she ain't easy." the moment the pearl stopped dancing the audience was on its feet applauding, and then, to a man, it eddied about her, casting banknotes into her lap. these she lifted in handfuls and gave to two men who had sat down beside her to count, while a third bent over them watching the operation. hanson, although he had drawn nearer her, still stood on the edge of the crowd, leaning against the bar. "so that's the black pearl!" he said presently to the bar-keeper. "that's her," responded jimmy equably. "can't be beat. what'll you have?" "nothing, just yet. say, those stones around her neck look good to me." hanson narrowed his eyes. "good!" jimmy laughed shortly, a characteristic, mirthful little chuckle. "i guess so. bob flick, up there beside pearl, counting that money, he gave 'em to her after she found him when he'd been lost on the desert about three days. i'll tell you about it when i got more time." hanson had been conscious from time to time of the close but furtive scrutiny of the man whom the bar-keeper had designated as bob flick, and now he, in turn, made flick an object of observation. he saw a tall man of noticeable languor and deliberation of movement, doubtless so long studied that it had become natural. his face, with regular, rather aquiline features, was devoid of expression, almost mask-like, while the deep lines about the mouth and eyes showed that he lived much in the hard, brilliant, western sunlight. hanson was quick enough to size up a man and a situation. "i'll make a note to look out for you," he thought, "just about as cold and just about as deadly as a rattler." "say," he turned to jimmy again, "i want to meet her. i'm a theatrical manager, always looking out for new turns. heard of this black pearl and thought i'd run down and sign her up if i could." "she does go traveling once in a while," returned jimmy dubiously, "but it's all in the mood she's in whether she'll let you even talk to her. you might as well count on the desert out there as the pearl." "i suppose she's out for big money?" queried hanson. "she'll get all she can, i guess," jimmy chuckled. "but," he added boastfully, "she can make big money by staying right here. look at what she's pulled in to-night. and there's her father, old gallito, he's got more than one good 'prospect,' and is foreman beside of one of the big mines in the mountains. and her mother, there, that played the violin, she's got some nice irrigated land, and even hughie, that played, he makes money playing for dances in the different towns. oh, they're smart folks." "is hughie the brother?" asked hanson, looking at the boy, who sat listlessly at the piano. "no. adopted." jimmy spoke briefly. "born blind, but let me tell you, he sees considerable more than those of us who have eyes." "well, the pearl's a certain winner," said the manager earnestly, "a flower of the desert, a what-you-may-call-'em, a cactus bloom." "correct, and don't forget the spines," chuckled jimmy. "looks as if they were all out to-night, too. kind of sulky, ain't she? well, did you say you was waitin' to be introduced? i'll take you up and ask her. like as not, she'll turn you down. she ain't looked at you once, i notice. i been watching her." "so've i," said hanson good humoredly, "but you're wrong, son"--there was a brief, triumphant flash of his light eyes--"she's looked at me twice, took me all in, too. numbered the hairs of my head and the size of my shoes. threw a search light on my heart and soul. gee! it felt like the violet rays. now, look here, friend, i ain't going to take chances on a turn-down, nor of your mr. bob flick having fun all night shooting holes in the floor while this little johnny tenderfoot does his imitation black pearl dancing. listen," he tapped the bar sharply, "when i meet the black pearl, it's because she requested an introduction. you take me up to that old lion tamer, her mother." jimmy threw him a glance of ungrudging admiration. "you ain't so dumb," he vouchsafed. "say, have one on me." "a little later," replied the other. "never drink during business hours." a small table had been placed before mrs. gallito, upon which were two glasses, one of beer for herself, and one of lemonade for her daughter. as jimmy performed the introduction, she put down her beer from which she had been somewhat thirstily drinking and received hanson with a perfunctory bow and a brief mechanical smile. "think of settling here?" she asked politely. "no, i'm just down for a few days," replied hanson genially. he had drawn a chair up and seated himself on the other side of the table, directly opposite mrs. gallito and her daughter. the surprise of the glance she threw at him was heightened by a quick curiosity. "just prospecting?" she asked. "i saw at once that you weren't a 'lunger.' i didn't think you were an engineer, so i made up my mind that you were looking for land." "none of them," returned hanson, smiling, and hastened to inform her of his real calling. immediately she relaxed, her smile became genuine, the bored and constrained politeness vanished from her manner. "well, that is certainly nice," she exclaimed with real animation and cordiality. "i'm always glad to meet any of the profession. no folks like your own folks, you know." she bridled a little. "that's so," agreed hanson heartily. "i knew the minute that i saw you that you belonged." she lifted her head with a gesture of pride, the glow and color came back into her face, giving it a transitory appearance of youth, and restoring, for a fugitive moment, something of its vanishing beauty. "born to it," she said. "my mother and her mother, and my father and his father, and, 'way back on both sides, was all circus people. yes, i was born in the sawdust--rode--drove--tight-rope--trapeze--learned dancing on the side--ambitious, you know. say, you must have heard of my mother--greatest bare-back rider ever in the ring. isobel montmorenci. english, you know. i wasn't so shy myself, queenie madrew." "gee! well, you were some. shake." hanson extended his hand, which mrs. gallito shook warmly. "and i do remember your mother. i should say so. first time i went to the circus, i was about ten years old--ran off you know. knew well enough what i'd get when i turned up at home. pop laying for me with a strap. goodness! it takes me right back. it's all a kind of jumble, sawdust ring and animals and clowns and all; but what i do remember plain is isobel montmorenci, her and a big black horse she was riding." "cæsar!" cried mrs. gallito excitedly. "lord! don't i remember! i learned to ride on him." "yes," mused the manager, "all i recall of that circus is her and my two nickels. i broke my bank to get 'em. they seemed a fortune to me; but even then i was a shrewd kid and meant to get my money's worth. well--the first one i laid out in a great tall glass of lemonade. say, that was the first time i came up against the disillusions of life. nothing but a little sweetened water. the next nickel went for peanuts, and they were too stale for even a kid to chew." "ain't that just like a young one at the circus!" mrs. gallito laughed loudly. "what's the joke, mom?" drawled a lazy, sliding, soft voice on the other side of her. "a circus story, honey. oh!" as the sudden formal silence recalled her to her duty. "i forget. you two ain't been introduced, have you? pearl, make you acquainted with mr. hanson. he's in the show business." pearl bowed without lifting her eyes, giving hanson ample opportunity to note the incredible length, as it seemed to him, of the upcurling lashes upon her smooth cheeks. but just as he bent forward to speak to her, she half-turned from him and said something to one of the men beside her. the manager's quickness saved him. he was perfectly aware of all those jealous masculine eyes, flickering now with repressed and delighted laughter over his discomfiture. he recovered himself in a moment and slipped easily and with unabated geniality into a conversation with mrs. gallito. "funny you should marry out of the profession," deftly catching up his threads. "she didn't," again that soft, sliding voice. "pop was born in the sawdust, too." without a change of expression in his face, hanson waited imperturbably for mrs. gallito's answer. since his eyes were fixed on the red spark at the end of his cigarette, who could see the quick flash in them? mrs. gallito took a hasty gulp of beer. "it's just like pearl says," she murmured. "her pop came of a long line of circus people, same as me, but he broke clean away from it, couldn't bear the life." there was unabated wonder in her tones. "i guess," resignedly, "it's the spanish of him." "say," cried hanson, and now his voice rang with a new note in it, something of gay, masterful, masculine dominance, "say, what you ladies drinking beer and lemonade for? it's got to be wine to-night. hey, jimmy. wine for this table, and treat the house. wine, understand? got enough to float 'em?" "hold on a minute, jimmy." hanson heard bob flick's voice for the first time, soft as the pearl's, liquidly southern, gentle, even apologetic. "i'm sorry, stranger"--he leaned forward courteously to hanson--"we all would enjoy accepting your hospitality, but you see, it ain't etiquette." a silence that could be felt had fallen upon the room. mrs. gallito, pale under her paint, was nervously biting her handkerchief and glancing from one man to the other, while the pearl leaned back in her chair as lazily, languidly, scornfully indifferent as ever. then hanson laughed, and a little thrill went over the room. the new man was game. "ain't that just your ruling, stranger?" he asked pleasantly. "since we've not been introduced, i can't call your name. but i hold that it is etiquette. jimmy, get on your job. the occasion when i first set my eyes upon the black pearl has got to be honored." "hold on just a moment, jimmy." it was flick now. "you see," again to hanson, his voice more apologetic than ever, "you being new here, naturally don't understand. it ain't etiquette on a benefit night, when miss pearl gallito, whose name you have, most unfortunately, just miscalled, condescends to dance. i'm afraid i got to ask you to take back your order and to apologize to miss gallito." hanson was on his feet in a minute. "i'm sure ready now and always to apologize my humblest to miss gallito, although i don't know what's the offense. but the order stands." "oh, pearl," wailed her mother, "you raise mischief wherever you go. you know bob wouldn't go on so if you'd ask him to stop. you just like to raise the devil." then, for the first time, the pearl's face became animated. it broke into brilliance, her eyes gleamed, she showed her white teeth when she laughed. "quit your fooling, both of you," she said composedly, rising to her feet. "i ain't going to have tales flying all over the desert about the ructions stirred up the night i danced for the benefit of the flood sufferers. shake hands, you two," imperiously. "go on, do what i tell you. that's right," as the two men perfunctorily shook hands. "bob don't mean a thing, mr. hanson. it's just his temper, and there ain't going to be any wine, because i'm going home, but--" and here she smiled into his eyes--"you can walk a piece of the way with me, if you want to. come on, mother and hughie. good-night, bob." chapter ii hanson had decided that the best way to gain certain information he desired was to seek the bar-keeper, who, after his constitution, gossiped as naturally and as volubly as a bird sings; so, quite early the next morning, he sauntered into chickasaw pete's place. jimmy, who was industriously polishing the bar and singing the while one of the more lugubrious and monotonous hymns, looked up with his customary little chuckle. "feeling fine, ain't you?" he said derisively. "want to start right out and corral the whole desert, don't you? think you can travel right over to san bernardino yonder? looks about three miles off, don't he?" "me?" said hanson, expanding his chest. "i feel like i was about sixteen. like i was home in kaintucky, jumping a six-bar fence after a breakfast of about fifty buckwheat cakes and syrup." "that's the way it takes them all; but you just wait until about noon, and you won't feel so gay," warned jimmy. "what are you doin' to-day, anyway, hunting more trouble?" "not me," cried the other. "i came here to the desert pearl fishing." "that's a good one." jimmy's chuckle expanded into a series. "but you ain't the only one. there's bob flick, for instance, as you discovered last night." the smile went out of hanson's eyes, his face set. he ceased to lounge against the bar and involuntarily straightened himself: "what about bob flick?" he asked. "lots about bob." jimmy's tone was equable, but he shot hanson a quick glance. "he was our faro dealer for a while, but he's interested in mines now. he's dead sure. come to think of it, he's a lot of dead things," he mused; "but don't ever confuse him with a dead one." delight at his own wit expressed itself in mirthful chuckles. "he's dead game, and he's a dead shot, two important things for a man that's playing to win when in certain localities, and he's dead certain that he's the god-appointed guardeen of the black pearl." "what's she got to say about it?" growled hanson. the bar-keeper shrugged his shoulders. "ask me what the desert out there's thinking, and i'll tell you what's going on inside the pearl's head. say," animatedly, "i told you to ask me about those emeralds last night, didn't i?" the manager laughed shortly. "i saw 'em close, son, after i left you. i know stones. square cut emeralds. lord! they sure cost some good man his pile, and he was no piker, either." "bob flick," said jimmy, with a glow of local pride. "kind of thank offering, when the pearl found him in the desert after he'd been lost three days. bob was new to this country then and reckless, like a tenderfoot is, and the first thing he did was to go and get lost. well, they had several searching parties looking for him, but the pearl, she got on her horse and went after him alone, and, by george! she found him, lying about gone in a dry arroyo. "bob said he'd been wandering round crazy as a loon, seeing three big lions with eyes like coals of fire stalking him night and day, and him always trying to dodge 'em. he says at last they came nearer and nearer until he stumbled and fell, and then he felt their hot breath on his cheek, and he knew nothing more until he finally realized that some one was trying to pour water down his throat and he kind of half come to himself; and suddenly, he said, that awful gray desert, worse than any hell a man ever feared, seemed all kind and tender like a mother, and then, some way, it burst into bloom, and that bloom was the black pearl bending over him. oh, you ought to hear him tell it! well--she got him up on her horse and got him home, and her and her mother nursed him back to health. and since that time bob ain't never felt the same about the desert. you couldn't drive him away now. "when he was well enough to travel, he went to 'frisco and ordered a jeweler there to get him the handsomest string of matched emeralds that money could buy. the fellow was a year matching them, had to make two trips to the other side. they do say," jimmy lowered his voice cautiously, "that bob's father was a rich man and left him a nice little fortune, and that he blew every cent of it in on those stones. the pearl certainly likes jewels. all the rings and things that she wears were given her by the boys." "umm-m-hum. great story!" he nodded perfunctorily. "guess i'll take a walk." he strolled toward the door. "bet i know which way you're going," chuckled jimmy, as he disappeared. the unspoken surmise was perfectly correct. hanson took his way slowly and with apparent abstraction in the direction of the gallito home, and it was not until he was at the very gate that he paused and looked up with a start of well simulated surprise. the house stood beyond a garden of brilliant flowers, and in the shadow of the long porch--a porch facing the desert and not the mountains--sat pearl, swinging back and forth in a rocking chair and talking impartially to the blind boy, who sat on the step beneath her, and a gorgeous crimson and green parrot, which walked back and forth in its pigeon-toed fashion on the arm of her chair, muttering, occasionally screaming, and sometimes inclining its head to be scratched. "good morning," called hanson in his blithest, most assured fashion. "can i come in?" "sure," drawled the pearl. "hughie and i were just waiting for company, weren't we, hughie?" the boy tossed his head impatiently, but made no answer. from the moment hanson had spoken he had assumed an air of immobile and concentrated attention, tense as that of an indian listening and sighting in a forest, or of a highly trained dog on guard. "take you at your word," laughed hanson, and swung up the path, a big, dominant presence, as vital as the morning. "howdy," he shook hands with pearl and then turned to the boy, but hugh drew quickly away from that extended hand, quite as if he saw it before him. hanson raised his eyebrows in involuntary surprise, but his good humor was unabated. "what's the good word with hughie?" he asked genially. "i can't call you anything else, because i don't know your last name." "my name is hugh braddock," said the boy coldly. again hanson lifted his brows, this time humorously, as at a child's unexpected rebuff, and looked at pearl, and again he experienced a feeling of surprise, for she was gazing at hugh with a puzzled frown, which held a faint touch of apprehension. "then," hanson looked from one to the other, but spoke to pearl, "you ain't brother and sister?" "no," said pearl, and it disturbed hanson more than he would have dreamed to notice the change in voice and manner. the warm, provocative, inherent coquetry was gone from both smile and eyes; instead of a soft, alluring girl ready to play with him a baffling, blood-stirring game of flirtation, she was again the sphynx of last night, whose unrevealing eyes seemed to have looked out over the desert for centuries, until its infinite heart was as an open page to her, and she repressed in the scarlet curves of her mouth its eternal, secret enigma. "we are brother and sister." hugh edged along the step until he could lay his head against pearl's knee. "but we're not blood relations, if you're curious to know." the insolence of his tone was barely veiled. "my mother was a circus woman that mrs. gallito knew. she deserted me when i was a baby, and mrs. gallito has been all the mother i ever had or wanted, and pearl the only sister. i was born blind." "oh, hughie," remonstrated pearl, "you've got no call to say that. he don't see with his eyes," she turned to hanson, "but i never saw anybody that could see so much." "how's that?" asked hanson easily. he was used from long experience to the temperamental, emotional people of the stage, and he had no intention of being daunted by any moods these two might exhibit. "hughie, what color are mr. hanson's clothes?" asked pearl. still with a petulant, disdainful expression, the boy leaned forward and ran his long, slender fingers with their cushioned tips over hanson's coat. "brown," he replied indifferently. "he can tell you the color of every flower in the garden, just by touching them," explained pearl. "he knows all the different kinds of birds just by the whirr of their wings. he can tell the color of every dress i wear. he--" but hugh had risen. "i don't like you to tell strangers about me," he cried with passionate petulance, "and you know it. i'm going to find mother." "well, tell her that mr. hanson's here," called pearl after him, unaffected by his outburst. "he hasn't taken a shine to you," she remarked frankly to hanson. again he was disturbed to notice that she seemed to give this obvious fact some weight. she had rested her chin on her hand and was gazing meditatively at the gay garden. a shadow of disappointment was on her face, and more than a touch of it in her voice. "that don't bother me," affirmed hanson confidently. "all that i'm caring about is whether some one else shares his opinion." his bold, gay eyes looked straight into hers. "i wonder who?" drawled pearl. the gleam of her eyes shining through narrowed lids and black, tangled lashes flicked him like the tang of a whip. "maybe you mean lolita?" the parrot, which had perched on her shoulder and was tweaking her ear, now hearing its name, looked up, fluttered its wings, and called out in a gruff, masculine voice: "mi jasmin, pearl. mi corazon." "he's talking for me, sure," said hanson, who knew enough spanish to make out. "oh, damn," said the parrot disgustedly; "why the hell can't you shut up?" hanson gave a great burst of laughter. "lolita and hughie are well matched when it comes to politeness." "they got the artistic temperament, and me, too, and mom, also," said pearl. "that's what the newspaper boys always wrote about me when i was on the road." the manager did not miss the opening. "look here," he said earnestly; "ain't you tired loafing around here? i guess you know what i'm in paloma for. i've made no secret of it. now all you got to do is to show me your contract with sweeney and i'll double what he gave you, play you over a bigger circuit, and advertise you, so's before your contract with me's expired you'll be asked to do a few turns on the metropolitan opera stage of new york city, new york." "love me to-day," sang lolita, meltingly, if with grating harshness. "that's right, lolita, sing your pretty song," coaxed pearl. "come on, i'll sing with you." she lifted her languorous eyes and sang softly, almost under her breath, but straight at hanson: "love me to-day, love me an hour; love is a flower, fading alway." the blood surged to his temples at the direct challenge, he half rose and leaned toward her. then, as she laughed at him, he sat down. "treble sweeney's offer, by god!" he said hoarsely. "cash down beforehand." he brought his fist down on the arm of the chair with a crash. "oh, i ain't ready to make any plans yet," pearl announced indifferently. "i want to talk things over with pop first. he'll be down from the mines before long, maybe to-day." she sat for a few moments in silence, her eyes fixed on the far purple hazes of the desert. "oh, i wish there weren't so many of me," she said at last and wistfully. "after i'm 'out' a while, i'll get to longing so for the desert that i'm likely to raise any kind of a row and break any old contract just to get here. i can't breathe. i feel as if everything, buildings and people and all, were crowding me so's if i didn't have a place to stand; and then, after i'm here a while, i got to see the footlights, i got to hear them clapping, i got to dance for the big crowds. oh, lord! life's awful funny, always trying to chain you up to one thing or another. but i won't be tied. i got to be free, and i will be free." she threw out her arms with a passionate gesture. "you'd be free with me," he cried. but, if she heard him, she gave no indication of having done so. "can you ride?" she asked presently. "you bet," said hanson eagerly. "i was born in kaintucky. just tell me where i can get a horse here, and--" "i'll lend you one of mine, and we'll have some rides. i'll take you out on the desert. it ain't safe to go alone. you see those sand hills yonder? do you think you could walk out to them and back?" "sure," said hanson confidently and looking at her in some surprise. pearl laughed. "oh, lolita!" she cried; "a tenderfoot is sure funny. the chances are, mr. hanson, that if you started to walk around those dunes you'd never get back. goodness! ain't that mirage pretty?" the desert, which had lain vast, dun-colored and unbroken before their eyes, had vanished; instead, a sapphire sea sparkled in the sunshine, its white-capped waves breaking upon the beach. upon one side of it spread a city with white domes and fairy towers, and palm trees uplifting their graceful fronds among them. hanson rubbed his eyes and looked again. it was the first time that he had ever seen one of these miracles of illusion, and he became so absorbed in it that he failed to notice that some one else had entered the gate and was making a leisurely progress toward the house. it was bob flick, and rudolf hanson could not repress a slight scowl at this unexpected appearance of one whom he was constrained to regard as more or less of an enemy, and certainly this morning as a blot upon the landscape. without a smile, but politely enough, flick greeted him, after speaking to pearl, who looked at the newcomer with a sort of resigned resentfulness. lolita, however, made up what was lacking in cordiality. with a loud squawk of welcome she flew to flick's shoulder, uttering gutteral and incoherent expressions doubtless meant to convey endearment. "call mom, bob," commanded pearl lazily, and flick obediently stepped inside of the door in search of mrs. gallito. she must have been near at hand, for she and flick emerged before the manager could do more than give pearl a glance of eloquent disappointment, which she returned with teasing mockery. mrs. gallito had evidently been making a toilet, and it is to be regretted for her own sake that she might not have reserved all of her appearances for the evening, for this brilliant desert sunshine was pitiless in revealing those artificial aids with which she strove to recreate and hold her vanished youth and bloom. bob flick she evidently regarded as a matter of course, but at the sight of hanson she showed unmistakable pleasure. "hughie told me you were here," she said, sitting down beside him and patting somewhat anxiously the mass of canary-colored puffs on the back of her head; "and i been hurrying to get out before you got away." "i wouldn't have thought of going before you came," hanson assured her. she smiled and bridled a little, evidently well pleased. "has pearl told you that her pop'll probably be down to-day?" she leaned across hanson to speak to flick. "no, is that so?" he asked in his smooth, pleasant tones. "where are the mines that mr. gallito is interested in?" asked hanson, determined to keep in the conversation. "up in colina." it was mrs. gallito that spoke. an up-darting gleam of suddenly aroused interest and curiosity flashed for a moment in bob flick's eyes. was it possible that at the mention of that name hanson had started and that something which might have been taken for the shadow of dismay had overfallen his face? "fine mining camp," flick commented. "you know it at all, mr. hanson?" hanson had scratched a match to light his cigarette, but now he lifted his eyes and looked across its tiny flare straight at flick. "no," he said indifferently, "never was in it in my life." his tone and manner were both open and convincing, and yet the ruddy color, as flick noticed with merciless satisfaction, had not returned to his face. "he's an awful queer man," confided mrs. gallito in a low voice to hanson. "i suppose," with a sigh, "it's the spanish of him. just think," she spoke as one who has never overcome an unmitigated wonder, "born in the sawdust same as me; his folks from way back all in the business, and him with no use for it. never rested till he got away from it. why, he didn't even want me to train pearl, but," and here triumph rang in her tones, "he couldn't help that. she took to it like a duck takes to water. always ready for it, never cried or complained at the long hours." "she's sure got cause to be grateful to you." hanson spoke sincerely. "i wouldn't have known what else to do with a child," said mrs. gallito simply. "i always saw them trained that way. but her pop didn't stand for it." during this conversation pearl and flick had risen and, with lolita still on flick's shoulder, had sauntered down through the garden. seeing this, rudolf, with his customary philosophy, made the best of the situation. "well," with rather vague gallantry, "i don't see how he can stay away from a home like this." "it's the spanish of him." this was mrs. gallito's explanation of all the eccentricities in which her husband might indulge. "and," with unwonted optimism, "maybe it's a blessing, too, 'cause he's awful queer. and, anyway, he's what they call a man's man. why, you might think he lived all by himself up there in colina; but he don't. he's got more old spaniards around"--she raised her eyes--"and they're the awfullest! cut-throats and pirates, i call 'em. they come up from the coast. and it's funny, too," she exclaimed in a sort of querulous wonder, "because gallito's awful respectable himself." "that is queer, isn't it?" his tone was politely interested, but his errant glance strayed to where pearl and flick stood gazing over the vast spaces of the desert, flooded with illimitable sunshine. but mrs. gallito needed only a modicum of interest upon which to launch her confidences. "yes, he certainly is queer, and pearl's like him in lots of ways. neither of them can stand anything holding them. they're always wanting to be free, and they both got the strongest wills." "and does he ever bring his cut-throat friends here?" asked hanson. "my, no!" cried mrs. gallito. "it wouldn't be safe." "i should think it would be as safe here as in the mountains." "he don't keep 'em there long, if they're wanted bad," whispered mrs. gallito. "he knows more than one secret trail over the mountains." hanson was beginning to show a more genuine interest now and, spurred on by this flattering appreciation of her revelations, mrs. gallito went on. "if you won't ever tell," she bent toward him after glancing about her cautiously, "i'll tell you something. of course, i'd never mention it if i didn't feel that you're as safe as a church and one of our very best friends." "you haven't got a better in the world," he fervently assured her, his curiosity really aroused now. "well," glowing with the importance of her news, "did you ever hear of crop-eared josé?" it was with difficulty that hanson repressed a long, low whistle. "i should say," he answered. "he's been wanted by the police of several states for some time, and since that last big robbery they've had sheriffs and their parties scouring the mountains." for once mrs. gallito really had a piece of news which was sure to command the most flattering attention. crop-eared josé was a famous and slippery bandit, and his latest exploit had been the robbery of an express car and subsequent vanishing with a sum approximating thirty thousand dollars. it was supposed that he had jumped the train while it was making its slow progress across the mountains at night and had lain on the top of the car until what he regarded as the proper moment for action had arrived. he had then slipped down, forced the lock on the door, held up both messengers, making one tie and gag the other, under his direction, and then himself performed that office for the first with his own skillful hands. after that, to open the safe, take the money and drop from the train was mere child's play to so accomplished a professional as josé. "gallito's got him." mrs. gallito enjoyed to the full the sensation she had created, and then a sudden revulsion of fright shook her. "but, for goodness' sake, mr. hanson, don't let on i told you. i--i wish i hadn't spoke," she whispered. "trust me," comfortingly. "now don't give it another thought. i'll forget it on the spot, if you say so." "gallito'd kill me"--she still shook and looked at him fearfully. "oh, come now," his tone was infinitely reassuring, "forget it; i have already. such things don't interest me." "love me to-day, love me an hour;" sang lolita, and his eyes turned to the two at the gate, still chaperoned by the faithful parrot. in them was a flash like fire on steel, as they rested on bob flick. then he turned again to mrs. gallito. "forget it," he said again, as he rose to take his leave; "and believe that i have, too." but his musings on his way back to the hotel would certainly not have proved calming to that lady could she have but known them. "gosh!" he muttered, "and i thought it had broke, this blessed blind luck of mine, when i heard 'em mention colina; but it's holding after all, it's holding. i guess what i know now about the whereabouts of crop-eared josé just about offsets anything pop gallito may know about me and anything that mr. bob flick can discover." chapter iii pearl's father came the next day, an older man than hanson had imagined and of a different type. there was no smack of the circus ring about him, no swagger of the footlights; nor any hint of the emotional, gay temperament supposed to be the inheritance of southern blood. he was a saturnine, gnarled old spaniard with lean jaws and beetling brows. his skin was like parchment. it clung to his bones and fell in heavy wrinkles in the hollows of his cheeks and about his mouth; and his dark eyes, fierce as a wild hawk's, were as brilliant and piercing as in youth. little resemblance between him, gaunt and stark and seamed as a desert rock, and his tropical blossom of a daughter, and yet, indubitably, pearl was the child of her father. the secretiveness, the concentrated will, the unfettered individuality of spirit, which protected its own defiant isolation at all costs, the subtlety, the ability to seek sanctuary in indefinitely maintained silence, these were their traits in common. hanson, gallito met with grave and impersonal courtesy which, the former was relieved to feel, held a real indifference. there were many moths ever circling about this glowing flame of a daughter. gallito accepted that, met them, observed them, and assumed those introspective meditations in which he seemed ever absorbed. there was evidently an understanding between pearl and himself, but no show of affection, and what small tenderness of nature the spaniard possessed appeared to be bestowed upon hugh. grim and silent, sipping a little cognac from a glass on a table by his side, the old man would sit on the porch for an hour at a time listening to the boy playing the piano in the room within. flick and himself also seemed on fair terms of friendship and would hold apparently endless discussions concerning various mining properties. it was understood that gallito had come down now to give his opinion on some claim that flick had recently staked, and they two, usually accompanied by hughie, would ride off over the desert and be gone two or three days at a time. hanson, finding that the theatrical tie, "we be brothers of one blood," had not that potency for mr. gallito that it exercised for his wife, and that it was not for him as for her the open sesame to confidence and friendship, speedily ceased to strike this note and approached him on the ground of pure business. the offer he had made to pearl he repeated to her father. and gallito had gazed out over the desert and considered the matter with due deliberation. "sweeney's been writing to me considerable," he said at last. "he's made a good deal better proposition that he did last year." "i told your daughter i'd double any offer sweeney made," hanson said, and then expatiated on the advantage of the wider circuit and increased advertising that he proposed to give. gallito nodded without comment. again he seemed to turn the matter over in his mind. "i'll write to sweeney," he said finally, "and get him to give me a statement in writing of just what he proposes to do, a complete outline of his plans down." the manager could not restrain the question which rose to his lips: "but your daughter, is she willing that you should make all these arrangements?" gallito looked at him sharply from under his beetling brows. there was surprise in his glance and a touch of cynical scorn: "she knows that i look out for her interests." another query crossed hanson's mind, one he had no disposition to voice. was the understanding between father and daughter, and this apparent and most uncharacteristic submission to his judgment on her part, based on a common passion, acquisitiveness? he thought of pearl's jewels. more than once he had seen her lift her fingers and caress the gems on her hand, just as the spaniard sat and shook his buttons and nuggets of gold together, pouring them from one palm to another, his frowning gaze fixed on the ground before him. "yes, i'll write to sweeney," continued gallito. "it'll take a few days, though, before i can get his answer." he looked at the other man questioningly. "it might be a week in all. i don't want to keep you here that time. i could write you." "nothing to do just now," said rudolf easily. "left things in good hands, business running easily. came down here to stay a while, needed a vacation. and, lord! this air makes a man feel like he never wanted to leave." to this gallito made no comment and, as there was nothing further to say, the subject was, for the time, dropped between them. hanson had made known his reasons, obvious reasons, for his presence in paloma, so, as he would have expressed it, he let it go at that and left the observer to draw any conclusions he pleased as to his almost constant presence at the gallito home, and yet, after all, his visits were only a little more frequent than those of a number of others, and no more so at all than those of bob flick. there were long evenings when hughie played the piano, and when pearl, now and then, touched the guitar, when mrs. gallito indulged in her querulous monotonous reminiscences, while gallito and various men sat and smoked cigarettes about the card table; but always, no matter who came or went, there was flick, silent, impassive, polite, but, as hanson realized with growing irritation, ever watchful. gallito sat down to his cards in the evening as regularly as he went to bed exactly at twelve o'clock; and not cards alone. when he came "inside" there were brought forth from various nooks of obscurity in his dwelling other gambling devices, among them a faro layout, a keno goose, and a roulette wheel. undoubtedly, the play ran high in the gallito cabin, but although hanson sometimes sat in at this or that game, more often he sat talking to pearl in the soft shadow of the porch. to her he made no secret of his infatuation, but it seemed to him that when with her they were ever more constantly and more irritatingly interrupted. either mrs. gallito, or hughie, or some of the visitors would join them and hanson realized that his opportunities for speech with pearl were becoming increasingly rare. the only times when he could really see her alone were on the occasions of some morning rides together, which they had begun to take. as for her, she was still repelling, still alluring, still drawing him on, but how much of it was a game which she played both by nature and practice with consummate skill, or how much he might have caught her fancy or touched her heart, he had no way of determining, and this tormented him and yet daily, hourly, heightened his infatuation. and he was still further goaded by the knowledge that he was, in a measure, under surveillance, which he was sure was instituted by gallito and flick and connived at by hughie; a watchfulness so subtle that it convinced him even while he doubted. he felt often as if he were stalked by some stealthy and implacable animal. this situation, imaginary or real, began to affect his nerves and he would undoubtedly have left had it not been for his mounting passion for pearl, a passion fanned always to a more ardent flame by her tantalizing coquetries. then, too, he felt that, although bob flick and gallito had probably acquired some information about himself which he would gladly have withheld, still they did not hold all the winning cards. the ace of trumps, as he exultantly told himself, is bound to take any trick, and the ace of trumps he felt that he possessed in the information which mrs. gallito had so obligingly furnished him. in other words, his ace was crop-eared josé, and his ace was not destined to be unsupported by other trump cards. only the evening before, he and mrs. gallito had sat alone for a few moments on the porch gazing out over the wonder and glory of the desert flooded in moonlight, and the patient, flattering interest with which he invariably received her confidences had gained its reward, for she had leaned toward him and whispered with many cautious backward glances: "he's up there in the mountains yet." "who?" asked hanson, attempting to conceal his eagerness under an air of mystification. "crop-eared josé," she answered, "and gallito's going to keep him there for several months yet." "is he?" and again hanson strove to speak with disarming indifference. "how do you know?" "i heard him and bob flick planning it," she answered. "they don't think it's safe to try and get him out of the country now." then, having delivered herself of her burden of important news, she suffered one of her quick revulsions of fright, and clapped her hand to her mouth and turned white. "oh, lordy!" she cried. "lordy! ain't i the leaky vessel, though! oh, say, mr. hanson," she clutched his arm like a terrified child, "promise me you won't give me away." "sure," soothingly. "why, mrs. gallito, you got to believe that everything that you tell me just goes in one ear and out of the other. but look here, just to take your mind off of this, i wish you'd do me a little favor." "'deed i will," she fervently assured him. "what is it?" "why, miss pearl and i are going riding to-morrow morning, and i particularly want to talk business to her. you know how anxious i am to get her signed up. well, i wish you'd manage to keep hughie from butting in as usual?" "is that all?" she cried. "'course i'll keep hughie at home. i didn't realize how he was tagging round after you and pearl. i want him to help me, anyway. we got to patch up my chicken house and yard so's to keep the coyotes out some way or other." true to her word, she kept hugh so busily employed the next morning that to hanson's infinite relief he and pearl were able to ride off alone. "i'm going to take you to a palm grove to-day," said pearl, as they started off. she was in the gayest of humors, and for a time she bantered and coquetted with him with an unrestrained and childlike enjoyment in her mood, taking his ardent lovemaking as a matter of course; but, gradually, as they rode, she became more quiet and fell into silence, the sphynx expression appearing on her face. suddenly she leaned forward in her saddle and looked at him. there was a hint of laughter in her glance, and yet behind it a certain serious scrutiny. "i'm wondering a lot about you, do you know it?" she drawled softly. "turn about's fair play, then, honey," he answered. "you keep me guessing all the time. but what is it now?" she did not answer him immediately, but rode on in silence as if cogitating whether or no she would reply to his question, and in some way he received the impression that it was not the first time she had mentally debated the matter. but finally she decided to speak, and again she turned in her saddle and regarded him with that piercing scrutiny which reminded him uncomfortably of her father. "say," she began, with apparent irrelevance, "what you been doing, anyway?" "me!" cried hanson. "you know. been falling in love with you as hard as i could, and"--his voice ringing with a passionate sincerity--"that's god's truth, pearl." she looked up at him, her wild eyes melting, her delicately cut lips upcurling in a smile; then her head drooped, her whole body expressed a soft yielding. hanson grew white, almost he stretched out his arms as if to clasp her, when she threw up her head with a low laugh, a tinkle of mockery through it, like the jangled strings of her guitar. "but i mean it," she insisted, and now he saw that she had something really on her mind, something she had determined to say to him. "listen to me," imperiously, "and stop looking at me as if you were looking through me and still didn't see me." "i'm seeing your eyes, pearl," he muttered, "and they drown me. and i'm seeing your lips and they draw me like a magnet does a needle; but if they drew me through hell, i'd go." "listen," she spoke more imperiously than before. "have you noticed how pop's been watching you--looking slantwise out of the corners of his eyes whenever you come around." "i sure have," replied hanson, "being as i'm not blind. but what of it? i supposed he treated every one that came around you like that." "no," she shook her head thoughtfully. "i been studying over it, but i can't quite make it out. pop don't pay much attention to men that ain't his kind, and you're not. and bob flick is always jealous, of course, but he doesn't usually take it out watching folks like a ferret does a rat hole. no, it isn't that." "well, what do you put it down to?" rudolf tried to speak easily. pearl paid no particular heed to this question. "and it's not all hughie," she mused. "of course," and here he saw an expression of real regret, almost worry, on her face, "of course it's bad for all of us when hughie takes a dislike to any one." hanson's sense of injury was inflamed. "but why the devil," he cried, "should hughie's unreasoning cranks count with commonsense people? i can't understand," with wondering impatience, "why you all act like you do about that boy!" "we've all learned that hughie knows things that we don't know." "umph!" the exclamation was disgustedly incredulous. "and so, simply because hughie chooses to take a dislike to me, i'm to be watched like a criminal and treated, even by you, with suspicion." "no," she said, "i've been studying over it, but i can't quite make it out. pop don't pay much attention, usually. but," she spoke slowly, "i thought maybe you'd tell me this morning." "well, there's nothing to tell," he affirmed obstinately. she looked out over the desert for a moment. "bob flick hit the trail last night," she spoke casually. "to go where?" "i don't know. i wish i did. but i kind of feel, i can't help but feel, that it had something to do with you, and i wanted to tell you, to let you know, so that you can clear out if you've a mind to." "i've no cause to clear out," said hanson. "gee!" his bold eyes looked gaily into hers, "you all seem determined to make me out bad, don't you? but if that's your way of trying to get rid of me, it don't go. when you tell me that you won't sign up with me, and are going back to sweeney, for just half of what i offer you, then i'll know that you want to get rid of me, and i'll clear out." "but i ain't told you that yet," the corners of pearl's mouth were dimpling. "no, and, by george, until you do i stay right here." "look!" she cried with a change in her voice. they had entered a cañon, where palms grew and involuntarily they drew up their horses to gaze at the sight before them. the stately, exotic palms lifted their shining green fronds to the blue, intense, illimitable sky, flooded with the gold of sunshine, and beyond them was the background of the mountains, their dark wooded slopes climbing upward until they reached the white, dazzling peaks of snow. the sharp and apparently impossible contrasts, the magic illusions of color made it a land of remote enchantment, even to the most unimaginative. and to hanson the world outside became as unreal as a dream that is past. here was beauty, and the wide, free spaces of nature, where every law of man seemed puny, ineffectual and void. in this unbounded, uncharted freedom the shackles of conventionality fell from him. here was life and here was love. he was a primitive man, and here, before him in visible form, stood the world's desire. barriers there were none. a man and woman, both as vital as the morning, and love between them. the craving heart of the eternal man rose up in hanson, imperatively urging him to claim his own. he drew his hand across his brow almost dazedly. "whew!" he muttered, "i kind of remember when i was a kid that my mother used to tell me about the garden of eden. i thought it was a pipe dream, but, george! it's true--it's true, and i can't quite believe it." the pearl stood leaning against a great palm tree. she seemed hardly to hear him. her eyes were on the waving, shimmering horizon line of the desert. her face held a sort of wistful dreaming. "'the garden of eden!'" she repeated. "i've heard of it, too. it was a place where you were always happy, but"--still wistfully--"i haven't found that place yet." she turned her vaguely troubled eyes on him and then sighed and drooped against the tree. "you can have things as you please, if you'll come to me." his speech was rapid, hard-breathing; it was as if he hardly knew what he was saying, but was talking merely to relieve the tension. "i'm boss and i can manage that you shall dance when you please, and come back here for a little breathing spell whenever you want. but," with an impatient gesture, "i ain't here to talk business. that's what i came to paloma for--business. that's all i was before i met you, just a cold, hard business proposition. i guess i was pretty hard-headed. they seemed to think so in my line, anyway. i thought i knew it all." he gave a short laugh. "i'm not so young. i thought i knew life pretty well--had kind of wore it out, in fact. i thought i'd loved more than one woman; but i know now that i've never loved, never lived before, that i've just woke up, here in this garden of eden. "pearl," the beads of sweat stood out on his brow, "i ain't made you out. i know you're one thing one hour and another the next. i'm no vain boy. i can't tell whether you've been drawing me on one minute and holding me back the next just because you got to annex the scalp of every man your sweet eyes fall on. that's all right, honey, i ain't blaming you; but there's been moments lately, pearl, when i've thought that maybe you might care, moments when i been plumb crazy with joy. you ain't let 'em last very long, honey," with a strained smile, "but they most made up for the black question mark that came after 'em." he drew out his handkerchief and wiped his wet brow with a trembling hand. she threw back her head and smiled into his eyes through her narrowed lids. she held out her hands to him; and with one step hanson lifted her clear off the ground, gathering her up in his arms, holding her against his heart and kissing her scarlet mouth. and she wound her arms about his neck and returned those kisses. "put me down," she said at last, and hanson did so, although he still held her close to his heart with one arm. "pearl!" he cried aloud, and it was like some strong affirmation of life. he lifted his eyes, bold and unafraid, as an eagle's, to the sun-flooded, brazen, blue heavens. time stood still. he had drunk at a new fountain--love, and, although his thirst was still unquenched, he was eternal youth. the heart of life breathed through him. he looked upon the sky, a man unconquered, unbeaten, undaunted by life. he was its master. did she ask the snow peaks yonder? he would gather them as footstools for her little feet. was it gold she desired? it should be as dust for her hands to scatter to the winds. was it name, place, state, she asked? they should be plucked forthwith from a supine world and offered her as a nosegay. again, confidently now, he stooped and kissed her lips. it seemed to him that roses and stars fell about them. "you love me, pearl," he had cried, in incredulous joy, "you love me." for answer she smiled sweetly, ardently into his eyes: "'love me to-day,'" she sang, nestling close to his heart. chapter iv it was almost a week before bob flick returned, and during that time pearl saw hanson almost constantly, although to do so she had continually to match her quickness and subtlety against that of her father and hughie; but even while she and her father met each other with move and counter-move, check and checkmate, it was characteristic of both of them that hanson's obvious infatuation and her equally obvious return of it were never mentioned between them. with hughie it was different, and pearl met his petulant remonstrance, his boyish withdrawal of the usual confiding intimacy which existed between them, with laughter and caresses. as for mrs. gallito, she alone was unchanged, apparently quite oblivious to storm conditions in the mental atmosphere. but this was not unusual; when matters of importance were transacted in the gallito household mrs. gallito did not count. but these disturbing conditions could not daunt pearl's high spirits; she was like flame, and the light of her eye, the glow on her cheek, the buoyancy of her step were not all due to the ardor of her loving and the joy of being ardently loved. there was also the zest of intrigue. and, oh! what a mad and splendid game she and hanson played together! he rose to her every soaring audacity; they took almost impossible chances as lightly as a hunter takes a hurdle. the lift of her eyelash, an imperceptibly significant gesture, a casual word spoken in conversation, these hanson met with an incredible quickness of understanding. it was a game at which he was master, and which he had played many times before, but never had his intuitions been so keen, his always rapid comprehension been so stimulated. beneath the eye of another master of intrigue, gallito, watchful as a spider, they met and loved until, it seemed to hanson, that the whole, wide desert rang with their glorious laughter. and through it all francisco gallito sat and smoked and sipped his cognac imperturbably; apparently unruffled by defeat, a defeat--the pearl with subtle femininity saw to that--which was not without its elements of ignominy. but now bob flick had returned and had sat late with gallito the night before, talking, although mrs. gallito, who tendered this information to her daughter, had not been able to overhear any part of their conversation, in spite of her truly persistent efforts to do so. these circumstances, and results which would probably ensue when a definite course of action had been decided upon, occupied the pearl's thoughts as she stood at the gate gazing out on the gray wastes spread before her in the broad morning sunshine. lolita was perched on the fence beside her, swaying back and forth, muttering to herself and occasionally dipping down perilously in a curious effort to see the garden upside down through the fence palings. pearl turned at last from her contemplation of the subject which absorbed her attention, and smiled as her glance fell upon the gaudy tail, the only part of lolita now visible, although, even then, the horse-shoe frown, which showed faintly on her smooth forehead, a facsimile of the one graven deep on her father's wrinkled brow, did not disappear. "they've got it in for us, lolita--rudolf and me." she laughed outright now. pearl's laughter was ever a disagreeable surprise; low, harsh, unpleasantly vibrant, and in strange dissonance to her soft, contralto voice. "lay you any odds you say, lolita, that it's poor old bob that's got to be the goat." the parrot swung back to a normal position with surprising rapidity. "bob, bob," she croaked. "mi jasmin, pearl, mi corazon," and she gazed at her mistress with wrinkled, cynical eyes. "yes, bob's got to do the telling." pearl confided more to lolita than she ever did in her fellow beings. "oh, rudolf, this is where you get knifed! they've been laying for you right from the first. when bob's got to do a thing, he never wastes any time; he'll be along sure this morning. i guess we'll just wait right here and catch him." lolita hopped clumsily on to pearl's shoulder and tweaked her ear. "hell and damnation!" she muttered, and then sang: "love me to-day, love me an hour." pearl shrugged impatiently. "shut up!" she cried, and resting her chin in her cupped hands gazed over the sparkling, shimmering plain, where all unshadowed day-beams seemed to gather as pure light and then, as if fused in some magic alembic, became color. there, the ineffable command: "let there be light!" included all. it is only in the silence and light of the desert that men may fully realize that the universe is one, that light is music and music is color and color is fragrance, undifferentiated in the eternal harmony of beauty. pearl's eyes drank the desert, unconsciously seeking there in its haunting enigmas and unsolved mysteries an answer to the enigma of self. like life, like truth, like love, like all realities viewed from the angle of human vision, the desert is a paradox. its vast emptiness is more than full; its unashamed sterility is but the simile for unmeasured fecundity. for an hour thus she leaned and gazed, lolita restlessly walking back and forth, singing and croaking, until, at last, as pearl had predicted, bob flick appeared, a fact not unheralded by lolita's cries; but pearl did not alter her languid pose, nor even turn her head to greet him. she was watching a whirling column of sand, polished and white as a colossal marble pillar. "it's kind of early for them to begin, ain't it, bob?" she remarked casually. "yes." he paused by the gate, leaning one arm on it, and in the swift glance she cast at him from the corners of her eyes she could see that his expressionless face looked worn, the lines about the mouth seemed to have deepened and the eyes were heavy, as if he had not slept. lolita had, as usual, perched upon his shoulder, and was murmuring in his ear. "say, pearl," flick spoke again after an interval of silence, "i wish you'd take a walk with me. i--i got something on my mind that i want to talk about." "all right," she acquiesced readily, the nicker of a smile about her lips quickly suppressed. "i'll be ready in a minute, as soon as i get my hat." they walked through the village, the great broken wall of the mountains rising before them, deceptively near, and yet austerely remote, dazzling snow domes and spires crowning the rock-buttressed slopes and appearing sometimes to float, as unsubstantial clouds, in an atmosphere of all commingling and contrasting blues and purples. presently they turned into a lane of mesquite trees. the growth of these trees was thick on either side and the branches arched above their heads. they had stepped in a footfall's space into a new world. it was one of those surprising, almost unbelievable contrasts in which the desert abounds. a moment before they had gazed upon the mountains, spectacularly vivid in the clear atmosphere, white peaks and azure skies, green foothills, serrated with black shadows. behind them the sun-flooded white glare of the great, waste place and behold! all these vanished as they set their feet in this garden inclosed, this bower as green and quiet as the lane of a distant and far softer and more fertile country. pearl never made any conventional attempts at conversation, and for a time they walked in silence through those fairy aisles where the light fell golden-green and the sun only filtered in tiny broken disks through the delicate lace of the mesquite leaves. then flick spoke: "pearl, i got something to say to you, and it's about the hardest thing i ever tried to do, because i know," his mouth twisted a little, "that you're not going to like me any better for it." "what do you do it for then, bob?" she asked, and there was more than a half impatient mockery in her tone, there was wonder. "i got to," he said doggedly. "i guess there's no sense in it, but, whether you like it or not, i always got to do what seems the best thing for you." it was an inflexible attitude, an ideal of conduct unfalteringly held, and uncompromisingly adhered to, and she knew it. therefore, she shrugged her shoulders resignedly, the faint horse-shoe frown again appearing in her forehead. "well--go on, then," her voice as resigned as her shoulders, "and get it over." "it's this--" he hesitated and looked down at her a moment, and the tenderness his glance expressed she did not lift her eyes to see and would not have noticed if she had; "pearl, hanson ain't on the level." she laughed that slightly grating, almost unpleasant, laugh of hers. "it's no secret to me, bob, that several of you are thinking that." "we got cause to," he answered moodily; and then, as if struck by something in her words, he looked at her quickly. "has your pop told you anything?" there was surprise in both glance and voice. "not a thing," she assured him, scornfully amused by the question, "but there are some things that don't have to be told. do you suppose i haven't caught on to the way you've all been acting?" again he looked his surprise. "we all been acting?" he repeated. "yes. i've seen things and i've felt them. oh, you might just as well out with it, bob. what is it all about?" he stared unseeing down the sun-sifted dusk of the green lane. here the desert silence was like a benediction of peace, broken now and then by the faint, shrill note of an insect, or the occasional soft, mournful plaint of a dove. "pearl, you can laugh at me if you want to, and say i'm jealous. that's true, i am. i can't help it; but this time it wasn't all that. i got to size up men quick; that was my business for a good many years, and the first minute i set eyes on hanson i knew he wasn't straight. and then, hughie--" "and so you stirred up pop to watch him?" she broke in quick as a flash. "no," he answered patiently, "no, but hughie's feelings got so strong about him that your pop kind of woke up and got to studying him, and then he saw what--what neither of you tried to hide," there was bitterness in his tone, "and then he kind of remembered something he'd heard up in colina, and--" "and so you've been up to colina tracking round after a woman." her verbal strokes were swift and hard as a flail. and again flick started in surprise. his cheeks flushed faintly, his jaw set. "what you mean, pearl? has he been having me trailed? i don't believe it." "no," she drawled, taking a malicious amusement in this unwonted perturbation on his part, "he hasn't. you slipped away so quiet and easy that you didn't stop to say good-by, even to me. were you afraid i'd put him on to it?" she did not hesitate to plant her banderillos where they would sting most, and flick winced at this imputation which struck so near home. "how did you know about the woman, then?" he asked quickly. pearl lifted her head and laughed aloud, and, at the unwonted sound breaking the desert silence, three pairs of brilliant eyes gazing through the screening mesquite branches vanished and the gray, shadowy figures of three coyotes disappeared as noiselessly as they had come. "how did i know about the woman?" she repeated the question and considered it, still with amused scorn, as if debating whether she would enlighten him or not. "well--" drawling aggravatingly, "i knew you and pop had the knife ready for ru--mr. hanson." flick's mouth twisted again. "that wasn't very hard to see. so when you hit the trail, bob, i gave him the chance to clear out. i did so, tipped him off, you know. now i guess if he'd been wanted bad for anything that would--well, put him behind the bars, say, he'd have gotten out pretty quick. and, anyway, if he'd been wanted like that he wouldn't have stayed here so long, for they wouldn't have had any trouble in nailing a man as well known as him before, so, you see, i knew it wasn't any of the usual things. but," and here she stopped and, looking up into his face, spoke more emphatically, "i gave him the chance, too, to tell me all about himself and he didn't take it. now, there isn't a man living that wouldn't have taken it--under the circumstances--" she spoke with a deliberately cruel emphasis, and flick's shoulders contracted a little as the dart pricked him--"unless it was some mix-up about a woman." "it's about a woman, all right," grimly. "what about her?" pearl's voice cut the air like the swift, downward stroke of a whip. "she's his wife," returned flick. "she's been living up near colina. she owns a part of a mine there and has been managing it." pearl took this in silence; and they had walked a dozen yards or so before they spoke again. "well, what of it?" she said at last, carelessly, almost gaily. "divorces are easy." his expressionless face showed a cynical amusement, with just a hint of triumph in the lighting of his eye. he shook his head. "i talked to her," he said. "she's a good, decent woman, but she ain't quite straight in her head when it comes to hanson. he lied to her right along about the others, even from the first; played fast and loose with her, and finally eloped with one of his burlesque head-liners. she took it. what else was there for her to do? but she spends about all of her time watching her fences to see that there's no divorce in question. he's done everything, tried to buy her off more than once, but it's no good. every place he goes she follows him up sooner or later, and she writes him letters, too, every once in so often, offering to come back to him. and he can't get anything on her, for she lives as straight as a string. oh, no, pearl, mr. rudolf hanson'll never marry again as long as that lady's living, or i miss my guess." it was evidently with difficulty that pearl had controlled herself, her brow had darkened and her upper lip had curled back from her white teeth in a particularly unpleasant and disfiguring fashion. again they walked in one of those silences in which she was wont to entrench herself, and then she looked up at him with a faintly scornful smile. "well, you've sure done your duty, bob, and i guess you've got just about as much thanks as folks usually do for that." he drew his hand across his brow and looked before him a little drearily. "i didn't expect anything else," he said simply. "i knew what i'd get. but whether you like it or not," and here he caught her shoulder, his eyes holding hers, "as i told you before, i always got to do what seems the best for you, no matter what's the cost." her face did not soften. she merely accepted this as she did all else that he had to give her, himself included. they had reached the end of a long alley, and now they turned and retraced their steps, but they had traversed almost half of the distance they had come before pearl spoke again. "well, now you've told me, what else are you and pop planning to do?" he weighed his answer for a few moments. "i guess nothing," he said at last. "i guess we'll leave it to you to send him about his business." she stopped in the path and looked at him; her blue cotton gown fell in long lines of grace about her slender figure. "if you and pop want to know what i'm going to do," she said, "i'll tell you. i'm going to accept rudolf's offer and go out on the road, that's what. you know by this time that i can take care of myself." he pondered this seriously, but without a change in the expression of his face. "would you go with him," he asked, "if sweeney offers you as much or more money?" "sweeney won't offer me more money. i know sweeney and his limits," significantly, "and you won't make up the balance of what sweeney lacks, either, do you hear? now you, and pop, too, can just keep your hands off. i manage this affair myself." flick merely shrugged his shoulders, and they walked on without further speech on the matter. presently bob's keen eyes descried some one walking down the mesquite avenue toward them. "why, it's hughie!" he exclaimed. even as he spoke the boy stopped and listened intently. he stood motionless, waiting until they drew nearer, and then he lifted his head, which he had bent sidewise the better to hear their almost soundless footsteps. pearl, seeing that her interview with flick was soon to be interrupted, stopped short in the path and laid one hand detainingly upon his arm. "bob," she said, in her softest tone, "bob, you and i have been pals for a good while; you aren't going against me now?" he stopped, obedient to her touch, and looked at her unwillingly. he could always hold to his resolution in the face of her anger, but to withstand her when she chose to coax! that was another and more difficult matter. but if he met her gaze reluctantly there was no wavering in either his glance or his voice. "i'm going to save you from hanson, pearl," he paused for the fraction of a second, "by any means i got to use." she flashed one swift, violent glance of resentment, and then immediately controlled herself, as she could always do when she chose and when she was playing to win; so now she cast down her eyes and sighed. the motes of the glancing sunbeams fell over her like a shower of gold, spangling the blue cotton frock until it appeared a more regal vesture than purple and ermine; her head was bent, her body drooped like a lily in the noonday heat, her whole attitude was soft, and forlorn and appealing, as if she, this wilful, untamed creature, subdued herself to accept a wounding decree, and bore it with all the pathos of unmurmuring resignation. flick's heart smote him, he longed to clasp her to his breast and give her everything she impossibly craved. and now it was he who sighed, and then clinched his hands as if to steel his resolution. she heard the sigh: she saw from the quick movement of his hands, the sudden, involuntary straightening of the shoulders that the struggle was on, so she lifted her eyes half wistfully, half doubtingly to his and thus gazed a moment and then smiled her faintly crooked heart-shattering smile: "you and i have been friends too long for us to begin to quarrel now, isn't that so, bob?" again she laid her hand on his arm. he caught it in both of his and pressed it hard. "i guess you know we'll never quarrel, pearl. i guess you know that, no matter what you say or do, it'll never make any difference to me." "'course i know it. and you're not going against me now, bob, either, are you?" she lifted his hand, and with one of her rare, caressing gestures laid it against her cheek for a moment and, turning her face a little, lightly brushed his palm with her lips. he shivered and quickly drew his hand away. there was silence between them for a few moments and then he sighed again and more heavily than ever. "oh, pearl," he cried, "what do you want to make things so hard for? let that dog--" he checked himself hastily, seeing her expression. "i beg your pardon, you don't look at him that way. let hanson go. i know you about as well as anybody in the world, don't i?" "better," she nodded her head affirmatively, answering without hesitation. "well, won't you believe me when i tell you that you couldn't be happy with him. won't you listen to me, pearl?" she looked at him a little slyly out of the corners of her eyes, a little one-sided, cynical smile on her lips. "we're always so dead sure what's going to make other people happy, ain't we, bob? always can see what's good for them so much better than they ever can see for themselves." flick looked away from her, down the long, shaded alley; once or twice he swallowed hard. "it ain't easy to say what i got to," a faint flush on his cheek, "'cause i hate to talk that-a-way to a lady, especially to you, pearl; but i know you; and you can't be happy, you just naturally can't, with a man that's married for keeps to one woman, and that'll--god, pearl! it hurts me to talk like this to you--that'll throw you over when he's tired of you just like he's thrown over several others." she caught his arm and shook it violently, as if she scarcely knew what she did. "throw me over! me! the black pearl!" she cried hoarsely, and broke into a torrent of spanish oaths. "dios!" she paused at last, panting for breath, "you must be crazy to talk to me like that, bob flick." "i told you how i hated it," he answered, with that sad, unaltered patience with which he always took her unspared blame, "but i had to do it. you got to know these things, pearl, and it's better for me to tell you than for your pop to try." "he wouldn't have gotten very far," she muttered. "that's just it. you'd both have got to scrapping and screaming at each other and nothing told." "better nothing told, as far as you are concerned," she flashed at him fiercely, and then lapsed into sullen silence. "hello! hello!" hughie's voice came to them from a side avenue or narrower path down which he had wandered. "hello, yourself," flick answered. "we'll wait for you right here." "bob." pearl's soft voice held no evidence of rancor. "tell me something quick, before he reaches us. tell me true, and i'll be good friends, honest, i will." "you know i'll tell you anything i can." "then--then--is she--that woman in colina--pretty? as pretty as i am?" he smiled bitterly. "no one's as pretty as you, pearl. no, she ain't pretty." "well, what does she look like?" impatiently. "nothing much. why, i don't know, just looks like most every other woman you see." "oh, bob, quick! is she little or big? is she kind of saucy and quick, or is she quiet and slow? quick, now, hughie's almost here." "why--why," he rubbed his hand across his brow, "she's kind of--kind of motherly." pearl threw back her head and laughed, then she took a few dancing steps up and down the road. "it's pearl and bob," called hughie. "i knew it a while back when i stopped to listen, and then i heard a bird note down yonder," with a wave of his hand toward the direction in which he had come, "and i wanted to hear it closer, so i didn't wait for you. i can always tell you two by the sound of your footsteps. pearl walks in better rhythm than you do, bob." "of course. what do you expect?" it was flick who spoke. "what are you doing so far away from home, anyway, hughie?" the boy's wistful, delicate face clouded. "i had to go somewhere," he said. "that hanson has been there all morning, and mother has been sitting with her head so close to his, talking, talking." pearl laughed a single note, like her father's. "poor rudolf!" she muttered, "the men are all jealous of him, even hugh." fortunately, the boy did not hear her, although bob flick did, as she intended he should. "i do love mother," hugh added plaintively, "but i can't love the people she mostly likes, so i came as far away as i could, and here," his face was irradiated in one of its quick changes, "i've been walking up and down and hearing and seeing things; listening to the quail and the doves; and a while ago there was a humming-bird; and did you ever smell the desert as sweet as it is this morning?" he lifted his head and sniffed ecstatically. "i've been turning the whole morning into music. it's all gold and green and gay with little silver trumpets through it, and now and again the moan of the doves. i'm going to work it out as soon as we get home. that is," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "if that hanson has gone. he stops all the music and the color." this was hugh's invariable plaint when any one was about whom he disliked. "oh, forget him," cried pearl. "don't be a cross, hughie." she spoke with a half impatient, half teasing tenderness. it was remarkable that she showed no resentment toward the boy for the difficulties in which she found herself entangled, although his intuitions and the almost superstitious respect which they were accorded in the gallito household might be said to have caused the disturbing investigations into hanson's past. that pearl herself disregarded these intuitions in this case was to those about her the strongest proof of her infatuation; but she never dreamed of blaming the boy or harboring rancor against him for this mischief he had done. on the contrary, she accepted it fatalistically. he never could account himself for these instinctive likes and dislikes of his; therefore, they were to be accepted and borne with as something of him, and yet apart from him; and that was all there was to it. "i'll tell you what to do, hugh. you help me work out some new dances," she cried. "a lot has been coming to me. one shall be 'night on the desert.' we can get some great effects. something really artistic for the big cities, not the old waltz things we have to do for the desert and mountain villages. we might try that 'desert morning' that you've just been planning to compose, and i've been thinking of another one--a cactus blossom dance. something like this." she began to dance. "tell me the steps, pearl; tell me the steps," called the boy impatiently. "oh, that's a great idea!" his face was flushed; and then suddenly it fell. "oh!" he cried despairingly to flick, "she always gets all sorts of ideas for new dances when she's in love--always. i never knew it fail." he flung himself away pettishly, and started off alone. hugh never had any difficulty about direction. in a locality with which he was familiar he would walk about with the utmost confidence. occasionally he would stop, rap his leg sharply with one hand, listen a moment, and then, apparently satisfied, walk on. those who pressed him for an explanation of this merely received the vague and unilluminating reply that he could feel the earth that way and tell from the sound of it, probably meaning the vibration, just where he was. pearl and flick followed him in a more leisurely way, although no word was spoken between them until they reached home. pearl's eyes scanned the house, but it was evident that hanson had gone, for her mother sat in a rocking-chair before the window, her head tilted back, fast asleep. "what do you suppose your pop'll say to your signing up with hanson?" asked flick, as they passed through the gate. "i suppose we'll have a row that'll make the house rock," she answered indifferently, dismissing him with a nod. chapter v hanson had learned of flick's return to paloma almost as soon as the pearl, although from a different source; jimmy, the bar-keeper, having informed him of the fact. he had sauntered into chickasaw pete's place as was his wont, soon after breakfast on the same morning that pearl had walked in the mesquite alleys with flick. this he selected as the most agreeable place in which he could while away the time until a suitable hour for either seeking pearl, or else hastening to keep an appointment with her. and jimmy, with the same instinct that a squirrel hides nuts, hoarded such chance bits of gossip as came his way and brought them out one by one for the delectation of those with whom he conversed. "hello, paloma morning journal!" called hanson as he entered the door, his large, genial presence radiating optimism and good cheer. "how many big black headlines this morning?" jimmy's smile made creases in his round, red cheeks above his white linen jacket. "pretty shy of headlines," he chuckled. "nothing but a few personals." "no murders, no lynchings, nor merry cowboys on bucking broncos shooting up the town?" exclaimed hanson, in affected dismay. "my! my! what is the west coming to? i'm afraid you ain't serving them the right kind of poison, jimmy." "it's so bad i won't touch it myself." jimmy defended himself with professional pride. "have some?" "not i. i got to be going, anyway." seeing that hanson was about to follow this intention, jimmy drew forth his first nut. "bob flick got back last night," he said, and then, abashed by the meagerness of this bit of information, attempted to enhance its value. "i'd like to know," leaning his elbow on the bar and his chin in his hand, "i'd like to know where he went and what he went for." hanson did not alter his lounging pose and yet, indefinably, his attitude became more tense, as if, in a quick riveting of attention, every sense had become alert. "he's doing a good mining business, ain't he?" he spoke carelessly. "i should think there would be a good many things that would take him out of paloma." "oh, 'course," conceded jimmy, "but don't you know how you kind of feel things sometimes. well, you listen to me, there's something queer about this trip." he half closed his eyes and shook his head mysteriously. "come, now, jimmy," hanson's tone was bantering; he rapped on the bar in playful emphasis, but there was anxiety in his glance. "you're just trying to work up a little excitement. a show down now, a show down." "kid me all you please," chuckled jimmy, with imperturbable good humor, "but, take it from me, something special's been doing. bob's not one to talk about his or any one's else business, but if he's going off on any little trip he's likely to mention it. and, when he comes back, he'll tell you this or that he's seen or heard, just like other folks. but this time, not a word. glum as an oyster. you just bet," jimmy emphasized the statement with a series of nods, "that somethin's going on. him and gallito have had their heads too close. and that old fox is usually up to some mischief." "what kind?" asked hanson quickly. "i don't know," answered jimmy, and hanson saw to his relief that the bar-keeper was sincere, and that he was to his own manifest regret as ignorant as he appeared. "but," he added shrewdly, "you been taking up a good deal of the pearl's time and attention, and bob ain't going to stand that from anybody very long." "he ain't, ain't he?" the insolence of hanson's tone was touched with triumph. "no," said jimmy simply, "he ain't; and so i kind of feel that this trip of his had something to do with you. and, say, mr. hanson," there was a touch of embarrassment in his voice, "you and me's been pretty good friends since you been here, and i thought i'd just give you the tip." hanson did not answer for a second, and then he looked up with one of his most open and genial smiles. "thanks, jimmy," he said heartily. "always glad to get the straight tip. i've been so anxious since i've been here to sign up with the black pearl that maybe, considering mr. bob flick, i haven't been very discreet in the way i've been chasing there." he leaned his elbow on the bar and assumed a more confidential manner. "but, say, it's funny the way every one speaks the same about gallito. hints everywhere, but no facts. what is it about him, anyway?" he either could not or did not conceal that he awaited a reply with eagerness. "i wish i knew." jimmy spoke with the utmost sincerity. "folks whisper and shake their heads, but there's nothing to lay a finger on. i've tried to pump mrs. gallito more than once, but if she knows anything she keeps it dark. she's afraid of me, anyway. she always says: 'oh, jimmy, you're such a gossip!' me!" he was really injured. "i guess if everybody did as little gossiping as i do this world would be a heap sight better place." "sure," agreed hanson cordially; and this time his smile was genuinely expressive of his thankful and undisguised relief. by what seemed to him an almost incredible piece of good luck, considering the mutual predilection of mrs. gallito and jimmy for gossip, his secret was still intact. he straightened up involuntarily, and stood a moment deep in thought, his unseeing gaze fixed on a row of bottles on a shelf behind jimmy. he picked up an apple which jimmy had left on the bar and turned it around in his hands, apparently considering the effect of its scarlet stripes on a green surface. then he threw back his shoulders and laughed aloud. "bill jones left a peckful of luscious apples in ye editorial sanctum to-day," he said gaily. "come again, bill," and laying the fruit down, turned away, jimmy's delighted chuckles following him to the door and beyond. outside, he hesitated a moment, and then turned in the direction of the little railroad station. seeing him, the weedy youth who acted as agent brought his chair, tilted back at an almost impossible angle, to the earth, took his feet down from a table, laid aside an old and battered magazine and expressed devout gratitude to heaven that any one should relieve what he was pleased to term his solitary confinement. hanson took the chair pushed toward him and for nearly an hour discussed events in the outside world, and the various phases of his profession in what the agent found a most entertaining manner. finally he looked at his watch, murmured something about an engagement and rose to go. "well," he said at parting, "i expect the next time i see you i'll be buying a ticket." "going to leave us soon?" asked the youth regretfully. "not to-day," smiled the manager, "but soon. oh, by the way, now i think of it--is there a train goes straight from here to colina?" "not straight. you got to change twice; once at the junction and once at the branch." "and what kind of a place is there to stay at? any hotel?" "i don't know. not much of one, i guess. gallito would know. but he's got his own cabin, ain't he? that's so. why don't you ask bob flick? he's just been up there. i sold him a ticket the other day, and he got back on the train yesterday evening. thanks," taking the cigar hanson offered. "so long." with his suspicions thus definitely confirmed, hanson wasted no time in following his inclinations and seeking the pearl in her own home, but his delay had cost him a word with her, and he did not arrive at the gallito house until after she and bob flick had left. this was the first untoward event in a successful morning, but he concealed his chagrin and, with his usual adaptability to circumstances, exerted himself to be agreeable to mrs. gallito, not without hope of gaining more or less valuable information. mrs. gallito was in one of her sighing moods. in spite of all the methods of protection which she and hughie had utilized the coyotes still continued to commit their depredations upon her chicken yard and daily to make way with her choicest "broilers" and "fryers." also she had shipped several large consignments of sweet potatoes to the eastern markets and, instead of their being, as usual, snapped up by epicures at enormous prices, they had fallen, through competition with other shippers, almost to the price of the ordinary variety--desert sweet potatoes, too. life, she averred, was hard, almost a failure. sometimes things went sort of smooth and you thought it wasn't so bad, and then everything went wrong. "oh, not everything," said hanson, with a rather perfunctory attempt at consolation. "yes, sir, everything"--dolefully she creaked back and forth in her rocking-chair--"everything. here's gallito, the luckiest man at cards ever was, and he's been losing steady for three nights, and he's getting blacker and sourer and stiller every minute. oh, if him and pearl would only talk when things go wrong with 'em. it would seem so natural and--and--humanlike." "back in the old sawdust days," she continued reminiscently, "when things went wrong in the circus, everybody'd be screaming at each other, calling names and threatening, and often as not throwing anything that came handy. they'd get it all out of their systems that way, and there was nothing left to curdle. but to sit and glower and think and think! oh, it's awful! why, even hughie, he'll talk and pound the piano like he was going to break the poor thing to pieces; but this spanish way of pearl and her father! oh, my!" mrs. gallito shook her head and carefully wiped a tear from her eye, before it could make a disfiguring rivulet down the paint and powder on her cheek. "it can't be so much fun, all things considered," conceded hanson. "fun!" mrs. gallito merely looked at him. "when i think of what life used to be! lots of work, but just as much excitement. why, i was awful pretty, mr. hanson," a real flush rose on her faded cheek, "and i had lots of admiration, 'deed i did." "you don't need to tell me that," said hanson. "i guess i got eyes." "and when i married gallito," she went on, "i was awful happy. i guess i was soft, but i always wanted to love some one and be loved a whole lot, and i thought that was what was going to happen, but it didn't. i often wonder what he married me for. but," her voice was poignant with wistfulness, "i would have liked to have been loved, i would." hanson nodded understandingly and without speaking, this time, an expression of real sympathy in his eyes. she was weak and silly. she was dyed and painted and powdered almost to the point of being grotesque, and yet, in voicing the universal longing, she became real, and human, and touching. they sat in silence for a few moments, hanson giving mrs. gallito an opportunity to recover her self-control, while he devoted his attention to lolita, who had sidled up to him and was gazing at him evilly, ready to nip him malevolently should he attempt the familiarity of scratching her head. mrs. gallito, alive to the courtesies of the occasion, had succeeded in choking back her sobs, and now she endeavored to turn the conversation into less personal channels. "bob flick got back yesterday." "where's he been traveling?" asked the manager easily. "he can't have gone so very far, hasn't been gone long enough." mrs. gallito leaned forward carefully. "he's been to colina and, mr. hanson, i think his trip had something to do with you. him and gallito talked late last night. i tried my best to hear what they were saying," naïvely, "but i couldn't for a long while, and then gallito said out loud: 'who's going to tell her, you or me?' "and bob kind of waited a minute and then he said: 'me. you'd only stir her up and make her obstinate. but, god!' he said, sighing awful heavy, 'i wish i didn't have to.'" "i'll bet he does," muttered hanson, and throwing back his head laughed aloud. she looked at him doubtfully, as if surprised at his manner of receiving her information. "is it funny?" she asked. "not for bob," still vindictively amused. "i suppose something's gone wrong with her contract with sweeney, and he can hold her to it, or else have the law on her," ventured mrs. gallito. "that's all i can think of to stir them up so." "i guess that must be it," agreed hanson. "eh, lolita?" "here comes gallito now." she leaned forward suddenly, shielding her eyes with her hand. "yes, it's him, sure. why, i thought he'd gone to the mines and wouldn't be back to-day." gallito was riding slowly toward the house, his head bent, his frowning gaze fixed before him. nevertheless, he had seen his wife's guest, and, after taking his horse back to the stable, he made his appearance on the porch. he shook hands with hanson with his usual punctilious courtesy, and then, turning to mrs. gallito, remarked without ceremony: "mr. hanson and i have business matters to discuss and you have duties within; but first bring the small table, the cognac and some glasses." his wife wasted no time in doing his bidding, setting forth the articles required with a timid and practiced celerity. but even after the brandy had been tasted and praised by hanson, and his appreciation of it accepted with a grave spanish bow by gallito, the latter had made no move to open the conversation, but had insisted upon his guest trying his cigarettes and giving an opinion upon their merits. again hanson was complaisant, extolling them as worthy to accompany the cognac, and after that a silence fell between them. gallito sat puffing his cigarette, watching with half closed eyes the smoke wreaths curl upward, while hanson waited patiently, smoking his cigarette in turn with an admirable show of indifference. "the old fox!" thought he scornfully. "does he hope to bluff me into giving myself away?" finally gallito spoke, directly and to the point, surprising the other man, in spite of himself, by a most unexpected lack of diplomatic subterfuge and subtlety. "i received a letter from sweeney yesterday," he drew it slowly from his pocket, "and he doubles his offer to my daughter, making her salary, practically, what you are willing to pay her. now, mr. hanson, your offer is very fine. i appreciate it; my daughter appreciates it; but she cannot accept it. she treated sweeney badly, very badly. she is an untaught child, headstrong, wilful," his brow darkened, "but she must learn that a contract is a contract." he took another sip of cognac. "she will go back to sweeney." he slightly shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands as if to say: "i deprecate this for your sake, but the question is definitely settled; i beg you, therefore, to advance no useless counter-arguments." but hanson ignored this unspoken request. "i'm sorry you feel that way about it," he said, "but your daughter is of age. i guess i'll wait and see what she has to say about this." he spoke pleasantly, almost carelessly, no hint of a threat in his tone, at least. gallito looked at him from under his brows in surprise, then he laughed, one single, menacing note. "my daughter will say what i have said." "i'm not so sure," returned hanson, and had some difficulty in restraining himself from speaking violently. then he forced the issue. "look here, gallito," he cried, "what's all this about, anyway? i came down here to the desert anxious to secure the black pearl as a new attraction for my vaudeville houses. i see her and i know that she's all to the good. so, banking on my own judgment, i make her an offer that's more than generous, just because i've the courage of my convictions and am willing to back my enthusiasms. sometimes i win, sometimes i lose," he snapped his fingers lightly, "but i'm always ready to take the chances. "well--what happens? in the first place, instead of jumping at my offer, like any sensible man would--i'm talking plain now, gallito--you got to drag sweeney into the game, which, look at it any way you please, wasn't particularly square. pah!" scornfully, pitching his cigarette with a single muscular sweep of the arm into the heart of the garden, "you don't know it or you wouldn't have been talking to me like you have, but i've got sweeney pigeon-holed, know all his resources, and know positively that he can't come up to my offer. i tell you what, gallito, it's cards on the table now, and," he tapped the table between them with his knuckles, "i'm politely requesting you to draw your nigger from the woodpile." gallito's glance was like the stab of a poignard. "but this is strange talk." he drew back haughtily. "i do not have to make explanations. i have my daughter's interests at heart." "yes, i know," interrupted hanson, "but the black man, the black man. out with him." gallito's face had grown livid, his mouth had tightened until it was drawn and pinched. "have it, then," he growled. "sweeney's straight. sweeney hasn't left one wife in colina while he eloped with one of his head-liners. he's not in one scrape after another with a woman, until he's a joke in the coast newspapers, and every woman he features in his shows has got a black smirch on her--" "by god, you've got your nerve," cried hanson violently, interrupting him. gallito made a deprecating motion with his hands, as if to say: "don't mention it, i beg of you," and then carefully selected another cigarette from the box between them. "my nerve is something that rarely deserts me, mr. hanson," he replied, "but i wish to finish what i was saying. my daughter has a future. she will not only be a great dancer, but she has the making of a great actress in her, too. and dios!" he still maintained his cold restraint, but now, in spite of himself, his tones vibrated with passion, "just at the beginning of her career, to be made cheap by you, or any like you--" he lifted his hooded hawk's eyes and looked at hanson, who in turn looked boldly back at him with something indefinable yet unmistakable, something that was not only defiance, but also a threat in the blaze of his angry eyes. and gallito caught it and raised his brows ever so slightly, pondering surprisedly for a moment, and then resolutely putting the matter aside for the present. but hanson continued to gaze across the table at him. "read me my pedigree, ain't you?" he snarled. "all right. now just let me tell you something, gallito. i take my answer from your daughter, and from no one else. understand?" "no," returned gallito, "i do not understand." hanson controlled himself with difficulty. for a moment it was on the tip of his tongue to tell gallito that the latter's connivance in the escape of the notorious crop-eared josé was known to him; also, he was perfectly cognizant of the present whereabouts of that much-desired person, and that he, hanson, had but to step to the telegraph office and send a wire to los angeles, and not only josé, but gallito would be in custody before night. an admirable method for securing gallito's consent to his daughter's acceptance of this professional engagement which hanson offered. but, carefully considered, it had its flaws, and hanson was not the man to overlook them. indeed, he sat there in a baffled and furious silence, going over them mentally and viewing them from every possible angle. in the first place, it was extremely doubtful if, after communicating his knowledge to gallito, he would ever be permitted to reach the telegraph station, and, in the second place, he would, he was convinced, have not only gallito, but the, to him, more formidable bob flick to deal with. therefore, and most reluctantly, he decided to keep his information and his threats to himself for the present and, certainly, until he was better able to enforce the latter. but, as he told himself, twisting his shoulders irritably, there was something about this old spaniard which got on his nerves. a quality of composed patience, as if he, at least, never doubted the successful outcome of his plans; a rock-like imperturbability against which violence or vituperation shattered itself and fell harmless. "look here, gallito," again he adopted a conciliatory manner, leaning his elbows on the table, as if prepared for a long discussion, after first helping himself to another glass of cognac and a fresh cigarette, "what's the use of a row, anyway? now, why can't we come to some agreement. what you say about your daughter's abilities is all true, every word of it. that's the reason i'm so keen to get her. i know, and i'm frank enough to confess it, that out here in the desert, with not much to think about, on a vacation, and all, why--i kind of lost my head about her. she's a beautiful woman, gallito, no need to tell you that. but you know, and i know, that a man can always shut down on that sort of thing if he's got to. my reputation ain't what it ought to be, no one knows that better than i, or feels it more; but, honest to god, gallito, i ain't as black as i've been painted. no man is, probably. now, what i got to say is this--" "no need to say it, mr. hanson," interrupted gallito, who had been twisting his mouth wryly during these remarks. again hanson concealed his rising anger, although the color rose in his cheeks. "now just let me talk a minute, gallito." he spread out his hands placatingly. "the proposition i'm going to make you is this: miss gallito tells me that her mother traveled with her when she was younger, and even now, when she can spare the time from her farming, she goes out on the road with the young lady. now, why not have a purely business arrangement. let miss pearl sign up with me, and then we'll coax her mother to go with her. i should think that would satisfy you. it ought to satisfy any one, for a girl's mother to go with her." "of course," the spaniard bowed with stately courtesy, but not before had his smile been so sardonic. "as you say, every one should be satisfied with such an arrangement and, let me say, it is one that would greatly please me, but as i told you before, mr. hanson, it cannot be. my daughter must keep her contract with sweeney." at white heat, hanson rose and pushed back his chair. "hell!" he cried. "what am i up against, anyway! give some people the earth and it wouldn't suit 'em. but you can take this from me, gallito," he leaned forward and pounded his fist on the table, "i don't take my answer from you. we'll see what the black pearl has got to say. the black pearl smirched by going out with me!" he laughed aloud. he fell back frightened as gallito half rose from his chair, and then, to his unbounded surprise, the spaniard sat down again and softly rubbed his hands together. hanson had a fleeting and most disturbing impression of the old man gloating over some secret and pleasant prospect. lolita had balanced herself on the edge of the table and gallito bent forward and scratched her head, making little clucking noises in his throat the while: "our guest is a great poker player, lolita, he understands how to make a bluff, but," again that single grating note of a laugh, "assure him, my lolita, that he will be cold-decked." again hanson was almost betrayed into making his threat then and there. he leaned forward and shook his forefinger under the spaniard's eyes, his face was purple, but just in time he remembered himself, closed his mouth and drew back. "bob, bob," croaked lolita, "mi jasmin pearl, mi corazon." "a most intelligent bird, you see, mr. hanson," observed gallito, with saturnine politeness. hanson turned away impatiently. "i will see your daughter this afternoon," he said. gallito had begun to roll a fresh cigarette, but now, checking himself abruptly, he threw a long comprehensive glance at the cloudless brazen sky, and then, squinting his eyes, studied for a second or two the equally brazen desert. "i think not, mr. hanson," he said, with assured finality in his voice. "i do not think you will see my daughter to-day. what? going so soon? another glass of cognac? no. adios, then. adios." chapter vi hanson walked away, more disturbed in mind by his interview with gallito than he would have thought possible an hour or two earlier. something in the finality of the spaniard's voice when making those last predictions, his evidently sincere belief that his daughter would not appear under hanson's management, had impressed the latter in spite of himself, causing him seriously to question the extent of his influence over pearl, a weakness which he had not previously permitted himself. he strove with all the force of his optimistic will to throw off the depression which deepened with each moment, assuring himself that he was tired, that all morning he had played a part, every faculty on the alert; and that this growing dissatisfaction and unrest were only the evidence of a natural reaction. he attempted to buttress his hope with mental argument, logical, even final, but singularly unconvincing where pearl was concerned, as anything logical and final must ever be. he tried to recall in detail stories he had heard of her avarice and her coquetries; he thought of her jewels, her name, her wiles. who was she to object to past peccadillos on his part? then, uncomforted, he sought to reassure himself with the remembrance of her love for him, ardent and beautiful as the sun on the desert, but her image rose on the dark of his mind like a flame, veering and capricious, or as the wind, lingering, caressing, yet ever fleeing. he was tormented by the remembrance also of strange phases of her which he divined but could not analyze. again, he would in fancy look deep into her dark eyes, demanding that his imagination revive for him those moments when his heart had thrilled to the liquid languor of her gaze, and instead he saw only the world-weariness of that sphynx glance which seemed to brood on uncounted centuries, and far back in her eyes, illusive and brief as the faint, half seen shadow on a mirror, he discerned mockery and disdain. he took off his hat, baring his brow to the air, and drew long breaths, unpleasantly conscious of an increasing heaviness and sultriness in the air, according well with the oppression of his thoughts. when he arrived at the san gorgonio, he was glad to take refuge in his room and there, to relieve the tension of nerves strung almost unbearably high, he walked back and forth and, after his fashion, swore volubly and unintermittently. at last, having exhausted his vocabulary as well as his breath, he turned to the window, struck by some impending change in the atmosphere which had now revealed itself by a slight obscuring of the light in the room. he looked out curiously, half fearfully, dimly but rebelliously aware that the world, his human world of personal desires and activities, as well as all external nature was threatened by vast, unseen, menacing forces. the great, gray desert lay in crouching stillness, a silence which filled the soul of man with horror. the sun, crimson as blood, hung in a sky over which seemed to have been drawn a veil of golden mist. "must be something doing," muttered hanson, and even as he spoke his eye was taken by a movement on the horizon line, a billowing as if the desert were rising like the sea. and truly it did. it lifted in waves that mounted almost to the sky and swept forward with a savage eagerness as if to bear down upon and engulf and obliterate the little oasis of a village with its green productive fields, and reduce it again to the wastes of desolation from which it had been so painfully redeemed by man. for nearly three days the storm lasted, raging by day and by night. the trees bowed to earth and lifted themselves to bow again with the sound of many waters in their leaves; and in the voice of the wind every savage, primeval menace alternated with every wail of human grief and anguish which has echoed through the ages. all desolation in the heart of man, "i am without refuge!" shrieked in its high cries, and, as if failing to find adequate expression in these, it summoned its chorus of demons and rang with the despairing fury of all damned and discordant things, until one bowed and covered the ears and muttered a prayer. and the sand! it sifted constantly through doors and windows, and seemed to fall in a fine continuous shower from the very roof. it covered everything with a white rime; it sifted into the hair, the eyes; breathing was difficult, the air was so chokingly full of it. the rooms, too, were ever paced by the restless feet of the wind, curtains swayed as if shaken by ghostly fingers; rugs and carpets rose and fell upon the floor, and, whether one sat alone or with others, the air seemed full of stealing presences, sad, and sometimes terrible; and of immemorial whispers that would not be stilled. the desert knows no time, its past and present are one, a thousand years is as a single day, and when it chooses to find its voice all yesterdays and all to-morrows blend. some day, when grief and horror shall be abandoned by man as utterly as his dreams of cave-life; when his remembrances of wrestling with the forces of nature or commerce shall seem as remote as his warfare with beasts, and tribes as savage as beasts; when he lifts his dull eyes and dares to dream only joy and beauty, then he will know that the gray cries of the wind are but the emphasis to the singing of the sunlight, that the black storm-clouds are but the contrast beauty offers to deepen and heighten the effect of her more ethereal hues, blue and rose and pearl. hanson had stood the storm badly; inactivity was always a hardship to him, also he was unused to such discomfort as he had to endure; and his depression and unrest induced by the suspense he suffered in continually wondering how pearl would take bob flick's news were greatly increased by the fact that he could get no word to her, nor receive any from her. but on the third night the storm stilled and in the morning the desert showed herself sparkling like an enchantress, exhibiting all of her marvelous illusions of color and wrapped in a golden garment of sunshine. she smiled with all the allurement of a radiant and beautiful woman. early in the morning, just as hanson was preparing to send a note to pearl, he received one from her, asking him to meet her again within an hour or two, amid the palms. she did not suggest his riding thither with her. the note was brief, a mere line, and, study it as he would, he found nothing in it to indicate what her attitude was toward him, therefore it did not allay his nervousness in the least as to how she would meet him. but with the passage of the storm his nerves had recovered their normal tone, and with the brilliance and freshness of the morning much of his optimism had returned. he reached the approach to the foothills where the palms lifted their stately and magnificent height, long before pearl, and there, walking restlessly back and forth, he watched the road with straining eyes. and then he saw her, at first a mere speck in the distance; then she became more and more distinct, for she rode fast. she waved her hand to him as she came nearer and his heart rose in a great bound. slackening the speed of her horse, she leaped from the saddle while it was still going, ran by its side, throwing the bridle over her arm, stopped, laughing and breathless, and cast herself into hanson's waiting arms. "pearl, pearl," he cried, in a low voice, holding her close against him and kissing her upturned face again and again. "oh, pearl, it's been a thousand years in hell since i saw you last." she laughed and, gazing eagerly into her care-free eyes and unreproachful face, his heart rose again in a great sigh of relief. "that's the way a tenderfoot always feels about a sand-storm," she said. "well, we sure gave you some nice theatrical effects, didn't we? it's the biggest i've seen for many a long day. but you were bound to see something like that before you went away." she spoke with a fatalism approaching bob flick's. "the desert never lets you go and forget her." her eyes dreamed a moment. "she's like you in that, pearl. my heavens! i wish you could see yourself this morning. beautiful ain't the word." "am i beautiful, rudolf?" she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him with a soft, childlike expression, as if longing for his praise. "i guess you know it," he said adoringly, stroking her shining black hair, "but if you weren't, if you were as ugly as sin, it wouldn't make any difference, you'd get us all just the same. all women like you got to do is to look at a man and he'll follow you like a sheep. i don't know what it is, magnetism or something." "but i'm glad i'm not as ugly as sin," she murmured, in smiling content. "and i'm glad you're not, too." she reached up her arm and touched his hair caressingly. "i love that little touch of reddish gold in your hair, and, yes, just that sprinkling of gray, and i love your blue eyes. i can't bear dark men. i am so dark myself." "you sure are, pearl, thank the lord! i never was very poetic, but i never see one of these desert nights sparkling with their big stars, twice as big as natural, that i don't think of you." she smiled, delighted at his praise. "but, goodness!" he went on, "when ain't i thinking of you? i tell you, you been on my mind steady these last few days. your pop was so dead sure when i talked to him that you'd have nothing more to do with me that it got to worrying me, and i thought maybe you'd hold it against me that i hadn't told you about--about my being already tied up." he scanned her face as if fearful of seeing it cloud and change. it did. the laughter faded from her eyes, her brow darkened. "i wish you had told me," she said, "then i'd been a little better prepared for pop and bob; but i guess they got as good as they gave." "i know i ought to have told you, pearl," he said miserably, "and i meant to, honey, but"--gathering her more closely in his arms--"i just couldn't spoil those first few days; and, anyway, you drove everything but you out of my head. i just determined every time it came into my mind to tell you, that i wasn't going to spoil paradise with any recollections of hell. maybe i was all wrong, but that was the way i felt." "no, you were all right, rudolf," she wound her arms about his neck. "when the storm came it broke swift and sudden like the sand storm, and we didn't live it all over beforehand, getting ready for it, and deciding how we'd meet it when it came, and all that. we just enjoyed ourselves. lived and loved up to the moment when it broke, and that was the best way." "gee! was there ever a woman like you!" lifting his glad, gay gaze to the sky. "why, pearl, it most frightens me when i think how happy me and you are going to be together." "are we?" nestling closer to him. "how?" "how?" he repeated. "why, we're going to be together first and last; ain't that enough? it is for me. but"--with drooping head and affectedly humble and dejected mien--"it couldn't be expected to be enough for you, could it?" "hardly," she looked up at him through her long lashes. "well, since that ain't enough for you," still with affected resignation, "let me tell you this: you're going to dance to bigger crowds and higher class ones than you ever saw before, because you're going to be advertised proper, see?" and then, sketching out plans with his former bold, optimistic confidence, "we're going to travel on the other side and travel in style, too, a big touring automobile. i guess you can show those foreign managers something new in the dancing line. how would you like to see your name all over london and paris? the black pearl! eh?" she slipped away from him and took a few buoyant dancing steps. "fine!" she laughed. "it sure sounds good to me." floating nearer to him, she pinched his arm. "ain't you the spellbinder!" he caught her with one arm. "oh, pearl," his voice falling to seriousness, "you don't know how happy you make me. honest, i've been so plum scared these last few days, i been almost crazy. i didn't know, you see, just how much influence your pop and flick might have over you, and i got locoed for fear you wouldn't see me and give me a chance to explain." "pop and bob flick kindly took the bother of explaining things off your shoulders, didn't they?" with a short, vindictive laugh. "darn 'em," bitterly. "i don't want to say anything about your pop, but flick's a sneaking coyote, and sooner or later he'll pay for snooping into my business. oh, i've cursed myself more than once for letting him tell you, but i never loved a woman before, pearl, and i couldn't take the chances, honest i couldn't. i hadn't the nerve." there was a passionate sincerity in his voice. "they've been telling me you've loved many a woman." her eyes gloomed and she slashed her skirt savagely with the riding crop she held. "you know," he whispered, "you know. i've been a fool. there have been many others, pearl, i ain't going to deceive you, but--there's never been but one." she softened and smiled at him, then her face darkened again. "but there's one that stands in the way--yet," she said gloomily. "in the way? what do you mean?" uncomprehendingly. "why, that woman up in colina? don't she stand between you and me, now, for a while?" "not much, she don't," emphatically, "not her!" a light flared in pearl's eyes. "i knew pop and bob were up to some of their tricks! they been doing their best to ram it home that she'll die before she lets you get a divorce." "you bet she will," muttered hanson, with concentrated bitterness, and stifled some maledictions under his breath. "i've tried every way, turned every trick known to sharp lawyers for the last six years, trying to get free; but she's got money, you see, and she can keep her eye on me, so, in one way or another, she's balked me every time." pearl threw herself from him and looked at him with wild eyes. "then how are you going to get free now?" she cried. "what are your plans? why is she going to come around now, if she never has before?" "she ain't, honey, the devil take her!" he caught her back in his arms and held her as if he would never release her. "but what difference does that make to us?" he pleaded ardently. "we're going to let the whole lot of them go hang and live our lives as we choose." "then pop and bob were right; and i never believed them, not for a moment. i thought you were too smart to stay caught in a trap like that. i thought you were so quick and keen to plan and were so full of ideas that you could get around any situation." again she flung herself away from him and, with her face turned from him, stood looking out over the desert. he bent toward her and, throwing his arms about her, again endeavored to draw her back into his embrace, but she resisted. "pearl," he cried roughly, "what do you mean? you don't mean to say that you got any foolish ideas about it making any difference whether a preacher says a few words over us or not? why, you can't feel that way. you've seen too much of life, and your folks have always been show people. they didn't hold any such ideas. anyway, you got brains to think for yourself. what joke you playing on me, honey? oh, don't hold me off like that, lift your head and look at me. i know you're going to laugh in about a minute and then i'll know it's all a joke." again he tried to put his arm about her and again she threw him off. "let me alone," she cried harshly. "i'm thinking. let me alone." "pearl," he besought wildly; his face had suddenly grown flabby and white, his voice was broken with his desperate pleading. "honey, you don't want time to think. why, there's nothing to think about. we're going off on the train this afternoon to be happy together, and we don't give a cent for anything else. we'd be married if we could. my lord! i should say so! but since we can't, we'll make the best of it." he paused and looked at her, but there was something inflexible in her attitude, some almost threatening aloofness that made him hesitate to clasp her as he longed to do for fear he should meet another and final rebuff. he waited a moment or two, but, as she did not speak, he began again. "i know you're joking, pearl, but it's awful hard on me"--he wiped the sweat from his brow. "you haven't got any such fool ideas. of course you haven't. they're for dead ones, old maid country school teachers, and preachers and things like that, hypocrites that have got to make their living by playing the respectable game. but we're not that kind, pearl, we're alive, and we're not afraid. we're going to be happier than two people ever were in this world. pearl, speak to me. i don't wonder that your mother complains about the way you shut yourself up and never say a word. speak to me. tell me what you're thinking." "i'm thinking a lot of things," she answered, but without turning her head to look at him, "and i ain't through yet. now i've got to studying on this matter, i'm a-going to think it out here and now." "but what is there to think about?" in a sort of exasperated despair. "oh, pearl, how can you be so cruel! i know you ain't got any of the fool ideas of the dead ones i was talking about. you couldn't have; not with isobel montmorenci for a grandmother, and queenie madrew for a mother, and the same kind on your pop's side of the house. you didn't have any sunday-school bringing up and i know it. then what you playing with me like a cat does with a mouse for? it ain't fair, pearl, it ain't fair." she turned and faced him now with an impatient gesture of the hands. some expression on her face, the set of her mouth, the horse-shoe frown on her forehead gave her a fleeting resemblance to her father, a resemblance that momentarily chilled his blood. "for goodness' sake keep quiet a minute," she cried irritably. "you gave me a jolt a while ago, telling me you couldn't get free, and i want a minute or two to take it in." "but you don't think hard of me for that," he implored. "oh, pearl--" but she had again turned to her contemplation of the desert, and realizing that further speech might bring her swift anger upon him he walked hastily away. several yards from her he paused and again wiped his brow. "oh, god!" he muttered, lifting his face to the sky, "what does a man know about women, anyway?" as for pearl, she scarcely knew that he had ceased to speak to her. she had been thinking, as she averred, thinking back over the years. she had been dancing professionally ever since she had been a child. as a slim, tall, young girl, still in skirts to her shoe tops, her mother had traveled with her, and, although this evidence of chaperonage irked her, she had with her quick intelligence early seen its value. all about her she saw the struggling flotsam of feminine youth, living easily, luxuriously to-day, careless of any less prosperous morrows, and, when those swift, inevitable morrows came, she had seen the girlish, exotic queens of an hour, haggard, stripped of their transient splendor, uncomprehending, almost helpless. she saw readily enough that it was not only her superior talents and training, the hard work and hard study which she gave to her profession which set her above the butterflies and apart from them, but her mother's constant presence during those early years was of almost equal value. all this she realized at an age when strong impressions are indelibly retained. her value, the tremendous value of an unsmirched virtue, a woman's greatest asset in a world of desire and barter, became to her a possession she cherished above her jewels, above the money she could earn and save and the greater sums she dreamed of earning or winning by any means--all means but one. her observations of the women about her who gave all for so little, her meditations upon them, and the conclusions she drew from their maimed lives only emphasized the resisting force of her nature. she was not born to be a leaf in the current, whirled by the force of waters into a safe haven or an engulfing whirlpool as chance might decide; she must dominate the currents. and with the temptations of her youth, and her ardent emotional temperament, would also come the remembrance of those haggard girls with their pinched blue lips, the suffering in their eyes, their delicate faces aged and yellowed and lined and spoiled, weeping with shaking sobs, telling her pitiful stories, and begging her for money, for a word with the management. and, when they had gone, she had turned to her looking-glass and gazed at herself with conscious pride and delight. contempt, not pity, stirred her heart for the draggled butterflies whose gauzy irridescence was but for a moment; and before her mirror she constantly renewed her vows that never would she barter her bloom, her freshness, her exquisite grace for what those girls had to show. she had seen a great french actress roll across the desert in her private car, to meet in every city the adulation of thousands and it had stimulated her ambition enormously. she was by nature as insatiable as the horse-leech's daughter; she would take all--love, money, jewels in return for her barren coquetries. the fact that she was "straight," as she phrased it, gave her sufficient excuse for her arrogant domination. unfortunately for hanson, there was no particular temptation in what he could offer in the way of professional advancement. she was perfectly cognizant of her own ability, aware that its resources were scarcely developed. already her field widened continually. she was in perpetual demand with her public, and therefore with her managers. but she loved hanson. in all of the love affairs in which she had been involved she had never really cared before, and now only her strong will kept this attraction from proving overmastering. and here came the struggle. the right or the wrong of the matter, the morals of it, did not touch her. it was the clash of differing desires, a clash between passion and this secret, long-cherished pride of virtue. "honey, honey," he was back at her side again; his voice was hoarse and ragged, but for that very reason it moved her. all at once the primitive woman, loving, yielding, glad and proud to yield, stirred in her, rose and dominated her hard ambition. she lifted her head a little and, still with it turned from him, looked at the pagan glory of the day. her eyes closed with the delight of that moment. she felt her resistance breaking down, the weakening and softening of her resolutions. was she at last to know the splendor of loving and giving? "ain't you played with me long enough, pearl?" his voice was in her ear, a broken, husky whisper. "what's the use? why, of course," grasping at his usual self-confidence, "i'm a fool to get scared this way. you've showed me that you care, you have, honey; and i guess," with a nervous laugh, "the black pearl hasn't got any damn fool scruples such as i've been frightening myself out of my skin by attributing to her." imperceptibly, almost, her whole body stiffened. her soft, relaxed, yielding attitude was gone. but she remained silent, the same ominous, brooding silence that the desert had held before the storm, had hanson but noticed. he did not. he was still pleading: "why all the time you been keeping me on the anxious seat, i been telling myself that the black pearl--" "yes, the black pearl," she interrupted him with her low, unpleasant laugh. "don't you care a little that i got that name, rudolf?" "care!" he wound his arms about her now and buried his face in the great waves of her inky, shining hair, wildly kissing the nape of her neck; but with a deft twist of her lithe body she slipped almost away from him, although his arms still held her. "care? of course i care. but what's that got to do with it when i love you like i do? pearl, if you were a good deal blacker than you're painted it wouldn't make any difference to me." he strove to draw her nearer to him, but again she slipped away, this time escaping the circle of his eager arms. for the first time her face was turned toward him, but her eyes were cast down, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks. "but i must be pretty bad to get called the black pearl," she said in that same low voice; all of its sliding, drawling inflections were gone; it was strangely tense. "i guess so, damn it!" he cried; "but i'm past caring, pearl. i got a hunger and thirst for you, honey, such as men die of out there in the desert. before god, i don't care anything about your past or your present, if you'll only love me for a while." with that low, harsh laugh of hers that sounded in his ears afterward like the first muttering menace of the sand wind over the desert, the storm broke. her eyes had an odd green glitter, her face was white, a dusky white, and her upper lip was drawn back from her teeth at each corner of the mouth. "you fool!" her voice was a muffled scream. "oh, you fool! sweeney could have told you better, any man on the desert could have told you better. the black pearl! why, i've been called the black pearl since i was a baby, almost. it's my hair and my skin and my eyes." [illustration: "'i'll show you what i'll do.'"] he didn't believe her, but he saw his blunder at once; cursed himself for it, and, mad to retrieve himself, began incoherent explanations and excuses. "of course," he stammered, "of course, i--i--was just fooling, you know. but, well, what does it matter, anyway? oh, pearl, girl! don't look at me like that. don't!" "i'll do worse than look at you, if you come any nearer me," she threatened. "do you think i ride all over the desert where i've a mind to without protection? i guess not." she lifted her skirt with a quick movement and drew a long knife, keen as a stiletto, from her boot. hanson went a little whiter, but he was no coward. "come on then, finish it for me," he said. "your eyes are doing it anyway. oh, pearl!" he fell again to desperate pleading, "you won't turn me down just for a mistake?" "me, the black pearl, held cheap!" she muttered and raised her stag-like head superbly, "and by you! you that pick up women and drop them when you're tired of them. me, the black pearl." she turned quickly and ran to her waiting horse, loosening the tether with quick, nervous fingers. hanson followed her. "pearl, you ain't going to leave me?" but she was already in the saddle. he caught at her bridle and held her so. "pearl, i made a mistake"--he was talking wildly, rapidly--"but you ain't going to throw me down just for that--you can't. think how happy we've been this last week--think how we've loved each other. why, you can't turn me down, just for one break, you can't." "can't i?" she said, her teeth still showing in that unpleasant way. "can't i? well--if you don't get out of my way i'll show you what i'll do. slash you across your lying face." her arm was already uplifted, riding crop in hand. "let me go!" her voice was so low that he hardly heard it, but full of a thousand threats. then, swerving her horse quickly to one side, she jerked the bridle from his slack fingers and was off across the desert. chapter vii it was about an hour after pearl had ridden away to meet hanson among the palms that bob flick joined mr. gallito, who sat, as usual, upon the porch of his home, smoking innumerable cigarrettes. he was his composed and imperturbable self, exhibiting outwardly, at least, no trace of anxiety, but flick looked worn, almost haggard. gallito had just told him of pearl's early departure and also of the fact that she had left no word intimating when she might return or in what direction she was riding; but when flick expressed regret that this had been permitted, he merely lifted his shaggy brows. "what is done is done," he said. "she slipped away before either hugh or myself knew that she was gone, and what could we or you, for that matter, have done to prevent her?" "i wish i'd been here," muttered flick uneasily. "i'd have done something." but his tone did not bear out the confidence of his words. "i am too old and, i hope, too wise," returned the spaniard, "to attempt to tame the whirlwind. but cheer up, my friend. although she rode off to meet this hanson, without a doubt, still, the day is not over." "you know what she is when her head is set," murmured flick. "i! have i not cause?" exclaimed gallito, a depth of meaning in his tone. "who so much? but, nevertheless, she has not gone for good. she would not leave without some of her clothes, especially her dancing dresses and slippers, if she went with him. and her jewels, oh, certainly, not without her jewels!" he smiled wisely. "there are, as you know, certain ornaments about which she has her superstitions; she will not dance without her emeralds. oh, no, console yourself, as i do. she has not gone for good." but flick was not so easily reassured. "i almost wish she had," he said gloomily. "if she don't go to-day, she will to-morrow or next day." "in that case they will not go far," returned gallito and rubbed his hands. his reply had been quick and sharp as the beat of a hammer on an anvil; but now he spoke more softly: "but will she go at all, my friend? you, like myself, have ever played for high stakes. then you know and i know that this is a world where a man may never look ahead and calculate and say, 'because there is this combination of circumstances, these results will certainly follow,'" he emphasized his words by tapping on the table with his long, gnarled forefinger. "the wise man never predicts, because he is always aware of that interfering something which we call the unexpected." he blew great wreaths of smoke from his mouth and watched them float out on the sun-gilded air. "we know that my daughter is as obstinate as a pig and as wilful as a burro, therefore we conclude that she will follow her mad heart and go with this fellow. but there we take no account of the unexpected, eh, lolita!" welcoming the parrot who waddled out of the open door and came clucking and muttering across the porch toward the two men. flick stirred uneasily. he was in no mood to stand gallito's philosophizing, and the spaniard, seeing it, smiled as he scratched lolita's head. "two people can not be thrown much together and not show to each other what is in them," he continued. "you know that my daughter is proud," he lifted his own head haughtily here, "and you know that above everything her pride lies in the fact that no man can scorn her. but this that hanson does not believe." this roused flick to a sudden interest, some light came into his heavy eyes, a dull flush rose on his cheek. "what do you mean?" he asked. "this: yesterday morning when that hound sat there and talked to me there was something i said which made him forget himself in anger, and he said: 'me! the black pearl smirched by me!'" "he said that?" flick's tones had never been more drawlingly soft, but there was a quality in them, an electric and ominous vibration, which boded ill for hanson. gallito nodded. "it is in his mind. it is his thought about her. if he said it to me when he forgot himself he will surely say it to her." "and you let him say it, gallito? you let him go away safe after saying it?" flick looked at him amazed. "i think far ahead," replied the older man. "it is the custom of a lifetime. to act on the moment is to continually regret. do you think i want my daughter's tears and reproaches for the rest of my life? no, i wish to spend my old age free of women and their mischief. this hanson must talk, talk, talk. therefore, if you give him rope enough he will hang himself before any woman's eyes." "but when?" asked flick, and that vibration still lingered in his voice. "i am not so patient as you, gallito." the spaniard made no reply to this and silence fell between them for a few minutes. "oh!" said flick, as if suddenly remembering something, something in which he was not particularly interested, but which would serve as a topic of conversation during these tense moments of waiting; "nitschkan is up at colina, and mrs. thomas." "nitschkan!" a faintly humorous smile crept from gallito's mouth up to his eyes. he was genuinely interested if flick was not. "what is she doing there?" "she came up to look after those prospects of hers, nurse them along a little, i guess, and to hunt and fish some, i guess, particularly hunt and fish. she says she's going to take a bear-skin or so back with her." "she sure will, if she says so," returned gallito confidently. "of course, she got wise to josé right away." flick spoke rather anxiously. "of course, being nitschkan." gallito's tone was quite composed and equable. "well, she's safe, and she'll keep him in order if anybody can." again that grimly humorous smile played about his mouth. "why did she bring mrs. thomas?" flick laughed. "to keep her in order, too. mrs. thomas is big and pretty, with no mind of her own, and she got tangled up in some fool love affair that her friends didn't approve of, so when nitschkan started off on this last gipsy expedition of hers they sent mrs. thomas with her." gallito was about to answer and then, suddenly, he seemed to stiffen, his hand, which was conveying a match to his cigarette, remained motionless, the flame of the match flared up and then went out in a gust of wind. "look, bob, look," he said, in a low voice. "what do you see out there?" flick's eyes, keener even than his, swept the desert. "by george!" he whispered huskily; "it's her, her alone, and coming like the wind." "i hope," cried gallito and gnawed his lip, "that she has done nothing that will get us into trouble." "i hope to god she has," said flick. "the desert'll take care that she gets into no trouble. it'll be as silent as the grave. just another case of a reckless tenderfoot getting lost out there in the sand, that's all." it was indeed pearl, and, as flick had said, coming like the wind. she pulled her horse up as she neared the gate and, when she reached it, stopped him abruptly, slipped down from the saddle, threw the bridle over the fence paling and ran toward the two men on the porch. her face had changed but little since she had left hanson among the palms. even her wild ride had failed to bring back its color, and the curl of her upper lip still revealed her teeth. she stood for a moment before them, slashing her skirt with her riding crop, then she cast it from her and sank down on the porch as if suddenly exhausted. bob flick quickly poured out a glass of her father's cognac and held it to her lips. she took a sip of it and it seemed to revive her. "he thought that i," her voice was hoarse and labored, "he thought that i was like those other women that he has picked up and got tired of and left, selma le grand, and fanny estrel, and others. i wonder where he thinks that i've been living that i wouldn't know about them. fanny estrel! i went to see her once in vaudeville, and, before i'd hardly got my seat, someone next me began to whisper that she used to be one of hanson's head-liners and that he was crazy about her once. and there she was, old, and fat and tired, playing in an ingénue sketch in a cheap house!" she laughed harshly. "that's what he was offering me," with a flare of passion, "and i was too green to know it!" "and he, where is he?" asked her father, speaking more quickly than was his wont and eyeing her closely. "out there, i suppose, i don't care. oh, no," meeting his eye and catching his unspoken question. "he's safe enough; don't worry." "shall i make him shoot, pearl?" asked flick softly. "he won't have much chance with me, you know. i'll get him in pete's place and pick a quarrel. he'll understand. you won't be in it." "no, you won't, bob, although i can see how you're wanting to," she said decisively. "the black pearl!" she broke out presently. "my name's an awful good advertisement. it gives me a reputation for being worse than i am." she laughed cynically. "but he believed it." her whole face darkened again. "he needn't go away believing it, pearl." once more flick spoke softly, persuasively, and once more her father looked at her hopefully. she looked quickly from one to the other as if about to accede, and then, dropping her head on her arms crossed on her knees, she fell into wild and tempestuous weeping. "no," she cried, "no, promise me you won't, bob. oh, oh, oh!" she wailed and rocked back and forth. "what shall i do? what shall i do?" at last she lifted her heavy eyes and looked at the two men. "i want to go away from here, quick," she said, "quick." "with sweeney," said her father, well pleased. "no." she threw out her hands as if putting the thought from her with abhorrence. "no, i can't dance and i won't. i never want to dance again. i never will dance again," passionately. "but that is a feeling which will soon pass away, my daughter," urged her father. "no, no," she wailed. "and anyway, i would never be safe from ru--from him, that way. he would follow me about and try to meet me. he would. i know he would." gallito drew back and looked at her with uplifted head. "afraid! you?" he asked in surprise. "no," she flashed at him scornfully, lifting her head, but again she dropped it brokenly on her arms. "i'm afraid of myself," she cried, suffering causing her to break down those barriers of self-repression which she usually erected between herself and everyone about her. "i'm afraid of myself, because i love him. yes, i do. i love him just as much as ever--and i hate him, hate him, hate him." she hissed the words. once more she sobbed wildly and then she broke into speech again. "oh, i want to go somewhere and hide; somewhere where he'll never find me, where i'll be safe from him." "what's the matter with colina?" said bob flick suddenly. "he'll never come there. a good reason why!" pearl became perfectly still. it was evident that the suggestion had reached her, and that she was thinking it over. her father, too, considered the matter. "excellent," he cried; "excellent." and pearl looked up eagerly. "but when can we go, when?" she cried and stretched out an imploring hand to touch his knee. "to-morrow? no, to-day. you said yesterday, father, that you would be going back at once. oh, to-day! the afternoon train--" she looked eagerly from one man to another. "yes, to-day," agreed bob flick. "you can go as well to-day as to-morrow, gallito." the spaniard had been thinking with thrust-out jaw and narrowed eyes, now he threw out his hands and lifted his brows. "have it so, then," he said. "the train leaves this afternoon. go, pearl, and pack your things. i promised hughie that he should go back with me, but he had better wait a few days until his mother can get her sister to stay with her. you had better tell him, pearl." after she had gone into the house the two men sat in silence for a few minutes and then flick lifted his relieved face to the sky. "if there's any god up there," he said, "i'm thanking him for that unexpected you were talking about, gallito." "ah, that unexpected!" returned gallito. "it is more comforting than many religions. more than once when i have been in a tight place i have relied on it and not vainly. you will go with us this afternoon, bob?" flick hesitated a moment. "i can't," he said. "i've got a lot to do at the mines here, but i can come up soon if you think it will be all right." the old man smiled in his most saturnine fashion and sighed dismally. "i will make a special offering to the church if you come often," he said. "i can see black days ahead of us. she does not like the mountains." "oh, she'll not stay long," flick consoled him. "the summer, perhaps; but she will be ready to sign up with sweeney before fall. she can't stay off the stage longer than that. you'll see." gallito sighed again and pessimistically shook his head. he was far from anxious to assume the responsibility of restoring his daughter's spirits, and had hoped that flick would relieve him of that duty, but, since that was not to be, he accepted the situation with what philosophy and fortitude he could muster and hurried the feminine preparations for departure so successfully that he and pearl actually got away on the afternoon train. this fact was communicated to hanson by jimmy early that evening. hanson had returned to the san gorgonio before noon and had remained in his room until nightfall. as the day wore on and he recovered in some measure his self-control, he began to view the situation in a different light from that in which it had first appeared to him, although, in strict adherence to fact, he could not be said to have viewed it in any light at all in that first hour or two. it was all dense darkness to him, a black despair not unmingled with anger and a sense of injury. but as he sat alone in his room with its windows looking out over the desert, his naturally confident and optimistic spirit gradually asserted itself. again and again, and each time more positively, he assured himself that all was not lost yet by any means. he had been unfortunate enough, yes, and fool enough, to make a bad break; a break that he, with all of his experience, should have known better than to make to any woman. yet he felt that, even admitting that, he could not justly blame himself. the pearl had not only surprised but frightened him by the way she had taken a fact which he thought she fully understood--that marriage was out of the question for him. he was so crazy about her that he had lost his head, that was the long and short of the matter, and had made a fool of himself and hash of the situation; but temporarily, only temporarily. for, and to this belief he clung more and more hopefully, the pearl was too deeply in love with him definitely to close the affair between them for just one break. he would not, could not believe that. it was true enough that he had aroused her passionate and violent anger, but the more violent the anger the sooner it will evaporate, and strange and complex as the pearl was, she was yet a woman; and no woman on earth could long hold resentment against the man she loved. she had, he was able to convince himself, regretted her mad action in first threatening and then riding away from him long before she had reached home; and, without doubt, it was only that high and haughty pride of hers which kept her from returning to him before she had traversed half the distance. but the course of action he had decided upon was sure to win. he would give her a few hours to get over her anger, to regret it and to reproach herself for causing him pain, and then he would give her a little more time to long and ache for him to return to her. he would wait until evening, and then he would go boldly to the gallito house and, no matter what efforts were made to frustrate their meeting, he would see her alone. ah, and she would fly to him, if he knew her aright. all the opposition in the world could not keep them apart, it would only strengthen her determination. and then, how he would beg her forgiveness, how he would plead his love, with passionate and irresistible eloquence; and, if he knew the heart of woman, she would yield. but when the moment came for acting upon this decision he found that it took a certain amount of courage, considerable, in fact, to face not only a woman who had left him in hot anger that morning, but a gnarled and thorny father and also the soft-spoken bob flick; and he decided to stop at pete's place and brace up his courage with a drink. jimmy could hardly wait to serve him. he was like a busy and important bird, hopping about on a bough and, literally, he twittered with excitement. "well," he exclaimed, "where you been keeping yourself, and why wasn't you down to see 'em off?" a cold chill ran over hanson. his impulse was to cry, "who? what do you mean?" but with an effort he resisted the inclination. resolutely, he held himself in check, and, although the hand with which he lifted the glass to his lips trembled a little, he drank off the whisky before he spoke. "couldn't make it," he said. "who went beside--" he paused inviting jimmy's further confidence. "just pearl and her father," returned jimmy volubly. "i guess that was the reason bob went to colina last week to kind of arrange for pearl going up to make a visit to the old man. but shucks!" he broke off, "what am i telling you this for, when you know more than i do?" his bright, beady eyes rested on hanson's with pleased and eager anticipation as he awaited further revelations. "nothing more to tell," replied the other disappointedly. "it's all just as you say. well, i got to go up and see mrs. gallito. i'm off myself early to-morrow morning. see you before that though. so long." he walked away, feeling dazed for the moment and beaten. not at once did he turn his steps in the direction of the gallito home, but continued to tramp up and down the road, and presently, as the cool, fresh air restored his spirit, he was able to think clearly again. his world was in chaos, but, even so, he still held some winning cards. he had no intention, he gritted his teeth as he made this vow, of dropping out of the game. he meant to play it to a finish. those cards! he ran over his hand mentally. there was that commanding trump--his knowledge, his unsuspected knowledge of the whereabouts of crop-eared josé. then his next biggest trump--and here his heart lifted with a thrill--was the fact that pearl loved him. yes, in spite of her anger, in spite of the fact that she had rushed off to colina, where she knew he could not follow her, she loved him; and his desire for her was but increased by the dangers and difficulties with which she surrounded herself. but he must keep in touch with her, and the question as to how this might best be accomplished rose in his mind. mrs. gallito was the almost immediate answer, and he determined, no matter what objections might be raised, to communicate with pearl through that available source. of one thing was he convinced and that was that not for long would pearl linger in the gloomy mountains which he knew she abhorred. she belonged to the desert or to the world of men and admiration, the world of light and color and music. he couldn't see her in the mountains, he shivered a little at the thought of her among them; the cold, silent, austere mountains, so alien to this flower of the cactus. his first poignant disappointment over, and his plan of action decided upon, he wasted no time in seeking mrs. gallito. he found her, to his satisfaction, quite alone, hughie having, as she told him, gone to spend the evening with some friends. she had, before his arrival, been reading the sunday supplement of an eastern newspaper, gazing with longing eyes at the portraits of the daughters of fashion and intently studying some of the elaborate and intricate coiffures presented, in the hope that she might achieve the same effects. "why, mr. hanson!" she cried in surprise at the sight of him. "i thought you'd gone sure, and oh, mercy!" putting her hands to her head, "i ain't on my puffs." "i wouldn't ever have known it," said hanson truthfully. "the fact is i'm not noticing anything much, mrs. gallito, i got a lot on my mind." he sighed unfeignedly and she noticed that he looked both tired and worried. "and say, i wish you'd sit down and talk to me a little." she still stood looking at him hesitatingly, a distressed expression on her face. "i--i don't know as i'd better," she faltered. "gallito, he said, the very last thing he said, was that if you come around--oh, mr. hanson," she sat down weakly in her chair and began to cry. "i thought you was just about the nicest man i'd met for many a day, and here i find you're a dreadful scamp. oh, dear! oh, dear! i guess all men are alike!" hanson bent forward earnestly. he had an end to gain and he meant to gain it. "now look here, mrs. gallito," he said. "you don't want to condemn me unheard. you're not that kind of a lady. i knew that the first minute i set eyes on you. now understand i'm not trying to persuade you that i'm any better than i am, but i just want you to believe that i'm not quite so black as i'm painted, not as black as your husband and bob flick want to paint me, anyway." she twisted a fold of her dress, already half-persuaded and yet still a little doubtful. "but you never gave us a hint that you were married," she ventured timidly. "honest to god, i forget it myself," he asserted devoutly. "how can a man be always thinking to tell everyone he meets that he's still in a legal tie-up, when the only way he can remember it himself is by coming across his marriage certificate, now and then? why, it's a good ten years since me and that woman parted. you don't call that married?" his positive personality exerted its usual influence over mrs. gallito. "'course not," she agreed, although she still sat with downcast eyes and pleated her dress. "i'm a pretty lonely man," pathos in his voice, "and i'd kind of gotten into the way of putting home and happiness and all like that away from me; and then i came here and saw pearl," he was sincere enough now, "and honest, mrs. gallito, it was all up with me then, right from the first minute, and i was so plumb crazy about her that i guess i lost my head. i knew all the time that i ought to tell you and her just how i was fixed, i knew it, but, someways, try as i would, i couldn't. i didn't have the nerve, so i just waited and let the cards fall as they would. maybe i was a fool and a coward. the way things have turned out, it sure looks like i was, but i just couldn't help it." "i guess you ain't any different from most men," she answered, weakly sympathetic, "but you see pearl has her notions, and they're mighty strong ones. it's the way she's been brought up," this with some pride. "you see, me and her pop started out with the idea that we wasn't going to have the pearl live one of those hand to mouth lives that we'd seen girls in the circus that didn't have much training or much ability live. we saw right from the first that she was awful smart and awful pretty, and her pop he had the knack of making money and holding on to it. well, when he saw that she had her head set on the stage and we couldn't keep her off it, it's in her blood, you see, why her pop says: 'well, there's one thing, till she's of age, legal, on or off the stage, she's going to have a mother's care and a father showing up every now and then unexpected.' he's got awful spanish ideas, you know. 'i don't want her kept innocent,' he says. 'my lord, no. it's the innocent ones that have got to pay, and pay big in a world of bad knowledge where ignorance is not forgave and is punished worse than any crime. let her see the seamy side,' he says, 'she's no fool. let her see what those who thinks to live easy and gives themselves away easy gets.' "and pearl saw right off. you see, she ain't so soft-hearted like me," again she wiped the furtive tear from her eye. "pearl's hard. she ain't no conscience about some things. she'll lead a man on and on, when she don't care beans for him, and take all he'll give her, not money, you know, but awful handsome presents. i've seen her let some poor boy that was crazy about her blow in all the dust that he'd saved for a year. oh, yes, she's like her father in more'n one way, both awful ambitious and terrible fond of making money. why," she added naïvely, "i've seen pearl look at a bank note like i never saw her look at a love letter." "well, she won't make much money up in those mountains, not dancing, anyway," he laughed briefly and unmirthfully. "it surprised me a lot, her going," admitted mrs. gallito; "she hates the mountains." "then she won't stay long," put in hanson quickly. mrs. gallito was uncertain about this. "but," she confided presently, "she took on awful to her father and bob flick. i didn't dare come out, but i heard her through the door there. 'where can i go,' she cried, 'where he won't come?' and she kept on saying she'd got to go somewhere where you would never find her, because she didn't dare trust herself, and she cried right out: 'i love him, i love him.'" with these words, the confirmation of his hope, hanson's blithe self-confidence returned. he threw back his head and straightened his shoulders, the light of an exultant purpose flashing in the steel of his eye. "pleasant for bob!" he remarked in vindictive satisfaction; but as he had still an end to gain, he did not permit his mind to gloat long upon the agreeable picture mrs. gallito's words had suggested. "now, just let me talk a minute, mrs. gallito," leaning forward and speaking in his most persuasive manner. "this whole thing is a misunderstanding, that's all. pearl didn't understand what i was trying to say to her, and she lost her temper and wouldn't let me finish. now taking all the blame to myself for everything, admitting that i haven't acted right in any particular, still i haven't had a square deal. you've got the sand and the fairness to admit that, mrs. gallito, and i may say in passing that you're the only one that has, and you've got to admit that i haven't had a square deal; not from the pearl, god bless her, and certainly not from her pop and that flick," his eyes flashed viciously. mrs. gallito filled up his waiting pause with a murmur of confused but sympathetic assent. "i'm telling you now what i'd told them if they'd given me a chance, and it's this," emphasizing his words by striking the palm of one hand with the forefinger of the other, "i'm going back to los angeles and i'm going to move heaven and earth to get free; but in the meantime, mrs. gallito, i got to hear from her, i've got to keep in touch with her, and i believe you've got too much heart and too much common sense not to help me." she drew back with feeble, inarticulate murmurs of fright and protest. "i wouldn't dare," she began. "wait a moment," said hanson soothingly. "i'm not suggesting anything that could get you into trouble. mercy, no! all i want you to do is this, just write me now and then and let me know how things are going, and maybe, once in a while, slip a letter of mine in one of yours to pearl; but," as she gasped a little and opened her eyes widely, "not till you're sure it's quite safe." "well," she agreed, still in evident perturbation of mind, "maybe--" "oh, mrs. gallito," pleadingly, "can't you see that me and pearl are born for one another? you know that she can't live away from the footlights. she just can't. and you know that i can put her where she belongs. you know that our hearts are better guides than all bob flick and her pop can plan for her." his efforts were not wasted. as he had foreseen, his arguments were of a nature to appeal to mrs. gallito, and it required only a little more persuasion to win her promise of assistance. he further flattered her self-esteem by interlarding his profuse thanks with vague hints of the extreme lengths to which his despair might have led him had it not been for the saving power of her sympathy and understanding. he had already risen and was halfway to the door before he appeared to remember something. "oh," halting, his hand on the latch, "where is that--that josé? pearl could not go up there with him about." mrs. gallito, all timorousness again, beat her hands lightly together, in a distressful flurry. "no, he's there," she whispered, and glanced anxiously about her. then she came nearer. "i heard gallito and bob talking about him only yesterday and bob said there was some mischief brewing among josé's pals down on the coast, and gallito said, yes, and if he let josé leave the mountain he'd be right back there again and in the thick of it and sure to be taken and that he, gallito, meant to keep josé in colina all year, if necessary." so great was hanson's satisfaction at this news that he had difficulty in concealing it, but mrs. gallito was not an observant person, fortunately, and, hastily changing the subject, he again expressed his thanks and departed. he left the next morning for los angeles to the regret of his benefactress, jimmy and the station agent. chapter viii the train which bore pearl and her father to colina had already completed its smooth progress through smiling foot hills and had begun a steep and winding ascent among wild gorges and great overhanging rocks before she noticed the change. for the greater part of the journey she had sat motionless, huddled in a corner of the seat, a thick veil covering her face; but now she began to observe the physical changes in the landscape with a somber satisfaction, and, for the first time, accepted the mountains listlessly, almost gratefully, instead of rebelliously. in truth any change was grateful to her; she did not want to think of the desert or be reminded of it, and this transition, so marked, so sharply defined as to make the brief railway journey from the plains below seem the passage to another world, was especially welcome. the human desire for change is rooted in the conviction, a vain and deceptive one, that an entirely different environment must include or create a new world of thought and emotion. so for once the pearl's desire was for the hills. she who had ever exulted in the wide, free spaces of the desert, who had found the echo of her own heart in its eternal mutation, its luring illusions, its mystery and its beauty, now turned to the austere, shadowed, silent mountains as if begging them to enfold her and hold her and hide her. it was dark when they reached colina, but a station wagon awaited them and in this they drove through the village, a straggling settlement, the narrow plateau permitting only two streets, both of them continuations of the mountain roads, and surrounded by high mountains. scattering lights showed here and there from lamps shining through cabin windows, but the silence, differing in kind if not in degree from the desert silence, was only broken at this hour of the night by the desolate, mocking bark of the coyotes. clear of the village, the horses turned and began to mount the hill which led to gallito's isolated cabin. their progress was necessarily slow, for the road was rough and full of deep ruts. the velvety blackness of a mountain night was all about them and even the late spring air seemed icy cold. pearl had begun to shiver in spite of her wraps when the light from a cabin window gleamed across the road and the driver pulled up his horses. "somebody's waiting for you," said the driver. "yes, saint harry," answered gallito. "he's getting supper for us." the door, however, was not opened for them and it was not until the driver had turned his horses down the hill that they heard a bolt withdrawn. then gallito pushed in and pearl followed, stepping wearily across the threshold. the room, a large one for a mountain cabin, was warm and clean; some logs burned brightly on the hearth; a table set for supper was placed within the radius of that glow and a man was bending over a stove at one side of the fireplace, while two women, who had evidently been seated on the other side of the fire, rose and stood smiling a welcome. the air was full of appetizing odors mingled with the fragrance of coffee. as they entered the man turned with a quick movement. he was an odd-looking creature, brown as a nut, with glinting, changing, glancing eyes which can see what seem to be immeasurable distances to those possessed of ordinary sight. he had a curiously crooked face, one eye was higher than the other and his nose was not in the middle, but set on one side; its sharp, inquisitive point almost at right angles with the bridge. he had the wide, mobile mouth of the born comedian, and his chin was as much to the right as his nose was to the left. he was extremely light and slender in figure and his movements were like quicksilver. his hair was black and straight and long, especially over the ears, and he had long, slender, delicate hands, which one noticed at once for their uncommon flexibility and deftness. "supper ready?" asked gallito, without other greeting. "now," replied the other man. he began lifting the food he had been preparing from the pans, arranging it on various dishes and slipping them upon the table with a rapidity and noiselessness which suggested sleight of hand. gallito gave a brief nod and advanced toward the two women, bowing low with spanish courtesy. a smile, a blending of pleasure and amusement, softened his grim mouth and keen eyes as he shook hands with one, whom he introduced to his daughter as mrs. nitschkan. about medium height, she was a powerfully built creature, her open flannel shirt disclosing the great muscles of her neck and chest. rings of short, curly brown hair covered her round head; and small, twinkling blue eyes shone oddly bright in her deeply tanned face, while her frequent smile displayed small, milk-white teeth. a short, weather-stained skirt showed her miner's boots and a man's coat was thrown over her shoulders. a bold, freebooting amazon she appeared, standing there in the fire-glow, and one to whom hardihood was a birth-right. the other woman towered above her and even above gallito. she was a colossal venus, with a face pink and white as a may-blossom. tremulous smiles played about her soft, babyish mouth and a joyous excitement shone in her wide, blue eyes. upon her head was a small, lop-sided bonnet, from which depended a rusty crêpe veil of which she seemed inordinately conscious, and at the throat of her black gown was a large, pink bow. "make you acquainted with mis' thomas, miss gallito," said mrs. nitschkan heartily. "marthy's one of my oldest friends an' one of my newest converts. she's all right if she could let the boys alone, an' not be always tangled up in some flirtation that her friends has got to sit up nights scheming to get her out of. that pink bow an' that crêpe veil shows she ain't got the right idea of her responsibilities as a widow. so i brought her up to my little cabin, just a quarter of a mile through the trees there, hopin' i'd get her mind turned on more sensible things than men. gosh a'mighty! she's got a chance to shoot bear here." "i don't think you got any call to introduce me to the black pearl that-a-way, sadie." mrs. thomas's eyes filled with ready tears. "it ain't manners. i wouldn't have come with her, miss gallito, but i got to see pretty plain that the gentleman," here she blushed and bridled, "that was courting me was awful anxious to get hold of the money and the cabin that my last husband, in his grave 'most six months now, left me." she wiped the tears from her eyes on the back of her hand, a movement hampered somewhat by the fact that her handkerchief had been fashioned into a bag to hold some chocolate creams and was tied tightly to her thumb. "that's what you get for cavorting around with a spindle-shanked, knock-kneed, mush-brained jack-rabbit of a man," muttered mrs. nitschkan scornfully. but this thrust was ignored by mrs. thomas. the color had risen on her cheeks and there was a light in her eyes. shyly, yet gleefully, she drew a letter from her pocket. "i got a letter from him to-day with an awful cute motto in it. look!" she showed it proudly to pearl, josé and gallito. "it's on cream-tinted paper, with a red and blue border, an'," simpering consciously, "it says in black and gold letters, 'a little widow is a dangerous thing.'" the little group seemed for the moment too stunned to speak. mrs. nitschkan was the first to recover herself. "gosh a'mighty!" she murmured in an awed whisper, and allowed her glance to travel slowly over mrs. thomas's well-cushioned, six feet of womanhood, "a--little--widow!" huskily. gallito seized the opportunity here to direct pearl's attention to the bandit, who had been nudging him and whispering to him for the last moment or so. "pearl, this is--" he hesitated a moment, "josé." mrs. nitschkan looked up at him in quick astonishment. "gosh a'mighty," she cried, "ain't that kind o' reckless?" but josé nodded a quick, cynical approval and, with a sudden turn, executed a deep bow to the pearl, one hand on the heart, expressing gallantry, fealty, the humblest admiration; all these sincere and yet permeated with a subtle and volatile mockery. "better so, francisco," he said in a voice which scarcely betrayed an accent, and indeed this was not strange considering that he spoke the patois of many people, being a born linguist. his father had been a frenchman, a gascon, but his mother was a daughter of seville. "but you have not said all." he drew himself up with haughty and self-conscious pride and, with a sweeping gesture of his long fingers, lifted the hair from his ears and stood thus, leering like pan. "crop-eared josé!" cried pearl, falling back a pace or two and looking from her father to the two women in wide-eyed astonishment. "why, they are still looking for him. are you not afraid?" she looked from one to the other as if asking the question of all. she was not shocked, nor, to tell the truth, particularly surprised after the first moment of wonder. she had been used to strange company all her life, and ever since her childhood, on her brief visits to her father's cabin, she had been accustomed to his cronies, lean, brown, scarred pirates and picaroons, full of strange spanish oaths. "you will not mention this in letters to your mother," ordered gallito, glooming at her with fierce eyes. "you know her. caramba! if she should guess, the world would know it." "lord, yes!" agreed pearl uninterestedly. "you needn't be afraid of me," to josé, "i don't tell what i know." "that is true," commended gallito, motioning her at the same time to the table. it seems a pity to record that such a supper was set before a woman suffering from a wound of the heart. women at all times are held to be lacking in that epicurean appreciation of good food which man justly extols; but when a woman's whole being is absorbed in a disappointment in love, nectar and ambrosia are as sawdust to her. on the outer rim of that circle which knew him but slightly, or merely knew of him, the causes of the charmed life which josé bore were a matter of frequent speculation, also continual wonder was expressed that his friends would sometimes take incredible risks in effecting the escape of this rogue after one of his reckless escapades. but josé had certain positive qualities, had these gossips but known it, which endeared him to his companions; although among them could never be numbered gratitude, a lively appreciation of benefits received or a tried and true affection. certainly a dog-like fidelity was not among josé's virtues. he would lift the purse of his best friend or his rescuer from a desperate impasse, provided it were sufficiently heavy. a favor of a nature to put him under obligations for a lifetime he forgot as soon as it was accepted. he caricatured a benefactor to his face, nor ever dreamed of sparing friend or foe his light, pointed jibes which excoriated the surface of the smoothest vanity. no, the only virtues which could be accredited to josé, and these were sufficient, were an unfailing lightness of heart, the facile and fascinating gift of yarn-spinning--for he was a born raconteur, with a varied experience to draw upon--a readiness for high play, at which he lost and won with the same gay and unruffled humor, and an incomparable and heaven-bestowed gift of cookery. to-night the very sight of the supper set before him softened gallito's harsh face. brook trout, freshly caught that afternoon from the rushing mountain stream not far away from the cabin, and smoking hot from the frying pan; an omelette, golden brown and buttercup yellow, of a fluff, a fragrance, with savories hidden beneath its surface, a conserve of fruits, luscious, amber and subtly biting, the coffee of dreams and a bottle of red wine, smooth as honey. "i hope you don't think that we're the kind of wolves that's always gatherin' round wherever there's a snack of food," murmured mrs. thomas softly as she took a seat beside pearl. "we got our own cabin just a piece up in the woods, but josé, he kind of wanted to make a celebration of your coming up." pearl did not answer, but slipped languidly out of her cloak, untwisted her heavy veil, removed her hat, josé's eyes as well as mrs. thomas's following her the while with unmixed admiration, and sat down. josé immediately began to roll cigarettes and smoke them while he ate. "well, what is the news?" asked gallito, as he, at least, began his evening meal with every evidence of appreciation; "good fishing, good hunting, good prospecting, eh, mrs. nitschkan?" the gipsy, for she was one by birth as well as by inclination, nodded and showed her teeth in a satisfied smile. "so good that it looks like we'd be kep' here even longer than i expected when we come." she drew some bits of quartz from her pocket and threw them out on the table before him. "some specimens i chipped off in my new prospect," she said, her eyes upon him. "so," he said, examining them with interest, "your luck, mrs. nitschkan, as usual. where--? excuse me," a dark flush rose on his parchment skin at this breach of mining-camp etiquette which he had almost committed. for a few moments they talked exclusively of the mining interests of the locality. it is this feverish, inexhaustible topic that is almost exclusively dwelt upon in mining camps, all other topics seeming tame and commonplace beside this fascinating subject, presided over by the golden fairy of fortune and involving her. to-day she tempts and eludes, she tantalizes and mocks and flies her thousands of wooers who follow her to the rocks, seeking her with back-breaking toil and dreaming ever of her by day and by night. variable and cruel, deaf to all beseeching, she picks out her favorites by some rule of caprice which none but herself understands. supper over, gallito ensconced his two feminine visitors in easy chairs and took one himself, while josé, with noiseless deftness, cleared away the remains of food. pearl had wandered to the window and, drawing the curtain aside, stood gazing out into the featureless, black expanse of the night. "quite a few things has happened since i saw you last, gallito," said mrs. nitschkan conversationally, filling a short and stubby black pipe with loose tobacco from the pocket of her coat. "for one, i got converted." "ah!" returned gallito with his unvarying courtesy, although his raised eyebrows showed some perplexity, "to--to--a religion?" "'course." mrs. nitschkan leaned forward, her arms upon her knees. "this world's the limit, gallito, and queer things is going to happen whether you're looking for 'em or not. about a year ago jack and the boys went off on a long prospectin' spell, the girls you know are all married and have homes of their own, an' there was me left free as air with a dandy spell of laziness right in front of me ready to be catched up 'twixt my thumb and forefinger and put in my pipe and smoked, and i hadn't even the spirit to grab it." "why didn't you think about getting yourself some new clothes, like any other woman would?" asked josé, eyeing her curiously. "what i got's good enough for me," she returned shortly. "you should have gave your place a nice cleaning and cooked a little for a change, sadie," said mrs. thomas softly and virtuously. "such things look worse'n dying to me," replied the gipsy. "and," turning again to gallito, "the taste goin' out of my tea and coffee wasn't the worst. it went out of my pipe, too. gosh a'mighty, gallito! i'll never forget the night i sat beside my dyin' fire and felt that i didn't even take no interest in winnin' their money from the boys; and then suddenly most like a voice from outside somep'n in me says: 'what's the matter with you, sadie nitschkan, is that you're a reapin' the harvest you've sowed, gipsyin' and junketin', fightin' and gamblin' with no thought of the serious side of life?'" "and what is the serious side of life, nitschkan?" asked josé, sipping delicately his glass of wine as if to taste to the full its ambrosial flavors, like the epicure he was. "i have not yet discovered it." "you will soon." there was meaning in the gipsy's tone and in the glance she bestowed upon him. "it's doin' good. i tell you boys when i realized that i'd probably have to change myself within and without and be like some of the pious folks i'd seen, it give me a gone feeling in the pit of my stomach. but you can't keep me down, and after i'd saw i was a sinner and repented 'cause i was so bad, i saw that the whole trouble was this, i'd tried everything else, but i hadn't never tried doin' good." "no, sadie, you sure hadn't made duty the watch-word of your life," agreed mrs. thomas. mrs. nitschkan ignored this. "now doin' good, for i know you don't know what that means, josé, is seein' the right path and makin' other folks walk in it whether they're a mind to or not. well i cert'ny gave the sinners of zenith a run for their money." she smoked a moment or two in silence, sunk in agreeable remembrance. she had been true to her word and, having decided to reform as much of the community as in her estimation needed that trial as by fire, she had plunged into her self-appointed task with lusty enthusiasm. as soon as her conversion and the outlet she had chosen for her superabundant energy were noised abroad, there was an immediate and noticeable change in the entire deportment of the camp. those long grown careless drew forth their old morals and manners, brushed the moths from them, burnished the rust and wore them with undeniable self-consciousness, but without ostentation. upon these lukewarm and conforming souls mrs. nitschkan cast a darkling eye. it was the recalcitrant, the defiant, the professing sinner upon whom she concentrated her energies. "so you see, gallito," rousing herself from pleasant contemplation of past triumphs, "it wasn't only a chance to hunt and prospect that brought me. i heard from bob flick that josé was still here and i see a duty before me." "she could not keep away from me," josé rolled his eyes sentimentally. "you see beneath that rough old jacket of her husband's which she wears there beats a heart." "i got some'p'n else that can beat and that's a fist." she stretched out her arm and drew it back, gazing with pride at her great, swelling muscles. "but never me, who will tidy your cabin and cook half your meals for you." he smiled ingratiatingly at mrs. thomas, who grew deeply pink under his admiring smile. "why do you not convert saint harry?" "harry's all right," she said. "you need convertin', he don't. i got an idea that he's been right through the fiery furnace like them bible boys in their asbestos coats, he's smelted." "harry got my telegram?" asked gallito, speaking in a low tone, after first glancing toward pearl, "and you have made a room ready for her?" "clean as a convent cell," said josé, with his upcurling, mordant smile. "the wind has roared through it all day and swept away every trace of tobacco and my thoughts." "that is well," replied gallito with a sardonic twist of the mouth, "and where do you sleep to-night?" "in saint harry's cabin." "so," gallito nodded as if content. "that will be best." "best for both," agreed josé, a flicker of mirth on his face. "my constant companionship is good for harry. it is not well to think you have shown the devil the door, kicked him down the hill and forgotten him; and that he has taken his beating, learned his lesson and gone forever. it is then that the devil is dangerous. it is better, gallito, believe me, to remain on good terms with him, to humor him and to pass the time of day. humility is a great virtue and you should be willing to learn something even of the devil, not set yourself up on a high, cold, sharp mountain peak, where you keep his fingers itching from morning to night to throw you off. i have observed these things through the years of my life, and the middle course is ever the safest. give to the church, observe her laws as a true and obedient son, in so far as possible, and only so far. let her get her foot on your neck and she will demand such sacrifices!" he lifted his hands and rolled his eyes upward, "but the devil is more reasonable; treat him civilly, be a good comrade to him and he will let you alone. but saint harry does not understand that. saint harry on his ice peak, and the devil straddling around trying to find a foothold so that he can climb up to harry and seize him with those itching fingers. ho, ho!" josé's laughter rang loud and shrill. pearl, hearing it, turned from the window with a disturbed frown and began to walk up and down the far end of the room, and mrs. nitschkan frowned ominously. "that's enough of your talk, josé," she said peremptorily. "it sounds like blasphemin' to me, talkin' about the devil that light way. remember one of the reasons i come here. gallito, you'd better lay out the cards and let's get down to our game. what's the limit?" "does mrs. thomas play as high as you?" asked gallito. "i don't care much for a tame game," said mrs. thomas modestly, with lowered lids. "they're too many long, sad winters in the mountains when gentl--, i mean friends, can't cross the trails to see you, an' you got to fill up your heart with cards and religion and things like that." josé had paused to watch, with a keen appreciation, the grace of pearl's movements. "caramba!" he muttered. "how sprang that flower of spain from such a gnarled old tree as you, gallito? dios! but she is salado!" gallito frowned a little, which did not in the least disconcert josé, and, rising, he moved a small table forward, opened it and then going to a cupboard in the wall drew from it a short, squat bottle, four glasses and a pack of cards. "your room is just beyond this," he said, turning to pearl. "josé says that you will find everything ready for you. you must be tired. you had better go to bed." pearl twitched her shoulders impatiently. "i am not sleepy," she said sullenly. she threw herself in the chair that gallito had vacated and lay there watching the fire with somber, wild eyes. josé threw another log on the fire and then the two men and two women sat down to their cards. a clock ticked steadily, monotonously, on the mantel-piece, but whether an hour or ten minutes passed while she sat there watching the brilliant, soaring flame of the pine logs pearl could not have told, when suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of someone whistling along the road. it seemed a long way off at first, but gradually came nearer and nearer, tuneful and clear as the song of a bobolink. "saint harry, by all the saints or devils!" cried josé with a burst of his shrill laughter. "ah, francisco, the devil is a shrewd fellow; when he can't manage a job himself, he always gets a woman to help him." his glancing, twinkling eyes sought pearl, who had barely turned her head as her father rose to open the door for the newcomer, exclaiming with some show of cordiality: "ah, seagreave, come in, come in." "thanks," said an agreeable voice. "i got home late and found that josé had made preparations to lighten my loneliness. then i saw the light in your window and thought i would come down. you see i suspected pleasant company." he advanced into the room and then, seeing pearl, who had twisted about in her chair and was gazing at him with the first show of interest she had yet exhibited, he paused and looked rather hesitatingly at gallito. "we have a guest," said josé softly and in spanish. "my daughter has returned with me," said gallito. "pearl, this is mr. seagreave." "saint harry," said josé more softly still. mr. seagreave bowed, although one who knew him well might have seen that his astonishment increased rather than abated at the sight of pearl. as for her, she merely nodded and let her lashes lie the more wearily and indifferently upon her cheek. "really, i wouldn't have intruded," said seagreave in his pleasant english voice. "i had an idea from your telegram, gallito, that hughie was coming with you. sha'n't i go?" for answer gallito pushed forward a chair and threw another log upon the fire. "my daughter is tired," he said. "she will soon retire; but when a man has been from home for a fortnight, and in the desert!" he raised his brows expressively, "pah! he wishes to hear of everything which has happened during his absence and particularly, mr. seagreave, do i wish to talk to you about that lower drift. josé tells me that you have examined it." thus urged, seagreave sat down. he was tall and slight and fair, so very fair that his age was difficult to guess. his hair, with a silvery sheen on it, swept in a wing across his forehead, and he had a habit of pushing it back from his brow; his eyes were of a vivid blue, peculiarly luminous, and his features, which were regular, showed a fine finish of modeling. his age, as has been said, was a matter of conjecture, but judging from his appearance he might have been anywhere from twenty to forty. "don't let me interrupt your game," he said. "it is early yet, and if miss gallito isn't too tired, and if she will let me, i will talk to her while you play." josé smiled to himself and picked up the cards. the game went on. seagreave, receiving no encouragement from pearl, made no attempt at conversation, until at last, stirred by some impulse of curiosity, she lifted her eyes. it was this question of age she wished to decide. in that first, quick glance of hers she had taken it for granted that he was twenty, but in a second stolen look she had noted certain lines about the mouth and eyes which added years to his blonde youthfulness. then her quick ear had caught josé's "saint harry," and to her, who knew many men, those lines about mouth and eyes did not suggest a past of saintship. her surreptitious glance encountered that of seagreave, for he, too, had withdrawn his eyes from the fire for a moment to let his puzzled gaze rest upon her. he had known vaguely that gallito had a daughter, and he remembered in the same indefinite way that some one had told him that she was an actress, but, even so, he could not reconcile this--his mind sought a simile to express her--this exotic, with gallito, these two mountain women, a mountain cabin, and an equally unpretentious home in the desert. she lay listlessly in her chair, a long and slender shape in a dull black gown which fell about her in those statuesque folds which all drapery assumed immediately she donned it; beneath it showed her feet in black satin slippers and the gleam of the satin seemed repeated in her blue-black hair. her cheek was unwontedly pale. a monotone she appeared, half-within and half-without the zone of the firelight; but the individuality of her could not be thus subdued. it found expression in the concentration of light and color focused in the splendid rings which sparkled on the long, brown fingers of both her hands. her narrow eyes met his sombrously. on either side it was a glance of curiosity, of scrutiny. she, as usual, made no effort to begin a conversation, and he, searching for a polite commonplace, said presently: "have you ever been in colina before?" "often, but not in the last two years," she answered tonelessly, "not since you've been here, i guess. i hate the mountains." "i have been here nearly two years," he vouchsafed, "and i feel as if i would never go away. but you live in the desert, don't you?" "sometimes, that is, when i'm not out on the road. the desert is the place. you can breathe there, you can live there," there was a passionate vibration in her voice, "but these old, cold mountains make you feel all the time as if they were going to fall on you and crush you." "do they make you feel that way?" he pulled his chair nearer to her so that his back was turned to the two men, and josé, who saw everything, smiled faintly, mordaciously. "how strange!" it was not a conventional expression, he seemed really to find it strange, unbelievably so. "and you, how do they make you feel?" she asked wearily, a touch of scorn in her glance. a light seemed to glow over his face. "ah, i do not know that i can tell you," he said, and she was conscious of some immediate change in him, which she apprehended but could never have defined. it was as if he had withdrawn mentally to incalculable distances. pearl did not notice his evasion; she was not interested in his view of the mountains. what she instinctively resented, even in her dulled state, was his impersonal attitude toward herself. she was not used to it from any man. she did not understand it. she wondered, without any particular interest in the matter, but still following her instinctive and customary mode of thought, if he had not noticed that she was beautiful. was he so stupid that he did not think her so? but there was no hint in his manner or look in his eyes of an intention on his part of playing the inevitable game, even a remembrance of it seemed as lacking as desire. the game of challenge and elusion on her part, of perpetual and ever more ardent advance on his. he was interested, she knew that, but, as she felt with a surge of surprise, not in the way she had always encountered and had learned to expect. "isn't it strange," she realized that he was speaking again, "that i haven't been drawn to the desert, because so many have had to turn to it? i have only seen it from traveling across it, and then it repelled me, perhaps it frightened me." he seemed to consider this. for the moment pearl forgot the inevitable game. "frightened you!" she cried. "it is the mountains that frighten me; but the desert is always different. it--" she struggled for expression, "it is always you." something in this seemed to strike him. "perhaps i have that to learn." again he meditated a few moments, then looked up with a smile. "you must tell me all that you find in the desert and i will tell you all that i find in the mountains. it will be jolly to talk to a woman again." he spoke with a satisfaction thoroughly genuine. she glanced at him suspiciously. she was uncertain how to meet this frank acceptance of comradeship, free yet from the intrusion of sex. "maybe," she acquiesced a little doubtfully. then she drew her brows together. "i don't want to learn anything about the mountains," she cried, all the heaviness and the dumb revolt of her spirit finding a voice. "and i don't want ever to go back to the desert again; and i don't even want to dance," looking at him in a sort of wild wonder as if this were unbelievable, "not even to dance." he realized that she was suffering from some grief against which she struggled, and which she refused to accept. "you will not feel so always," he said. "it is because you are unhappy now." there was consolation in his sincerity, in his sympathy, in his entire belief in what he was saying, and it was with difficulty that she repressed an outburst of her sullen sorrow. "yes," her mouth worked, "i am unhappy, and i won't be, i won't be. i never was before. it is all in here, like a dead weight, a drag, a cold hand clutching me." she pressed both hands to her heart. then she drew back as if furious at having so far revealed herself. "that heals." he leaned forward to speak. "i am telling you the truth! that heals and is forgotten. i know that that is so." "i know who you are," she said suddenly. "i have been trying to think ever since i heard him," she nodded toward josé, bent over his cards, "say 'saint harry.' i remember now. i have heard hughie often speak of you. they say that you are good, that if any one is sick you nurse him, and that if any one is broke you help him. they all come to you." "yes, 'saint harry'!" he laughed. "oh, it's funny, but let them call me any name they please as long as it amuses them. what difference does it make? i am glad hughie is coming up, i want some music. he puts the mountains into music for me." "and for me." she smiled and then sighed bitterly, gazing drearily into the fire, now a bed of glowing embers. then latent and feminine curiosity stirred in her thoughts and voiced itself. "why are you here?" she said. "why does a man like you stay here?" his elbow rested on the arm of his chair, his chin in his hand, his gaze too upon the fading embers. "i don't know," he said in a low voice, "i had to come." "where from?" she still followed her instinct of curiosity. "from the husks"--he turned his head and smiled at her--"from a far country where i had wasted my substance in riotous living." she frowned a little. she was not used to this type of man, nor had she met any one who used hyperbole in conversation. at first she fancied that he might be chaffing her, but she was too intelligent to harbor that idea, so convincing was his innate sincerity; but nevertheless, she meant to go cautiously. again she questioned him: "from what far country?" he had fallen to musing again, and it is doubtful if he heard her. he saw before him immense, primeval forests, black, shadowy; vast, sluggish rivers, above which hung a thick and fever-laden air; trees from whose topmost branches swung gorgeous, ephemeral flowers; and then long stretches of yellow beach, where a brazen ocean tumbled and hissed. then many cities, squalid and splendid, colorful and fantastic as the erection of a dream, and through all these he saw himself ever passing, appearing and reappearing, and ever scattering his substance, not the substance of money alone; that was still left him; but the substance of youth, of early promise, of illusion and hopes. pearl waited a long time, it seemed to her, for him to speak. at last she broke the silence. "and then?" she said. he roused from his preoccupations and brushed back the wing of hair from his brow. "i realized that i was living, had always lived on husks, and that was what caused the restless fever in my blood, my heart was always restless; and then i began to dream down there in the tropics, really dream at night of these mountains just as you see them here, and in the day time i thought of them and longed for them, as a man whose throat is dry with thirst longs for cool water. then, presently, i began to have brief, fleeting visions of them by day. and gradually the longing for the hills became so intense that i started out in search of them. i traveled about a good bit, and then drifted here. the place suited me, so i stayed." she looked at him puzzled and half-fearfully, wondering if he was quite sane. "and will you stay here always?" she asked. "oh, as to that, i can't say. perhaps. i hope so. life is full here." "full!" she interrupted him. "and life! you call this life?" she laughed in harsh scorn. "don't you?" he looked at her with those blue, clear eyes that seemed to see through her and around her and beyond her. "i!" her glance was full of resentful passion; tightly she closed her lips; but there was something about him which seemed to force her to reveal herself and, presently, she began again. "i am like a coyote with a broken paw. it goes off by itself and hides until it can limp around. but life, real life, is all out there." she threw out her hands as indicating the world beyond the mountains. "if you call this life, you've never lived." he ignored this, smiling faintly. "what is real life to you?" he asked. so compelling was his manner, for no one could shock seagreave and no one could force him to condemn, that she almost said, "to love and be loved." but she resisted her impulse to voice this. "until a little while before i came here, life meant to dance. i know, though, what it is to get tired of the very things you think you love the most. after i've stayed a while in the desert, i've just got to see the lights of the city streets, to smell the stage, and to dance to the big audiences; but after a bit, the buildings and the people begin to crowd on me and push me and i feel as if i couldn't breathe, then i've just got to get back to the desert again." "dancing is your expression," he said. "all of life is love and expression." and now there was a falling note in his voice which her ear was quick to catch. almost she cried: "love! and yet you live here alone!" "yes," he went on, "we must have both. they are as necessary to us as breath. without them--" he stopped, evidently embarrassed, as if suddenly aware that he had been talking more to himself than to her and that in thus forgetting her, he had been more self-revealing than he would have wished. she shook her head, plainly puzzled. "but you are young," she said, and stole another glance at him, adding a little shyly, "at least not very old, and i feel, i am sure that you too have a broken paw, but when that is well you will go back to your own country, to cities again. you couldn't stand it here always." he looked at her, an enigmatic smile on his lips. "couldn't i?" he said. glancing again at her as he rose, he saw that she seemed weary, her lashes lay long on her pale cheek. "oh," with a touch of compunction in his tone, "i have, as usual, talked far too much. you are tired and we must go. josé," lifting his voice, "as soon as you finish that game." "the devil is indeed at your elbow," cried josé, flinging down his cards, "and prompts all you say. we have just this moment finished a game and gallito is the winner." gallito smiled with bleak geniality. "has josé been wise?" he asked, rising and replenishing the dying fire. "fairly so," seagreave smiled, "as far as he knows how to be. he has been up to some of his antics, though. they are beginning to say that this hillside is haunted." while gallito talked to seagreave and mrs. nitschkan and josé argued over certain rules of the game they had been playing, mrs. thomas sidled up to pearl and stood looking at her with the absorbed unconsciousness of an admiring child. "i s'pose," she began, swaying back and forth bashfully and touching the pink bow at her throat, "that it does look kind of queer to any one that's so up on the styles as you are to see me wearing a pink bow at my neck and a crêpe veil down my back?" pearl looked up in wearied surprise. "it does seem queer," she said indifferently. "'course i know it ain't just citified," mrs. thomas hastened to affirm; "but the veil and the bow together's got a meaning that i think is real sweet." she waited a moment, almost pathetically anxious for pearl to see the symbolism of her two incongruous adornments, but her listener was too genuinely bored and also too self-absorbed to make the attempt. "it's this," said mrs. thomas, determined to explain. "the pink bow kind o' shows that i'm in the world again and," bridling coquettishly, "open to offers, while this crêpe veil shows that i ain't forgot poor seth in his grave and can afford to mourn for him right." but pearl had not waited to hear all of these explanations. without a word to the rest of the parting guests, and with a mere inclination of the head toward seagreave, she had slipped away. alone in her small, bare room, undressing by the light of a single candle, the brief interest and curiosity which seagreave had aroused in her faded from her mind. for hours she lay sleepless upon her bed, listening to the rushing mountain stream not far from the cabin, its arrowy plunge and dash over the rocks softened by distance to a low, perpetual purr, and hearing the mountain wind sigh through the pines about the cabin: but not always did her great, dark eyes stare into the blackness; sometimes she buried her head in the pillow and moaned, and at last she wept, permitting herself the flood of tears that she had held in check all day. "rudolf, rudolf," was the name upon her lips. chapter ix within a few days hughie came up to colina, and through the long, chilly evenings near the peaks the little, isolated group met in gallito's cabin. it was understood in the village that gallito did not care to have his seclusion invaded, and this unspoken desire was universally respected; indeed, it was not questioned. in the solitary places are many eccentrics; they have escaped the melting pot of the city, and in the freedom of the desert and the mountains have achieved an unfettered and unquestioned individuality. those who had business dealings with the old spaniard knew that he was to be found in places more easy of access than his lonely cabin among the rocks and trees; at the mine, for instance, of which he was foreman, the mont d'or; or, on an occasional friday evening, in the village saloon, where he mingled with the miners, engaging in the eternal and interminable discussions of local mining affairs. he also kept a horse in the village, a fiery, blooded creature, which he exercised every few days, taking long rides over the various mountain trails. he was universally respected, as his judgment of mines was known to be sound, and his ventures unusually lucky; but no one was ever rash enough to encroach upon the reserve which he invariably maintained. so, with small fear of embarrassing interruptions, although gallito saw that all prudence was observed and every precaution taken, he and josé, mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas sat over their cards, while hughie played upon the piano and harry seagreave listened, with his eyes closed, to the music. he sometimes brought pearl a cluster of the exquisite wild flowers which now covered the mountains, but he rarely made any but the briefest attempts at conversation with her, and after the first evening she showed no disposition to have him do so. instead of rousing from the depression which had overfallen her, she seemed, for a time, to sink the more deeply into it. silent, listless, almost sullen, she passed her days. there was but little incentive for her to go down into the village, and she took small interest in the miners' wives who dwelt there. for a time she was curious to see mrs. hanson, but, learning through hughie that that lady lived up near her mine on a mountainside two miles out of the village, and only occasionally, and at irregular intervals, visited the camp, pearl realized the difficulties in the way of catching a glimpse of her and contented herself with bob flick's description of her. her mother wrote to her about once a week, brief, ill-spelled letters, always with an ardent inclosure from hanson, and pearl would lie out on the hillside during the long summer days reading, and re-reading them, and at night she slept with them next her heart. for the first few months hanson was content to write to her and to extract what comfort he could from her notes to her mother. these he invested with cryptic and hidden meanings endeavoring to find a veiled message for himself in every line. but presently, growing impatient, he began to beg her for a word, only a word, but sent directly from her to him; yet, although the summer had waned to autumn, she remained obdurate, her will and her pride still stronger than her love. sometimes in the evening hugh would beg her to dance, but she always refused. the desire for that spontaneous and natural form of expression was gone from her; and once when hugh had persisted in urging her, she had left the room, nor appeared again all evening, so that it became a custom not to mention her dancing to her. "gosh a'mighty!" cried mrs. nitschkan robustly, looking up from a book of flies over which she had been poring, "think of getting a man on the brain like that." josé, who had been putting away the supper dishes, assisted by mrs. thomas, who had regarded the opportunity as propitious for certain elephantine coquetries, stopped to regard the gypsy with that peering mixture of amusement and curiosity which she ever evoked in him. "but, nitschkan," he asked, "were you never crazy about a man?" "marthy thomas knows more about such goin's on than me," she returned equably; "but since you ask me, i was crazy once about jack, and another awful pretty girl had him. but that wasn't all." she slapped her knee in joyous and triumphant remembrance, and the cabin echoed with her laughter. "ah!" josé hastily put away his last dish and sat cross-legged on the hearth at her feet, looking up into her face with impish interest. "how did you manage him or her?" "you can't manage a her no more'n you can manage a cat," bluntly. "you can't make a cat useful, and you can't make it mind; but," significantly, "you can manage a dog and train him, too. i had to learn that girl that'd corraled jack that a pretty face and ruffled petticoats may catch a man, but they can't always hold him." "what can hold 'em?" interrupted mrs. thomas, sighing heavily. "not always vittles, and cert'ny not a loving heart." mrs. nitschkan snapped her book impatiently. "now, marthy, don't you stir me up with that talk of yours, like men was the only prize packages in life. i can't see what these home-body women love to fool 'emselves so for. you're just like my celora, marthy. 'mommie,' she says to me once, 'i wonder when the right man'll come along and learn me to love him?' well, i happened to be makin' a dog whip jus' when she spoke, and i says, 'celora, if you give me much of that talk i'll give you a hidin', big as you are. you got your man all picked out right now, and you mean to marry him whether he thinks so or not, and he can't get away from you no more'n a cat can from a mouse.'" "no more than i can from you," josé sprang to his feet with light agility and, leaning forward, made as if about to imprint a kiss upon her forehead. but he had reckoned without his host. mrs. nitschkan's arm shot out before he saw it, and he was sent staggering halfway across the room. "a poor, perishin' brother tried that on me once," she remarked casually. "it was in willy barker's drug store over to mt. tabor. celora was with me--she was about four--and i just set her down on the counter and said, 'now, celora, set good and quiet and watch mommie go for the masher real pretty.'" "i don't see why you got to be so rough on the boys, sadie," deplored mrs. thomas, rocking slowly back and forth in a large chair. "'course we know they're devils and all, but if it wasn't for their goin's on, trying to snatch a kiss now and then, life would seem awful tame for us poor, patient women. and even the worst of 'em's better'n none at all. look at me! i had the luck to get a cross-grained, cranky one, as you know. poor seth!" she drew a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. "but you got to admit, sadie, that even he was white enough to up and die before i got too old for other gentlemen to take notice of me." "what'd you want 'em to take notice of you for?" asks mrs. nitschkan abstractedly, her mind on her flies. "it's easy enough for you to talk that way," mrs. thomas spoke with some heat. "you got the what-you-may-callems--accomplishments--that gets their notice. you're apt to skin 'em at cards, you can easy out-shoot 'em, and there ain't a lady miner in the mountains that can pass off a salted property as cute as you." "what's the use of livin' in a world of tenderfoots if you don't use 'em?" growled mrs. nitschkan. "'course. and don't think i'm blaming you, sadie; i ain't." mrs. thomas spoke more gently. "all i'm sayin' is that you can't understand the women that's born feeling the need of a strong right arm to lean on, and has nothing but a nice complexion and a loving heart to offer. the game's a hard one for them, 'cause there're so many others in the field. it ain't always a complexion; sometimes it's a head of hair, or eyes, but whatever it is, competition's keen. i leave it to you, mr. josé, if a lady can say to a gentleman the first time she meets him, 'i got a dandy temper,' or 'i can bake a pie that'll coax the coyotes down from the hills.' no, you got to let the hair or complexion do its work first and sort o' insinuate the rest as acquaintance grows." "there's a man comin' up here to-morrow, marthy, but he won't know whether you got a strand of hair or a tooth in your head; he'll never see you." "maybe he can't help it--not if i stand right in his way," said mrs. thomas, with a coy glance from under her lashes at josé. "oh, yes, he can," returned mrs. nitschkan. "no matter who's in the way he can't see but one person, and that's that sulky pearl; for it's good old bob flick, one of the best ever." two or three times bob flick had come up and remained several days, and on these occasions pearl had roused somewhat from her indifference to life. on his last visit, late in september, he had succeeded in persuading her to ride again, and had sent down to the desert for a horse for her. she would not admit at first that she enjoyed being in the saddle again, but to his unexpressed satisfaction it was obvious that she did. the crystalline, amber air was like wine; the mountains were a mosaic of color; the trees burned red and yellow, glowing torches of autumn, and accentuating all their ephemeral and regal splendor; among them, yet never of them, were the green austere pines marching in their serried ranks, on, on up the hillsides to timber line. one day, as pearl and flick rode among the hills, a flood of sunlight falling about them, crimson and yellow leaves blowing on the wind, she expressed, for the first time, an interest in the desert and a desire to see it again. "i'll have to go back sometime, bob, i suppose," she said, "if it's only to see lolita." "i nearly brought her up with me," he said. "i thought maybe she'd stand it all right for a day or two; then i got afraid she'd sicken right away in this rare air, and i didn't dare." "i guess so," sighed pearl; "but, goodness! i'd sure like to see her again. i'd most give anything to hear her say, 'mi jasmin, pearl, mi corazon.'" "we understand each other, you and me and lolita," returned flick. "we all got the south in us, i reckon that's why." "maybe," she answered. "yes, i'd like to see lolita and mother. she won't leave her chickens and melons and sweet potatoes and all long enough to come up here, and, oh, there's times when i feel like i'd most give my eyes to see the desert again; but i couldn't stand it yet, bob, not yet." a shade had fallen over her face as she spoke and, to divert her, he began to speak of josé. "doesn't he make you laugh?" he asked. "he keeps everybody else on the broad grin." "men," she said scornfully. "i think he works a charm on you that you all put yourselves in danger for a thing like that. sometimes he makes me laugh--a little; but if i had my way i would waste no time in putting him in prison where he belongs. what is it you see in him?" "i don't believe women do like josé much," reflected flick. "except nitschkan," replied pearl. "she says she's trying to reform him and save his soul; but it mostly consists in getting him to do all the odd jobs she can think of, and mrs. thomas is trying to flirt with him." "i guess you don't like him, because you don't see him as he is," ruminated bob flick. "he's not afraid of anything; he'll take chances, just without thinking of them, that i don't believe another man on earth would. he's always good-natured and amusing, and look how he can cook, pearl," turning in his saddle, "just think of that! why, he could take a piece of sole leather and make it taste like venison." but even this list of perfections failed to arouse any enthusiasm for josé in pearl, or to convince her that the proper place for him was not within the sheltering walls of a prison. "well, if you don't care much for josé, how about seagreave?" there was a touch of anxiety in his glance as he asked this question. the jealousy which he could never succeed in overcoming, and yet of which he was continually ashamed, bit like acid into his heart as he thought of seagreave's fair youthfulness; the charm of his long, clear, blue eyes; the winning sweetness of his nature. pearl drew her brows together a little, her eyes gloomed through her long, silky, black lashes. "i don't like queer people," she said petulantly. "he always seems to be mooning about something, and most of the time he acts like you weren't on the earth." an expression of surprise and resentment grew upon her face and darkened it. then, with a gesture of annoyance, she threw up her head, dismissing the subject from her mind. a vision of hanson rose before her and her heart turned to the memory of his ruddy good looks, his gay, bold eyes, his magnetic vitality. "say, bob," she began, a little hesitatingly, "does that mrs. hanson still live around here?" he nodded. "i got a letter from her the other day. she wanted me to attend to a little mining business down in the desert. she's pretty shrewd in business, too." "why couldn't she attend to her own business?" asked pearl sharply. "what's she bothering you, a stranger, for?" "because her father died not long ago and she inherited some property and she's got to go east to see about it. i shouldn't wonder if she's already started." she repressed a sudden start and looked quickly at him, but he was gazing out over the ranges and did not see her, which, she reflected, was an excellent thing, considering the wild and daring idea which had flashed across her mind. if hanson but knew that his wife had left colina no power on earth could prevent him from immediately journeying thither. should she mention the fact in a letter to her mother? she debated this for a day or two, the temptation to do so was almost overmastering, but her pride finally triumphed in the struggle, and she left the matter on the knees of the gods. yet, in the depths of her wild heart, she knew that he would come, that he must long have awaited just such an opportunity, and she had no doubt that he kept himself informed of the movements of the woman who bore his name. her spirits rose in the contemplation of glorious moments when she should live to the full again, when she should feel herself to be as a quickened and soaring flame of passion and intrigue. and what an opportunity! her father was down at the mont d'or all day. hughie, of course, was about most of the time, but she would not meet hanson in the cabin, but out in the golden october weather among the pines. bob flick was returning to the desert the next day, so she had nothing to fear from him. several days, almost a week, passed, and then a letter from hanson, telling her of mrs. hanson's departure, and assuring her that he meant to come to colina, that he would not stop to consider any risks he might be taking, and that he was equally indifferent to her possible prohibition. he was coming, coming on the morning train the next thursday, and this was saturday. she drew a long breath and pressed the letter to her heart. she would never yield to him, never; not so long as that barrier to a marriage between himself and herself--mrs. hanson--remained a legal wall between them, but, oh! if she was to live, she must see him now and again, at long, long intervals; but nevertheless occasionally. the listless melancholy of months fell from her, and those about her, noting the change, laid it to bob flick's influence and to the fact that she was almost continually in the saddle; also hughie and gallito congratulated themselves that she was speedily forgetting hanson. her whole demeanor had changed, she even condescended to banter josé, and she took his jibes in good part; and in the evenings when josé and gallito, mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas, had sat down to the silence of their cards, and hughie played softly on the piano in a dim corner, she talked to seagreave; in fact, their conversations became more prolonged every evening. one morning, a few days before hanson arrived, she had chosen to stroll up the mountainside, instead of riding as usual. absorbed in her glowing anticipations, she had walked almost above timber line, then, presently, just as she realized that she was growing tired, the trail had led her to an ideal and natural resting place, a little chamber of ease. it was an open space where the pine needles lay thick upon the ground, so thick that pearl's feet sank deeply into them as she entered. all about it were gnarled and stunted pine trees, bent and twisted by the high mountain winds, until they appeared as strange, japanese silhouettes against the deep, blue sky. it was delightfully warm here, where the sun fell so broadly, and pearl threw herself down upon the pine needles. the wind sighed softly through the forest, barely penetrating her retreat, and finally, under the spell of the soft and dreamy atmosphere, she fell asleep. after a time she wakened, and slowly opening her eyes saw to her surprise that seagreave was sitting a few feet away from her. he held a book in his hand, but he was not reading, neither was he looking at her, but out through a break in the trees at innumerable blue ranges, floating, unsubstantial as mist in a flood of sunshine. she sat up, and he, hearing her move, turned quickly and met her eyes. "i came here to read," he said, in smiling explanation. "i often come, and, seeing you here and asleep, i thought perhaps you wouldn't mind if i stayed and kept away the bears and mountain lions." she was still a little dazed. "why, why," rubbing her eyes, "i must have been asleep. it is so pleasant here." he turned quickly. "you find it pleasant?" he said, "then the mountains must be beginning to exert their spell upon you." "i don't know," she answered slowly; "i don't hate them like i used to; but i'll never really care for them. i love the desert." "you must tell me what you find in the desert," he said. she looked out broodingly at the ranges, the strange sphynx look in her eyes, but she did not answer him. at last she withdrew her gaze from the hills and glanced rather contemptuously at the book in his hands. "don't you ever work?" she asked abruptly. "you're a man." "sometimes i work down in the mines, if i want to," he replied carelessly; "but i rarely want to. sometimes, too, i write a little." "but don't you want to work all the time with your hands or your head, like other men do?" she persisted. "no," he returned. "to what profit would it be?" there was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. "but you are strong and a man," she spoke now with unveiled scorn. "you wouldn't be content always to sit up in a mountain cabin by the fire like an old woman." "wouldn't i?" he asked. "why not?" the bitterness was more apparent now, and a shadow had fallen over his face. pearl realized that, for the moment, at least, he had forgotten her presence, and in truth, his mind had traveled back over the years and he was living over again the experience which had made him a wanderer on the earth and finally a recluse in the lonely and isolated mountains. it was a more or less conventional story. all events which penetrate deeply into human experience are. they are vital and living, because universal; therefore we call them conventional. seagreave had been left an orphan at an early age, and as he inherited wealth and was born of a line of gentlemen and scholars who had given the world much of service in their day, his material environment offered him no obstacles to be overcome. there were no barriers between him and any normal desires and ambitions, nothing to excite his emulation with suggestions that there were forbidden and therefore infinitely desirable gardens in which he might wander a welcome guest. but life sets a premium on hard knocks. it is usually the bantling which is cast upon the rocks who wins most of the prizes, having acquired in a hard school powers of resistance and endurance. seagreave's pleasant experiences continued through youth into manhood. when quite young he became engaged to a charming girl about his own age whom his guardians considered eminently suitable. among many friendships, he had one so congenial that he fancied no circumstance could arise which could strain or break this tie. and then, on the very eve of his marriage, his sweetheart had eloped with this friend of his boyhood, and he had not only this wound of the heart to endure, but also the consciousness that he was pilloried as a blind fool by all of his acquaintances. consequently he had, in his first young bitterness and heartbreak, taken a sort of gloomy satisfaction in living remote from his fellow beings and burying himself in the wilds, ever strengthening his capacity to do without the ordered and cultivated life of which he had been a part, and which had seemed essential to his well-being; and he had no disillusionizing past experiences to teach him the philosophy that time assuages all griefs, and that it is the part of common sense to take life as you find it. gradually his new manner of living, of wandering whither he would without ties or responsibilities, became a habit to him. he lost interest in the world of achievement as well as in the world of manners, but so insidious was this change, this shifting of the point of view, that he had never fully realized it until now when, in some way, some indefinite, goading and not altogether pleasant way, pearl was bringing a faint realization of his acquired habit of mind home to him. as pearl watched him and wondered what remembrance it was that clouded his face, her interest in him increased. "i wonder--" she said, and hesitated. her words recalled him to himself immediately; with a little gesture of impatience as if annoyed at his own weakness, he put from him these morbid memories of the past. "you wonder--what?" he asked. she flushed slightly at the thought that he might think her guilty of an intrusive curiosity, but she could not stop now. she must know more. her craving intelligence demanded some explanation. "josé," she said doubtfully and almost involuntarily. a smile of pure amusement rippled about his mouth. "yes," he said, "josé. what about him?" speech came readily enough to her now. "you know what josé is," accusingly. "you know the big reward that is offered for him, and yet you keep him in your cabin and treat him almost like a brother." "quite like a brother," he said; "why not? who would have the heart to put pan in prison? do you think shutting josé up behind bars would make him any better? at any rate, he is safe to do no mischief here, and he is happy. would you want us to give him up?" "i!" she looked at him in surprise and shook her head. "but then we are different, my father and me. he likes bad company, and i guess i take after him. but you, they call you saint harry, you are respectable." "not i," he said earnestly; "you must not accuse me of such things. look yonder at that long mountain trail, leading up to the peaks. there are mile-stones in it. so it is in life. when we have stopped trying to make people measure up to our standard we have passed one; when we have gone beyond forgiveness and learned that there is never anything to forgive we have passed another, and when we have ceased from all condemnation we have progressed a little farther." she made no response to this. in that sunwarmed silence the wind whispered softly through the pines, a sound like the monotonous, musical murmur of distant seas. "but you will forget all that," she said suddenly. "you will go back to the world. i know." he smiled invincibly. "how do you know?" she tapped her breast lightly with her jewel-encrusted hand. "from myself. oh, how i have hated life since i came here, but now i love it again, i want it." she threw wide her arms and smiled radiantly, but not at him, rather at the vision of life her imagination conjured. "i want to dance, dance, dance, i want to live." "and you will dance for us here in the mountains before you go away?" he asked, with interest. "good dancing is very rare and very beautiful. there are very few great dancers." "yes, only a few," she said briefly. he could not know that she was one of them, of course, but nevertheless it piqued her vanity that he did not divine it or take it for granted. she resolved then and there to show him how she could dance, and as she decided this, a subtle, wicked smile crept about her lips. since he was so sure that he would never return to the world, the world should come to him. "but you haven't said yet that you would dance for us," he said. "yes," the same smile still lingering in her eyes and on her lips, "yes, i will. the camp have sent half a dozen invitations for me to do so, through hughie. they have a dance once a week in the town hall, don't they? when is the next one?" "i think i heard hughie say next thursday night. he always helps out the orchestra when he is here, doesn't he?" next thursday night! her eyes widened. that was the evening of the day that rudolf was coming. perhaps--perhaps, he would stay over and see her, it was not much of a risk he would be taking in doing so. her father would not go down to see her dance, he would prefer to sit over his cards with josé, and no one else knew hanson. oh, what a prospect! she almost clapped her hands with joy. the wind sent a shower of pine needles over them, and seagreave looked up, scanning the sky with a keen glance. "it will soon be time for the snow to fly," he said. she looked at him incredulously. "why, it is mild as summer." "yes, but this is october, and october in the mountains. perhaps in only a few days now the ground will all be covered with snow." "i hope i shall be away before that time," shivering a little. "but think what you will miss. think how beautiful it will be; all still, just a great, white silence; the snow with its wonderful shadows, and sometimes, when the air is very clear, i seem to hear the chiming of great bells." she shivered again and rose. "i don't believe i'd like it," she said. "i think it would frighten me." he walked down the hill with her to gallito's cabin, but on their way they spoke little. her mind was full of hanson's coming, and of the revelation of dancing which she meant to show him and, incidentally, saint harry. it was not until later in the day that she remembered how impersonal, according to her standards, her conversation with seagreave had been. not once, either by word or look had he told her that she was beautiful and to be desired. a new experience for her; never before had she encountered such an attitude in any man. it must be, therefore, that there was some other woman in his life; but where? certainly not here in colina or she would have heard of it, and he had been in the mountains two years without leaving them. surely he, too, must have known unhappiness in love. at intervals during the day she built up various hypotheses explaining the circumstances of his grief, and she also let her imagination dwell upon the woman, picturing her appearance and wondering about her disposition. that evening at supper she arranged with hugh that she was to accept the standing invitation of the camp, and that she would dance for them the following thursday evening, and with an entire return of enthusiasm talked music and different steps to him until josé and mrs. thomas, rendered more expeditious even than usual by their interest in the topic, had cleared away all traces of the meal and moved the table back against the wall. then hugh began to play. "wait a minute," pearl cried to him, "until i get my dancing slippers and my _manton de manila_." she vanished through the doorway leading to her room and reappeared presently, a fan in her hand and a gorgeous fringed, silken shawl thrown about her; it was white and embroidered in flowers of all colors. "ready," she called over her shoulder to hugh. then she also began, but not at once to dance; instead, she executed a series of postures; almost without apparent transition she melted from one pose to another of plastic grace, her body the mere, boneless, obedient servant of her directing will. these she followed with some wonderfully rapid exercises. sometimes she stood perfectly still and one saw only the marvelous play of her body muscles, plainly visible, as no corsets had ever fettered her unmatched lines. again, holding the body motionless, she moved only the arms, now with a slow and alluring rhythm, and again with incredible rapidity, showing to the full the flexibility and liquidity of the wrist movements for which she was later to be so famous. then holding the body and arms quite still she danced only with her legs, and then arms, legs, body married in a faultless rhythm, she whirled like a cyclone about the room. her father and josé sat and smoked and watched her every movement with keen, critical eyes. were they not spaniards who had danced all through their childhood and youth, as naturally as they breathed? about gallito's mouth played the bleak smile which in him betokened content, while josé could barely wait for her to finish her preliminary exercises before he besought her to let him join her. even mrs. nitschkan laid down some fishing tackle with which she was engrossed and mrs. thomas looked on admiringly and half jealously. "dios," cried josé plaintively, "hughie's music invites me, even if the señorita does not." pearl smiled complaisantly upon him. "the jota!" she said, and immediately he joined her, making no bad second. together they danced until seagreave came down from his cabin, and then, flushed and laughing, she flung herself into a chair and refused to go on, although he begged her to do so. "say, sadie," breathed mrs. thomas, "don't you believe i could learn to do that?" "no," returned her friend, looking up from an earnest contemplation of various hooks, "i don't believe that no woman that's been married and had children and sorrows and buried a husband and is as heavy as a hippopotamus, and stumbles and interferes with both feet like mis' evans's old horse, whitey, can learn something where the trick of it is keepin' up in the air most of the time." "you needn't hurt a person's feelings by being so harsh." mrs. thomas's eyes filled with tears. "oh, jus' take in mr. seagreave," she whispered; "i haven't seen him look at a lady that way yet." "cert'ny not at you. he ain't seem' no miner's wives," returned mrs. nitschkan cruelly. "father," cried pearl joyously to gallito, "i have lost nothing. i am not even tired, nor stiff. if anything, i am better than ever. isn't it so? no," as seagreave still continued to urge josé and her to dance, "no," she lifted her narrow, glittering eyes to his, all the old challenge in them again, the pale coffee stains beneath them had deepened, her cheeks held the flush of a crimson rose, "not until thursday night, then i shall dance the desert for you, and not alone the desert," she flashed her man-compelling, provocative smile straight into his eyes, "i shall bring the world to you, and then you will find how tired you are of these old mountains." he smiled at her serenely, remotely, as one of the high gods might have smiled upon a lovely, earthly bacchante. what had the vain and fleeting world to offer him who had so long ignored it? then, while hugh still continued to play, seagreave followed her to a shadowy seat near a window, whither she had withdrawn to be out of the warmth of the fire, and together they sat there talking until the moon dropped behind the mountain. josé, having finished his game of cards with gallito and the two women, who had now left the table and were examining pearl's _manton de manila_, sent his twinkling, darting glance in their direction. "caramba!" he cried softly, "but she has the sal andaluz, she can dance! i have seen many, but not such another." and then he crossed his arms and bent his body over them and rocked back and forth in soundless and apparently inexhaustible mirth in which gallito finally joined him. "i don't know what you are laughing at, josé," he said; "but it is very funny." "i laugh that the devil has chosen you as an instrument, my francisco," he said. "because i give you shelter?" asked gallito, lighting another cigarette. "because the devil schemes always how he can lure saint harry from his ice peak. he has not succeeded with cards, nor with wine, nor even with me, for i have tried to tempt him to plan with me those little robberies which for amusement i dream of, here in these damnable solitudes. but before he was a saint he had a wild heart, had harry. you have but to look at him to know that. have you forgotten that he has not always lived in these mountains? do you not recall that he was middle-weight champion of cape colony, that he was a scout all through the boer war? that he also saw service in india and has certain decorations to show for it? saint harry! ha, ha, ha! "the one thing he could not resist was any kind of a mad adventure, all the chances against him and all the hounds on top of him, and he pitting his wits against them and scheming to outwit them. a petticoat could never hold him. oh, yes," in answer to gallito's upraised brows, "there have been one or two, here and there, but they meant little to him, as any one might see. but, as you know and i know, gallito, the devil often wins by persistence; he never gives up. so, although saint harry's case is a puzzling one, the devil is not discouraged. he looks about him and says, 'my friend, gallito, my old and tried friend, has a daughter, beautiful as a flower, graceful as a fountain. i will bring her here and then saint harry will scramble off his ice peak fast enough.'" "your foolish wits run away with you," growled gallito. "my legs must run away with me now," said josé, rising and stretching his arms and yawning. "but tell me first why was your daughter sad when she first came here?" "because she had fallen in love with a damned rascal," said gallito bitterly, "after the manner of women." "after the manner of women," josé nodded, and whispered behind his hand, so that the two mountain ladies might not overhear him. "believe it or not, many have loved me. but women like extremes, too; if they love rascals, they also adore saints. they see the saint standing there in his niche, so calm, so peaceful and composed, entirely forgetful of them, and this they cannot endure. their brains are on fire; they spend their time scheming and planning how they can claw him down from his pedestal. they burn candles and pray to all the saints in paradise to help them, and they offer hostages to the devil, too. they do not really know the difference between devil and angel or between good and bad; but they cannot bear it that the saint is indifferent to them. that is something that drives them mad. ah, it is a strong saint that can stand firm in his niche against their wiles." "it is an experience that you will never suffer from, josé." "but who can say?" exclaimed josé, and speaking with gravity. "some day i shall devote myself to good works and to making my peace with the church, and who knows, i may yet be a saint. but one thing i am sure of, i shall never leave my niche for a woman." "you know nothing, josé." "i know that i will never waste my cooking on a woman. i will enter a monastery of fat monks first and cook for them. they will appreciate it. but to return to saint harry and your daughter now--" "come," said gallito harshly, pushing back his chair, "it is time you went home. the ladies," indicating mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas, who had been getting on their capes and hoods, "are waiting for you to escort them." chapter x as the day drew near upon which pearl expected to meet hanson again all things seemed, as if by some special arrangement with the fates, to accommodate themselves to her plans. she had intended to ask seagreave for the use of his private parlor among the pines, intimating that she desired to retire thither to practice some new steps, and, lo! the night before, after discussing weather probabilities with her father and josé, he had decided to spend the greater part of the day in the village laying in a full stock of winter provisions. hughie also would be in the village, making arrangements for the event of the evening and seeing that the piano was properly installed and tuned. gallito would of course be at the mont d'or, and as for josé, he had announced his intention of assisting mrs. thomas in the making of some delicate and elaborate cakes, difficult of composition and of which pearl was especially fond, and also of constructing certain delicious pastries. no one could think of josé as merely cooking; the results of his genius justified the use of such high-sounding words as "composing" or "constructing." thus, his morning would be fully occupied. propitious fates! her pathway was smoothed before her; yet, alas! such is the perversity of the human mind, that as the morning dawned, as the minutes ticked themselves away on the clock, as the hour drew near when she should again meet hanson, after all these months of separation, her spirit grew heavier instead of lighter. there was a return of listlessness and an indifference to his coming which constantly increased. she even felt indifferent to her own appearance. at last, reluctantly, she threw a lace scarf about her head and, wrapping a long, crimson cloak about her, she left the cottage and took her way slowly up the hill. as it was yet far too early for her rendezvous she turned aside from the main road and followed the narrow mountain trail which led to the cabin occupied by mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas. the gypsy, in her usual careless, almost masculine attire, stood in the door of her cabin gazing out at the mountains in all their mellow and triumphant glory, the evanescent glory of late autumn. a pick and fishing rod lay across the door sill and a lean, flea-bitten dog dozed at her feet. her arms were akimbo and a pipe was thrust between her teeth. her quick ear caught the sound of pearl's approach and suddenly her blue, twinkling gaze dropped from the hills to the trail which led to her door. seeing who her visitor was, a smile of blended curiosity and welcome crossed her face. "howdy, pearl," she called jovially, "come and set a spell." she removed the pick and fishing rod and dragged the dog out of the way. through the open doorway mrs. thomas and josé might be seen in the room beyond, bending over a table, evidently deeply engrossed in the composition of some cakes. "i can only stay a minute; i got a notion to walk this morning." there was a cool deviltry in the slanting gaze with which she surveyed the other woman. "seagreave, i'll bet," returned mrs. nitschkan frankly. "it ain't in either you or marthy thomas to let a man alone. what possesses you, anyway?" pearl continued to regard her with that subtle, burning, mocking look. "your kind can never know," she taunted. "mebbe," said mrs. nitschkan laconically, "but you're different from marthy. she's just mush. she'll be thinkin' now that she's cracked about josé. if it wasn't him it would be your father, and if there wasn't no man up here at all, she'd hoist that crêpe veil on her head, stick a red or blue bow at her neck and go swingin' down to camp, tryin' to persuade herself an' me that all she went for was a package of tea or some bacon. but you're different, always a yellin' about bein' free and yet always a tryin' to get tangled up." again pearl laughed wickedly. "you tramp woman! why would you rather hunt bear or mountain lions than shoot squirrels? because there's danger in it." she laughed mirthlessly. "i guess it's for the same reason that i got to hunt the biggest game there is--man, and he hunts me." mrs. nitschkan relighted her pipe. "bob flick's your best bet," she remarked impersonally. "talk about guns and fishing rods and dogs, something you know about," said pearl scornfully, touching the dozing dog lightly with her foot. he growled angrily, resenting the liberty. "you better leave flip alone," cautioned mrs. nitschkan; "he's liable to bite anybody but me. always be kind to dumb animals, 'specially cross dogs. and, say, pearl, i been running the cards this morning. it was such a dandy day that i didn't know whether i'd do some assessment work or spend the day fishin'; the cards decided in favor of fishin'. i had to get some light so's i could tell how to go ahead. how any one can get along without a pack of cards! it's sure a lamp to the feet. if you wait a minute i'll run 'em for you." she vanished inside and returned immediately with a board and a well-worn pack of cards. these she shuffled and, after pearl had cut them several times, she began to lay them out in neat rows on the board on her knee, uttering a strange, crooning sound the while and studying each card as it fell with the most absorbed interest. "um-mmm!" with a heavy sigh and shaking her head forebodingly. "you better go home, girl, as fast as you can and shut yourself up in the cabin all day. did you ever see anything like that?" pointing to the cards. "trouble, trouble, nothin' but trouble. if it ain't actual murder an' death, it's too near it to be any joke. look how them spades turns up every whipstitch. how can folks doubt!" but the cards of evil omen lying there on the board before had roused all of pearl's inherent superstition and stirred her swift anger against mrs. nitschkan. "parrot-croaker!" she exclaimed angrily, and followed this with a string of spanish oaths and expletives. "trouble is over for me." mrs. nitschkan was on her feet in a minute. the board and the cards fell unheeded to the ground. her small, quick eyes began to roll ominously and show red, and her relaxed figure became immediately tense and alert as that of a panther on guard. "trouble's just beginnin' for you," her voice was a mere guttural growl. "a little more sass from you, you double-j'inted jumpin'-jack dancer, and i'll jerk you to the edge of that cliff yonder and throw you down. i'm feelin' particularly good right now," rolling up her sleeves and showing the great knots of swelling muscles on her arms. "get out of my way." with one big sweep of her arm she brushed her companion aside as if she had been a fly; but with incredible rapidity pearl recovered herself and sprang directly before her. "then get me out," she taunted, "try it, try it. i'd slip through your fingers like oil. it's no good to flash your over-sized man-muscles on me; i'm made of whip-cord and whalebone. do you get that?" mrs. nitschkan's courage sprang from a sense of trained and responsive muscles and of tremendous physical strength, but at the sound of that cool voice, those mocking, unwavering eyes, there swept over her an awe of the slighter woman's far higher courage. it was an almost superstitious fear and respect which chilled the hot blood of her passion, the instinctive obedience of the flesh to the indomitable spirit. reluctantly, against her will and in spite of her anger, the fighting gipsy paid deference to the steel-like, unflinching quality of the pearl, when, rising above her slender physique, she faced unafraid the brute strength which threatened her, and dominated the situation by sheer consciousness of power. the gypsy, chilled and subdued, confused by forces she could not understand, fell back a step or two and pearl seized this opportunity to slip away, calling a careless good-by over her shoulder. but the depression which had touched her from the time she wakened now lay heavier on her spirit. her mind reverted to the cards of ill omen and she shivered with a faint chill of apprehension. and as she walked on it seemed to her that the atmosphere was in tune with her mood. the air was soft, and yet sharp enough to quicken the color in her cheeks, but still indefinably wistful. the song of the wind among the pines, that mountain wind which never ceases to blow, had a sort of sighing pensiveness in its falling cadences. the deep, blue sky dreamed over the russet tree tops and the yellow leaves filled the forest with their flying gold. and the spirit of the year seemed to have entered into pearl. she was as wistful as the day, as pensive as the sighing wind. she arrived early at her destination. the sun lay warm in her little bower of encircling pines and she sat down on a fallen log to await hanson's coming. he could not take her by surprise for, through a little opening in the trees, she could see the trail, it was in plain view. sitting down then to wait, she rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. it seemed as if the power of anticipation were gone from her. she wondered dully at her own languor, not only of body, but of mind. in a few moments she would see again the man whom she had passionately loved, and in parting from whom she had not dreamed it to be within human possibility so to suffer, and yet, at the prospect of meeting him again, her heart throbbed not one beat faster. she could not even look forward to dancing that night with any excitement or pleasure. she wondered what seagreave would think of her when he saw her; she would be a vision far more brilliant than any spirit of the autumn woods, and she would wear her emeralds again, the emeralds for which bob flick had squandered a fortune. she put up her hand and touched them where they hung about her neck, concealed under her gown, for she wore them night and day, never allowing them to leave her person. good old bob! seagreave had said there were only a few great dancers. well, she would show him. she could dance; no matter how critical he was, he would have to admit that. and then her heart seemed suddenly to run down with a queer, cold little thrill. there was hanson ascending the trail. he was only a few feet away, and even as she jumped to her feet he saw her and waved his hand. he paused a moment for breath and then hurried on. "pearl!" he cried, and caught her in his arms, covering her face with kisses and crushing her against his heart. it seemed hours to her, but it was really only a moment before she pushed him from her, slipped from his arms, and stood panting and flushed before him. "pearl, o pearl!" he cried again, and would once more have caught her deftly to him, but again she slipped from him. "sit down," she cried petulantly, motioning to the fallen log. "you're out of breath, you've had a long climb." she herself sat down and he followed her example, encircling her with his arms; a tiny frown showed itself in her forehead and she bent slightly forward as if to evade his clasp, folding her arms about her knees. "gee! you bet it was a climb," he said, wiping his brow and still breathing a little hard. "but i'd have climbed right on up to heaven if you'd been there waiting for me. lord, pearl! if i'd had to wait much longer to see you it would have finished me, i do believe. oh, sweetheart, you're lovelier than ever, and you're not going to punish either of us any more, i can tell you that. you're coming down with me and we're going to live, pearl, live, just as i told you we would, down there in the palms in the desert. now i'm telling you again among the pines, and this time you're going to listen and come. i guess we've both of us pretty well found out that it's no use our trying to live apart any longer." her crimson cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and hanson, holding her hand in his, had pushed up her sleeve and was kissing her arm, as he talked, up as far as her elbow and down again to the tips of her fingers. she did not even attempt to draw her hand away, she was still in that state of apathy, where all her senses seemed dulled; and so she let him babble on, murmuring his adoration and his rose-colored dreams of the future. "by george!" he exclaimed, in sheer, sincere amazement. "to think of you, the black pearl, spending all these months up here in these dead old mountains without even a moving-picture show to look at. you got an awful will, girl." she gazed with somber eyes beyond him. life, did he say "life"? that was what she asked, what she demanded, life as glorious and as rich in color as a full-blown rose. and only a little while ago she had dreamed that she could find it with him, that _that_ was what he offered to her. she remembered the question that harry seagreave had asked her. "what does life mean to you?" ah, since that first night in the mountains life seemed to have expanded into infinite horizons before her widening vision. she dreamed over them, forgetful for the moment of the man beside her, until he, turning in the full tide of his talk, pressed his lips ardently, passionately to hers. taken by surprise, she uttered one of her fluent spanish oaths and, springing to her feet, stood with her body slightly bent forward, her hands on her hips, gazing at him with her narrow, gleaming eyes. her apathy was gone, she was alive now to her finger tips. he rose, too. "honey, what is it?" he questioned dazedly. "what's got you now?" "don't touch me," she said tensely. "don't dare to touch me." he looked at her unbelievingly and then fell back a pace or two. "my lord! what's the matter with you?" he cried. "i don't know," she muttered wildly. her eyes still measured him, his bold, obvious good looks, his ruddy self-complacency, his habitual and shallow geniality, the satisfied vanity of a mouth steadily becoming looser; the depiction of years of self-indulgence in the little veins on his highly colored cheeks; the sagging lines of his well-set-up figure, ever taking on more flesh. so she saw him, not perhaps as he was, but in the light of her own harsh and unmodified criticism, and mercilessly she reflected upon him all the scorn she felt for herself. she did not consider or even remember that with what strength of affection he possessed he had loved her; that, after his constitution he had given her of his best, all he had to give, in fact; that for her he had more than once faced danger, and just to see her again was even now facing it, fearlessly. he had grown to expect from her an infinite variety of moods, but something in her pose, her expression, frightened him now. "honey, what are you driving at?" he asked, a little tremulously, and stretched out his hand to lay it on her shoulder. but again an oath whipped from her lips, her glance darkened. she drew back from him with the horse-shoe frown showing plainly on her forehead. he looked at her, his whole face broken up, his mouth trembling, something like tears in his eyes. "why, pearl," he faltered, "ain't you glad to see me? why, here i been waiting all these damned, dreary months, never thinking of any one but you, never even looking at another woman, just dreaming of the moment when i could put my arms around you again and know that you loved me and were mine." a hard and bitter smile showed on her mouth. "yours! loved you!" she cried. "my god! you!" her unmistakable, unconcealed scorn was like a dagger thrust in the heart, and that stab of pain stirred his anger and restored him to himself. his face went almost purple, his cold eyes blazed. "say," he cried roughly, "what are you driving at, anyway? come down to cases now." he caught her by the wrist. "what did you let me come up here for? just to make a monkey of me? have you been treasuring spite against me all these months, and is this your way of getting even?" she dragged her hand away from him and stepped back. "i let you come, if you want to know it, because i thought i was in love with you. lord, think of it!" she laughed drearily. "i haven't fooled you any worse than i have myself." he rubbed his hand across his eyes. "it ain't true," he said loudly, positively, defiantly. "hush," she exclaimed, darting forward. "what was that?" there was a sound as if some one had trod the underbrush not many feet away. she listened intently a moment, a wild fear at her heart that seagreave might have returned unexpectedly. it was probably some animal, for there was no further sound. "oh," she cried, in involuntary relief, "it must have been josé!" a gleam came into his eyes, a light of triumph as at the remembrance of some potent weapon of which he had been carelessly forgetful. "and who is josé?" he asked. she lifted her startled gaze to his, the question recalled to her her own unthinking speech. "oh, one of the miners," she said indifferently. he knew her too well to fancy that he could trap her into any new admissions, and he had no wish to arouse her suspicions. therefore he dropped the subject, especially as he felt fully answered. he leaned against a tree and, drawing a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, although the hand with which he did so trembled. "i guess some explanations are in order between you and me," he said. "i guess it's about time that you began to get it into your head that you can't make a fool of me all the time. i'm ready and willing to admit that there was some excuse for you down in the desert. i made a bad break there, which i'm freely conceding was no way to treat a lady. but that don't explain or excuse the way you've treated me this morning," he laughed bitterly. "there's no way to explain it unless living here in the mountains has gone to your head or unless there's another man. is there?" his eyes pierced her. "is there?" she looked back at him with a hard, inscrutable smile, but she did not answer. another man! he couldn't, wouldn't believe it. why, it was only yesterday that they two had met and loved in the desert. again he fell to pleading. "oh, pearl, be like what you were again. don't stand off from me that way, honey. it ain't in you to be so cruel and hard. come back to me, here in my arms. have your spells; treat me like you please; but come back to me. oh, honey, come." she looked beyond him, not at him, and then ground a little heap of freshly fallen pine needles beneath her heel. "what's the use?" she said curtly. "it's over. we can quit right here, rudolf. i'm done with you, for good." his outstretched arms fell by his side, his jaw set. "i guess that's right," he said viciously. "any bigger fool than me could see that; and i'm not going to waste any more time crawling around on my hands and knees after you; i can tell you that. but you can't fool me on the other man proposition." "i'm not trying to," she interjected cruelly. "who is he?" his voice was ragged and uneven. "not flick, i'll bet my hat. he's been your dog too long for you to fling him anything but a bone. you'll never tell me, though." "not i," she answered indifferently. "then i'll just satisfy myself--to-night." she started and frowned. "you're not staying for that," harshly. "it's not safe." "oh, yes, i am staying for that, just to satisfy a little curiosity i've got, and i guess i'll find it safe enough. i guess you've been playing with kids so far in your career, miss pearl gallito; but you'll find that the old man's not quite so easy disposed of as you think. i've got an idea that you'll be down on your knees trying to make terms with him before we're precisely 'quit' as you've just said." "bah!" she said. "wind, wind. you can't frighten me with threats. stay and watch me dance all you please. that's the only way you'll ever see me again--from the audience." without any appearance of haste, she lifted her scarf from the pine branch on which she had thrown it and twisted it slowly about her head, then picking up her crimson cape from the ground, she shook the pine needles from it, wrapped it about her, and without another word to him, without even a look, took her way down the trail. she did not believe that he meant what he said, she did not believe that he meant to stay and see her dance that evening. the thought that he would do so had annoyed her at first, but as she walked downward through the wine-like amber air, she realized that she did not particularly care. her whole being seemed absorbed in the revelation which had come to her in the first moment of her meeting with hanson--her love for seagreave. in this new, exclusive emotion, the recent interview and all that had led up to it became to her a mere unpleasant episode, upon which her indifferent imagination refused to dwell. she wanted to be alone, that she might fully realize this stupendous change in her feelings and in her entire outlook upon life. as she thought upon it she saw that it was no sudden miracle, wrought in the twinkling of an eye, but an alteration of standards and emotion so gradual that she had not been aware of it. back in the cabin she luxuriated, exulted in the fact that she would be alone all day. she piled high the fire with logs, and threw herself in an easy chair. thus she could dream undisturbed, could lie watching the leaping flames and vision for herself again that fair, regular, serene face, that tall, strong, slender figure. she counted the hours until she should see him again, until she should dance for him, for it was for him, him alone, that she would dance. thus she passed the greater part of the day, and even resented the intrusion upon her thoughts when her father returned a little earlier than usual from the mine. "i got a telegram from bob to-day," he said. "all that was in it was, 'coming up to see pearl dance to-night.'" "what!" she cried, showing her dismay. "what is he doing that for?" "what he says, i suppose," returned gallito, "to see you dance." she frowned vexedly, but said nothing. her father spoke again. "how are you going down? you will not walk with bob and hugh, mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas?" "no," she answered carelessly, although a deeper crimson showed in her cheek. "mr. seagreave said last night that he would take me down in his cart." gallito nodded, apparently satisfied, and as josé came in then to prepare supper, the matter was dropped. as for pearl, her vexation of the moment was gone; it could have no place in her mood of exaltation, and when, a few minutes later, she greeted bob flick, he thought that he had never seen her more gay. all through supper, too, her mood of gayety continued, but immediately after that meal she drew flick aside. "bob, i want to tell you something," she said. "no use hughie, nor pop, nor any of the rest of them knowing anything about it," she hesitated a moment, "but hanson came up to-day." there was no change in his impassive face, only a leap of hard light in his eyes, and yet she knew that he was on guard in a moment. "hanson?" "yes, and i saw him for a few moments," she lifted candid eyes to his, "and, honest, bob, it's all over. i never expect to see him again, and i never want to." he looked at her, as if trying to read her soul. "say, pearl, what is this," he asked, "straight?" "it's what i'm telling you," she looked back at him, nodding emphatically, and then her face broke into a smile, her sweetest, her most alluring smile. "say, bob, i got to thank you for a good many things, not to speak of these," she touched the emeralds under her gown; "but the biggest thing you've ever done for me yet was to keep me from running away with hanson." her sincerity was undoubted, and a flush of pleasure rose on his cheek, and a light came into his eyes which only she could bring there. he pressed her hands warmly, looking embarrassed and yet delighted. "you never said anything in all your life, pearl, that ever pleased me like that." she patted his arm lightly and caressingly, and smiled at him again, under her lashes. she couldn't help that with any man. "you're awful good to me, bob; i guess you're the best and onliest friend i've got." "i'm what you want me to be," he spoke a little sadly but very tenderly. "it'll never make any difference to me what you do or what you don't do; there'll never be any change in me." she let her fingers lie in his clasp, but her glance was absent now, her thoughts had flown again to seagreave. "goodness!" she exclaimed, rousing suddenly and glancing at the clock, "i've got to make a hustle for it." she was ready half an hour later when seagreave stopped at the door. hugh and bob flick had already gone, her father and josé had settled themselves for the evening over the cards, and pearl stood before the fire, a long, dark cloak covering her from head to foot and a black mantilla over her head. josé's eyes were full of longing. "oh, that i might go, too," he cried. "the black pearl may dance, dance, after the spirit that is in her; may express her art, but i, although i grow mad to express mine, must stay mewed up in these mountains with nothing to do but cook and play cards and talk to a half saint and a stale, old sinner. if nitschkan and the petite thomas had not come, i should have died. look at those!" he twinkled his long, delicate fingers in the air, "there is not such another pair of hands on a combination lock in all this world." seagreave and gallito laughed, but paid no further heed to him, and harry turned to pearl with a pretense of disappointment. "i thought i should see a butterfly," he said, "a butterfly that had flown up from the land of eternal summer, and you're only a chrysalis." "it's too cold for butterflies up here," she laughed. "wait until i get down to the warm hall." but although she returned his banter, she did not look at him, her eyes were downcast, and on the drive down the hill she scarcely spoke. seagreave was one of those rare persons who respect another's mood of silence, and consequently he did not notice this new constraint which had overfallen her. the hall, lighted with bull's-eye lanterns, was crowded with people, every one of the chairs taken and every inch of standing room occupied. there was no platform, but the space upon which pearl was to dance was screened off by red curtains. but even before she entered the little dressing booth prepared for her, she hastened to peep through the curtains, scanning the audience with an eager eye. her face fell as she saw that hanson, true to his promise, was there, and on one of the front seats, not far from seagreave and bob flick, who were sitting together. his eyes were dull, his face flushed, and he lurched flaccidly in his chair; he had been drinking heavily all day. he was wondering dully as he sat there if she would enter in the same indifferent manner that she had adopted the first night he had seen her down in the desert. probably she would; it had been very effective. but the time for conjecture was over. the curtains were drawn aside, and hugh sat down at the piano and began to play a seductive, sensuous accompaniment. then through a crimson curtain at the rear pearl flashed in as if blown by the mountain wind. the chrysalis had cast aside its shell and this tropical butterfly had emerged. her skirts were of yellow satin, and from a black bodice her beautiful bare shoulders rose half revealed and half concealed by her rose-wreathed, white _manton de manila_. in her black, shining hair, just over one ear, was a bunch of scarlet, artificial blossoms. she floated about the floor for a moment or two like a thistle-down blown hither and thither by the caprice of the wind, scarcely seeming to touch the ground, upborne by the music-tide. throughout her career she was always at her best when she took those first few moments about the stage and waited for her inspiration. then she drifted nearer to hughie and murmured, "the tango." he changed his tempo immediately, and almost without a pause of transition she began that provocative measure--the dance of desire. thrilling with the joy of expressing her love, her beautiful new love for seagreave, through her art, she danced with a verve, an abandon, a more spontaneous impulse than she had ever shown before. the tango! she made it a thing of alluring advances, of stinging repulses, of sudden, fascinating withdrawals and exquisite ardors. when the applause had finally died down, the hall was still noisy with a babel of voices; those who could, moved about in the crowded space, and little groups formed and broke up. bob flick, speaking to this or that acquaintance, felt some one touch him lightly on the arm, and turned suddenly to see hanson standing beside him. "hello, flick," with a sort of swaggering bravado, "our old friend, the black pearl, is going some to-night, ain't she?" "i don't know you," drawled flick, the liquid southern intonations of his voice softened until they were almost silky, "and," his hand shot back to his hip with an almost unbelievable rapidity, "i'll give you just three minutes to apologize for mentioning miss gallito's name, for speaking to me, and for being here at all." hanson's face had turned a sickly white, more with anger than fear. "considering the argument you stand ready to offer," he said, "there's nothing to do but to apologize my humblest on all three counts. i had hoped that you'd remember me and be willing to introduce me to your friend." he turned a cynical and evil glance upon seagreave, who was talking to some one a few feet away. "but since you won't, i'll go, just adding that you and your friend, there, are likely to meet me soon again." there was a touch of scorn in flick's faint smile. "the three minutes are up," he said, and without a word hanson turned and sought his seat. the curtains parted now and hugh again sat down to the piano, but his music had changed; it was no longer sensuous and provocative, but strange, and curiously disturbing, with a peculiar, recurring, monotonous beat. it was the voice of the desert full of a savage exultation in its own loneliness and forsaken isolation, and through it rang a cry of deep, disdainful triumph, as if it said: "all puny races of men, come to me; embroider my vast surfaces with the green of your fields and gardens, build your houses upon my quiescent sand and dream that you have conquered and tamed me. and i abide, i abide. silent, brooding, unwitting of your noisy incursions, i lie absorbed in my dream under my own illimitable skies. but soon or late, when the moment comes, i wake, i rouse, i see my inviolate desolations invaded. then i gather my strength, i drown you with my torrential rivers, i torture you with my burning sun, i obliterate you with my flying sand. so shall my cactus bloom once more, my jeweled lizards crawl unmolested and the cry of the coyote echo again through the vast, soundless spaces of my desolation. then to my looms, to my looms and out of emptiness and silence and space and light to weave all mysteries of color and all illusions of beauty." "lord!" cried bob flick to seagreave, "he's playing the desert. i've seen her look just like the music sounds. that's a sand storm; there's no other sound in the world like it." he turned his eyes full of a puzzled wonder on seagreave. "how can he play all that so that you and i can see it, when he can't see it himself?" "but he does see it," insisted seagreave; "never think that he doesn't, and sees it through finer avenues of sight than mere material organs of vision. he sees the mountains, too. why, he can play the very shadows on the snow for me." during the spanish dances seagreave had not shared the excitement of the audience, and thus had maintained his usual serenity. he had been intensely interested and appreciative and admiring; but emotionally unmoved; but now, as this troubling music of hughie's seemed to express the dominion of unsuspected but potent earth-forces, primitive, savage and forever irreclaimable, his calm became strangely disturbed. dimly he realized that should every desert on the globe finally be subdued by the plow, the irrigating ditches and the pruning hook, they would still remain as realities in the mind of man, forever clouding his aspirations toward the mountain peaks and the stars. for the desert must ever remain an unsolved enigma, never to be reduced to a formula, never to be explained by any human standards; now whispering to man of the mysteries of the soul and revealing to him more of the infinite than his finite senses may grasp; and now mocking him with illusions, her beautiful mirages wrought of airbeams and sunlight, and transforming him into a beast of greed with her haunting intimations of hidden and inexhaustible treasure. thus hughie's music; and presently pearl floated out. she had changed her spanish costume for the one of scarlet crêpe in which hanson had first seen her, a crown of scarlet flowers on her dark hair. her very expression, too, had changed, her eyes were elongated, her features seemed delicately egyptian; the brooding sphynx look was on her face. "she's great, ain't she?" asked bob flick. seagreave nodded. he had never seen her superior in technique. it took character, he appreciated that, to have endured the years of tiresome, mechanical practice, and to have undertaken it so intelligently that she had achieved her marvelous results; and she had, beside, youth and beauty and magnetism. all this alone would have made her a great dancer, but as he recognized, she had more, much more to bring to her art; a complex nature which, in its unsounded depths ever held a vision of beauty, and a sense of this vision which amounted to unity with it, and therefore gave her the power of expressing it. her mind, too, was plastic to all primitive impulses and to nature; she blended with it. she was but little influenced by persons, her will was too dominating, her intelligence too quick, and--but here his analysis ceased. the pearl was dancing to hugh's strange music, she was dancing the desert for him--seagreave. he knew it was for him, although she never glanced in his direction. and as she danced, he grew to realize that this feat was not an intellectual one. she was not portraying the spirit of the desert as gleaned from study and observation and melted in the crucible of her poetic imagination and molded by her fancy until it was a thing of form in her thought. the black pearl danced the desert because in her was the power to be one with it and live in its life through every cell of her being. it was a matter of feeling with her, one phase of her affinity with the forces of earth; but because she had the artist's constructive imagination, she could put it into form and dance it, and by projecting her own feeling into it, convey it to others. the world with its round of outworn, hackneyed appeals, its wearisome repetitions of crude and commonplace joys, its tawdry and limited temptations, had long ago fallen away from seagreave--and left him nothing, but to-night a voice that he had long ignored, the voice of life, commanded him. "if the desert seems forever to claim her own, what is that to you! your work is to reclaim and in the face of a thousand defeats and desolations still to reclaim, with the eternal faith that for you the wastes shall blossom like the rose. work, no matter how brokenly, how futilely. to build houses of sand is better than to sit in profitless dreams and live in an animal content." when later he drove pearl up the mountainside, almost in silence, as they had come, after his few words of admiration and appreciation of her dancing, there was a shadow for the first time in harry's clear eyes, a shadow which did not pass. chapter xi had gallito but known it, his theory of the unexpected was never more perfectly demonstrated than it was upon the night pearl danced and in the days which followed. hanson had left early the next morning with the firm determination of returning almost immediately accompanied by one or more detectives and of securing that much coveted prize, josé. also, he gloated over the prospect of seeing gallito, bob flick and seagreave arrested for conniving at josé's escape and for harboring him during all these months. but the unexpected did occur. as seagreave had predicted, the snow began to fall, and began the very night that pearl danced in the town hall; and fell so steadily and uninterruptedly that the progress of the train which bore hanson down the mountains was considerably impeded. thus, the very forces of the air conspired for josé, and ably were they seconded by other invisible and unknown agencies. even before hanson had reached the coast he found himself powerless "in the fell clutch of circumstance." he had taken cold in the mountains and for several weeks was too seriously ill even to contemplate with much interest his plan of revenge. and by the time that he had recovered sufficiently to give consideration to the matter again, a very little investigation convinced him of the necessity for patience. so thoroughly had the season and the elements conspired, that colina was effectually cut off from the outer world, a camp beleaguered by snow, and josé, for several months at least, would be the prisoner of the mountains and not of man. but colina was used to this experience. it was one which she had regularly undergone every winter of her existence. therefore, her inhabitants prepared for it and bore it with what equanimity they could summon. it was but a small camp so far up in the mountains that the mines were practically only worked during the late spring, the summer and the early autumn months, for the water which ran the concentrating and stamp mills was frozen early in the winter and the mines were practically closed down. one or two, like the mont d'or, were kept open, and worked a few hours a day, but no milling was done and the ore dumps increased to vast size. the railroad, a steep and tortuous way, was not, _per se_ a passenger line, but existed to carry the ore down to the smelters, therefore, when there was no ore to carry, it was a matter of indifference to the mine owners who controlled the line whether trains ran or not; in fact, they preferred not from a strictly business standpoint, and truly they had an excellent excuse in the heavy drifts which completely obliterated the narrow, shining, steel path which led to the world beyond the mountains. the police officials whom hanson consulted as soon as his returning health permitted him to do so, realized that in spite of their anxiety to secure the famous and slippery crop-eared josé, he was quite as safely imprisoned by the mountains as if they themselves had secured him. there was no possible escape for him. all trails were blocked long before the railroad was, so there he was, caught as securely as a bird in a cage, and they, his potential captors, might sit down to a comfortable period of pleasant anticipation and await that thaw which was bound to come sooner or later. so much for gallito's unexpected. as for those who would have been interested had they but known--the little group held in compulsory inaction by those white, encircling hills--they accepted it as a part of the year's toll, no more to be murmured at than the changing seasons, and as inevitable as were they. but it was an experience which pearl had never known, and seagreave looked to see it wear upon her spirit, and daily experienced a new surprise that there was no evidence of its doing so. instead, she seemed to glow hourly with a richer and fuller life, a softer beauty. but although an intimacy greater than he and she had yet known, would seem to be enforced by this winter of isolation and leisure, she did not, for a time, see as much of him as before. a constraint, almost like a blight upon their friendship, seemed to have fallen between them ever since the night that she had danced. seagreave did not come down to gallito's cabin quite so frequently in the evenings, and, according to josé, spent much time by his own fireside absorbed in reading and meditation; and when he did come it was usually late and, instead of talking to pearl, he would listen in silence to hugh's playing or else engage him in conversation. but this attitude on his part failed to cloud pearl's spirits. she had seen men taken with this not inexplicable shyness before, and she made no effort to rouse harry from his abstraction or to lure him from his meditations; femininely, intuitively wise, she left that to time. but even in her moods of gayety the black pearl was never voluble, and her habit of silence was a factor in maintaining the mystery with which seagreave's imagination was now beginning to invest her, and during those winter evenings when she would often sit absolutely motionless for an hour at a time, her narrow eyes dreaming on the fire, the sphynx look on her face, more than once he felt impelled to murmur: "'the sphinx is drowsy, her wings are furled: her ear is heavy, she broods on the world. who'll tell me my secret, the ages have kept?-- i awaited the seer, while they slumbered and slept.'" thus, more and more, he saw her as the image of beauty and of mystery, and ever more frequently he pondered on the nature of the message of the desert. but had he come down to gallito's cabin earlier in the evening he would not have found her brooding on the firelight. usually, she danced, keeping well in practice. she and hughie would discuss by the hour new movements and effects, and not only discuss, but try them, and she and josé, who had a light foot, often gave gallito the benefit of seeing them in many of the old spanish dances. but one evening when seagreave came down, pearl was not resting after her exertions, but ran forward to greet him with unwonted vivacity, and drew him toward a window in a dim corner of the room, out of earshot of her father and josé. "oh!" she cried. "look, look at what they have sent me from the camp for dancing for them. i had no idea it would be so much." she took a roll of bills from her bosom and showed it to him. her cheek was flushed, her eyes were like stars. "why, even here, even up here," she cried, "i can make money." "you look as if you enjoyed making money," he smiled. she looked up at him as if surprised, and then laughed. "of course, of course i do. who doesn't?" her touch on the bills was a caress. she seemed to find a joy in the very texture of them. he never dreamed for a moment that she took a delight in those rather crumpled and dirty bills. he merely took it for granted that she exulted in the visible expression of appreciation of her art. "and what will you do with it?" he asked. "i will send it to my bank when i can get any letters through, and then when this snowball is big enough i will invest it." "in mines?" still idly interested and smiling. she shook her head. "i leave that to my father, he is a good judge and he is lucky at it, and my mother is always buying patches of land and trading them off, usually to good advantage. but my specialty is unset stones. i have some very good ones, really, i have. oh," with a little glance over her shoulder toward her father and josé, "i will show them to you some day when josé is not around. if he knew i had them he would steal them just for the pleasure of keeping himself in practice." "how you love beauty," he said. "but they are valuable," she said. "oh, yes, i love them, too. i love to let them fall through my fingers, to pour them from one hand to another. sometimes, when i am all alone here in the cabin, i sit and i open my little black leather bag and take them out and hold them in the palm of my hand, and i turn them this way and that way just to catch the light, and there is nothing so beautiful; in all the world there is nothing so beautiful as jewels, except," she caught herself quickly, "the desert, of course." he sighed a little and stirred restlessly, the very mention of the desert made him vaguely uneasy. he had listened to the call of the mountains and obeyed it, and from that moment the desert, like the world, had no place in his thoughts; but since the night that pearl had danced it had remained in his mind, and had become to him as a far horizon. the desert has ever been a factor in the consciousness of man, not to be excluded, and although seagreave did not realize it, the moment had come in which he must reckon with it. he felt the fascination and repulsion of its impenetrable mystery, of its stark and desolate wastes, whose spell is yet so potent in the imagination of man, that many have found in its barren horror the very heart of beauty. he wondered if the uncontaminated winds which blew from out the ages across the vast, empty spaces murmured a message of greater import than that whispered to him among the mountain tops, if the wings of light which beat unceasingly above its shifting sands lifted the soul to some undreamed of realm of eternal morning. something that slept deep within him stirred faintly; the old passion to adventure, to explore rose in his heart, his restless, reckless heart, which had, so he believed, found peace. the shadow deepened in his eyes, but he suddenly roused from this momentary abstraction to find that pearl was still speaking. "yes, i love them because they are so beautiful, but i love them, too, because they are valuable." "well, there is no question about your making all the money you wish," he said, a slight weariness in his tone, "thousands and thousands. the world will fling it at you. it will cover you with jewels." she smiled, a faint, secretive smile of triumph. ah, so he recognized that. she had made him feel and admit that she was one of the few great dancers. then, she, too, sighed. "if only," she said, forgetful of him and following out her train of thought aloud, "if only when i get what i want, i wouldn't always want something else! did you ever feel if you could just be free, really free, you wouldn't want anything else in the world?" "how could any one be more free than you are?" he laughed down at her. "i know, i know," she agreed, still speaking wistfully, "but i'd like to be free of myself; myself is so strange, and there's so many of me." then the veil of her instinctive reticence fell over her again and she began to talk of her recent attempts to get about on snow-shoes, josé and hugh having been her instructors, so far. harry immediately offered his services, and she accepted them, agreeing to go out with him the next morning. and as they talked josé glanced at them from time to time, a touch of malicious laughter in his odd glancing eyes; there were few things that escaped josé. that evening, after seagreave had gone home, when josé and gallito and mrs. thomas and mrs. nitschkan had sat late over their cards, gallito had risen after a final game, mended the fire, poured himself a glass of cognac, lighted another cigarette and, stretching himself in an easy-chair, entered into one of those confidential talks which he occasionally permitted himself with his chosen cronies. the earlier part of the evening josé and pearl had danced for a time together, and then pearl had danced for a time alone and in a manner to please even her father's critical taste. now, in commenting on this, he remarked: "you see the change in my daughter. she is now cheerful, obedient and industrious. when she came she was none of those things. she is, you see, a good girl at heart, but her mother had almost ruined her. if men but had the time they should always bring up the children of the family. it is only in that way that they can ever be a credit to one." mrs. thomas, who had been bending over the stove brewing a pot of coffee which she and mrs. nitschkan drank at all hours of the day and night, raised herself at the utterance of these revolutionary sentiments and looked at gallito in grieved and bewildered surprise; but mrs. nitschkan, who had been pouring cream into the cup of steaming coffee which josé had just handed to her, first took a long draught and then remarked with cool impartiality: "the trouble with you, gallito, is that you can't bear for nobody, man, woman, child or devil, to get ahead of you. i guess i know somep'n' about the bringin' up of young ones myself." here mrs. thomas sighed and shook her head with that exasperated incomprehension which all women displayed when the subject of mrs. nitschkan's children came up for discussion. educators discourse much upon the proper environment and training of the young of the human species, but theories aside, practical results seem rather in favor of casting the bantling on the rocks. for, in spite of mrs. nitschkan's joyous lack of responsibility, her daughters had grown up the antitheses of herself, thoroughly feminine little creatures, already famous for those womanly accomplishments for which their mother had ever shown a marked distaste, while the sons were steady, hard-working, reputable young fellows, always to be depended upon by their employers. "it's nothing but your pizen luck, sadie," murmured mrs. thomas. "we must allow that providence has been kinder to you than most," remarked gallito sardonically. "it's a reward," said mrs. nitschkan with calm assurance, refilling her pipe with more care than she had ever bestowed upon her children. "it's 'cause i ain't ever shirked an' left the lord to do all my work for me." at this mrs. thomas, too overcome to speak, tottered feebly back from the stove and fell weakly into a chair. "no, sir," continued the gypsy with arrogant virtue, "the trouble with all the parents i know, includin' present company, is that they're too easy. i don't work no claim expectin' to get nothin' out of it, do i? and i don't bring a lot of kids into the world and spend years teachin' 'em manners--" she was interrupted here by a brief and scornful laugh from mrs. thomas, who, on observing that her friend was gazing at her earnestly and ominously, hastily converted it into a fit of coughing. "spend years teachin' 'em manners an' sacrifice myself to stay at home and punish 'em when i might be jantin' 'round myself, not to have 'em turn out a credit to me." there was a finality about the statements which seemed to admit of no further discussion, but after josé had escorted the two women to their cabin, he had returned for one of those midnight conferences with gallito over which they loved to linger, and the spaniard had again expressed his satisfaction in pearl's changed demeanor. josé's laughter pealed to the roof. "you have eyes but for mines and cards, gallito. though the world changes under your nose, you do not see it. the moles of the earth--they are funny!" "bah!" casting at him a scornful glance from under his beetling brows, "your eyes see so far, josé, that you see all manner of things which do not exist." "i have far sight and near sight and the sight which comes to the seventh child," returned josé with pride. "therefore, seeing what i see, i say my prayers each day, now." a bleak smile wrinkled gallito's parchment-like cheeks. "and to whom do you pray, josé, your patron saint, or rather sinner, the devil?" josé looked shocked. "you are a blasphemer, gallito," he reproved, and then added piously, "i say my prayers each day that i may, by example, help saint harry." "and why is harry in need of your example?" said gallito, holding up his glass between himself and the fire and watching the deep reflections of ruby light in the amber liquid. "it goes against me to see an unequal struggle," sighed josé. "he is hanging on desperately to his ice-peak, but the devil has almost succeeded in clawing him off." gallito frowned. "this talk of yours is nonsense, josé; but if there is anything in it, harry may understand that any interest he may have in my daughter can lead to nothing. she is a dancer before she is anything else, it is in her blood. harry does not and never can understand her; only one of her own kind can do that. he is by nature a religious; his cabin is the cell of a monk." again josé's eerie, malicious laughter echoed through the room. "aye, laugh," growled gallito; "but you see my daughter for the first time. you think because she smiles at harry that she loves him; you think because she is the only woman he talks to that he loves her; you do not know her. she is young, she is beautiful and a dancer. she has had many lovers ever since she put her hair up, and learned how she could make a fool of a man with her eyes and her smile, and she has made them pay toll. she always did that from the first." there was a note of fierce pride in his harsh, brief laughter. "yes, she would smile and promise anything with her eyes, but she gave nothing. it is strange"--the old spaniard, his austere spirit mellowed by his excellent cognac, fell into a mood of confidential musing, an indulgence which he rarely permitted himself--"that hugh, the child of a woman i never saw, reaches my heart more than my own daughter does. but pearl is a study to me. i say to myself, 'she cares for nothing but money, applause, admiration,' and yet, even while i say it, i am not sure; i do not know, i do not know." again he admired the glints of firelight reflected in his cognac glass. "but this i do know, josé, she is an actress before she is anything else." josé leered knowingly. "you think only of your daughter," he said. "what about saint harry? he has mad blood in him, too. it is only a few years that he has been a saint; before that the devil held full sway over him. and," he added pensively, after a moment's cogitation, "there are many lessons one learns from the devil." "you should know," returned gallito, with his twisting, sardonic smile. "ah, the devil is not all bad," said josé defensively. "one can learn from him the lesson of perseverance, and perseverance is a virtue." gallito waved his hand with a polite gesture. "you know more of him and his lessons than i, josé. i am always ready to grant that." he took another sip of cognac, blew a succession of smoke wreaths toward the ceiling, and again resumed his midnight philosophizings. "what puzzles me, josé, is what is going to become of us in heaven. we shall never be content. content is a lesson that no one has ever learned. look at saint harry. he has heaven right here. his time to himself, enough to live on without working, no women to bother him, your cooking; and it may be on that that you will win an entrance to heaven; it will certainly be on nothing else. but, if, as you say, he is interested in my daughter, he is throwing away all chance of keeping paradise." "do we not all do that?" said josé dismally. "it is because a man cannot conceive of a heaven without a woman in it. he thinks in spite of all experience to the contrary that she is what makes it heaven." "yes, experience counts for nothing," gallito sighed for himself and his brothers. but if seagreave sat silent and absorbed when he came to gallito's cabin in the evening, it did not bother pearl. she was an expert in such symptoms. sometimes he talked to her in a rather constrained fashion, but for the most part he sat on the other side of the room, listening to hugh's music. one evening when he sat listening he suddenly lifted his eyes and gazed at the pearl, who sat almost the length of the room away from him. the cabin was lighted only by the great log fire, and the leaping, ardent flames of the pine, mingled with the soft, glowing radiance of burning birch, invested the room and its occupants with that atmosphere of mystery and glamour, essential in flame-illumined shadow. and hugh was playing the music the masters dreamed in the twilight hours when silence and shadow permitted them, even wooed them to a more intimate revelation of the heart than the definite splendors of daylight inspired. beyond the zone of the firelight, the room was all in a warm gloom, rich and dim. pearl and hugh had gathered fir branches, even some young trees, and had placed them about the walls, and in the warmth their aromatic, delicious odor permeated and pervaded the cabin, and one discerning those half-defined branches might easily imagine that the walls stretched away into the dim forest. pearl lay back in an easy chair, her narrow, half-closed eyes on the leaping flames. the wind, low to-night, the wind of eternity which blows ever in the mountains, sang about the cabin and blended with hugh's music like a faint violin obligato. but even in this soft twilight of blending and mingling and harmonizing, with pine branches above and beyond her and shadowed gloom about her, pearl never for a moment seemed the spirit of the forest. with its dim depths for a background, she shone on it, as brilliant and distinct from it as a flashing jewel on the breast of a nun. her crimson frock caught a deeper warmth from the firelight, her black hair shone like a bird's wing, the jewels on her fingers sent out sparkles of light and flame. as saint harry continued to gaze at her the forest with all its haunting, dreaming witchery vanished, the high invitation of the mountains, "come ye apart," ceased to echo in his ears. the world environed, encompassed her; he seemed to discern the yearning of her spirit for it, the airy rush of her winged feet toward it; and yet her eyes, those eyes which sometimes held the look of having gazed for ages on time's mutations, were turned toward the desert. then seagreave's moment of vision passed and he turned to hugh with an odd sinking of the heart. hugh had ceased to play and sat silent now on his piano stool with that motionless, concentrated air of his, as if listening to something afar. "hughie," said seagreave softly, "what _are_ you and your sister, anyway?" hugh laughed and, leaning his elbow on the keys, rested his cheek on his palm. "i am a little brother of the wind," he said. "i was just listening to it singing to me out there; and pearl, well, pearl is a daughter of fire." "what is it that you hear that i don't?" asked harry. "i listen to the wind, too, sometimes for hours, up there in my cabin; but it's only a falling, sighing thing to me, sometimes a rising, shrieking one. what is this gift of music?" "i don't know," said hugh simply, "but if you will wait a moment, i will play you the song the wind is singing through the pines to-night. it is just a little, sad one." again he sat immobile, listening for a while and then began to play so plaintive and wistful a melody that harry felt the old sorrow wake and stir within his heart and demand a reckoning of the forgetful years. not realizing that he did so, he arose and began to pace up and down the room, nor remembered where he was until he looked up to see pearl watching him, surprise and even a slight curiosity upon her face. "forgive me," he said, stopping before her, "for walking up and down that way as if i were in my own cabin, but something in hugh's music set me to dreaming." "you didn't look as if they were happy dreams," she said. "didn't i?" he spoke as lightly as he could; then he changed the subject. "do you know that the crust on the snow is thicker than it has been yet? how would you like to go out on your snow-shoes to-morrow morning?" she looked her pleasure. "that will be fine," she cried eagerly. she was up betimes the next day, anxious to see whether more snow had fallen during the night; but none had. to her joy, it was one of those brilliant mornings when the sky seems a dome of sapphire sparkles, and the crust of the snow with the sun on it is like white star-dust overlaid with gold. the radiance would have been unbearable had not the bare, black trees veiled the sky with their network of branches and twigs and the pines softened the snow with their shadows. pearl had rapidly acquired proficiency in her new accomplishment, and she and seagreave had covered several miles when, on their return, they paused to rest a bit in the little bower of stunted pines. here seagreave cut some branches from the trees for them to sit on and, gathering some dry, fallen boughs and cones, built a fire. they enjoyed this a few moments in silence and then pearl spoke. "why," she asked with her usual directness, "why did you get up and walk up and down the room last night when hughie was playing? what was it in his music that made you forget all of us and even, as you said, forget that you were not in your own cabin?" "that was stupid of me and rude, too," he said compunctiously. "something that he was playing called up so vivid a memory that i forgot everything." there was a quick gleam in her eyes; she was resentful of memories that could make him forget her very presence, hers. "what was it you were thinking of?" she asked. her voice was low. he looked out over the snow before he answered. "a girl," he said, and cast another handful of pine cones upon the fire. she did not speak nor move, and yet her whole being was instinct with a sudden tense attention. "yes, a girl," she said insistently. "what was she like?" the words leaped from her, voicing themselves almost without her volition. he sighed and appeared to speak with some effort. "it was long ago," he said. "she was like violets or white english roses." "and did you love her?" she asked, that soft tenseness still in her voice, "and did she love you?" "i suppose every man has his ideal of woman, perhaps unconsciously to himself, and she was mine." he sighed again and she glanced quickly at him from the corners of her eyes with a half scornful smile upon her lips. she knew that she did not suggest violets, shy and fragrant and hidden under their own green leaves; neither was there anything in the mountains to suggest the gardens in which roses grew. but he had left the violets and english roses long ago, because of that spirit of restlessness within him, and finally he had come to these wild, savage mountains and was content here, where it was difficult even to picture the calm and repose of the gardens he had left. he had said that he did not know why he had come, but pearl did. she never doubted it. it was the call of her heart across the world to him, seeking him, reaching him, drawing him to her. "and does it make you unhappy to think of her now?" she asked still softly. "no," he said, "no, not now. but last night something in the music caused the years to drop away and i was back there again and she rose before me. really, i felt her very presence. i saw her as plainly as i see you now." pearl rose and shook the snow from her cloak. "forget it," she said scornfully. the little horse-shoe frown showed between her brows, and her eyes as she looked at him were full of a sparkling disdain. "that girl wasn't worth that," she snapped her fingers. "and here you've been loping over the globe for years, because she turned you down. i should think you'd feel like a fool." she spoke quite fearlessly, although seagreave had thrown up his head and stood looking at her with a white face and compressed lips. "but that ain't the reason," she went on shrewdly. "i know men. you like to think you quit things because of the girl," she laughed that low, harsh, unpleasant laugh of hers. "you quit 'em because you got lazy, and anything like a responsibility was a bore. that's straight." without another glance at him, she sped down the hill, like an arrow shot from a bow. chapter xii as that long, white winter slowly wore away there were many in the camp who, although they had endured the strain of a wearing monotony through many previous seasons, nevertheless suffered greatly from it; and, in consequence, as the clock of the year began to indicate spring an almost riotous joy was felt and expressed when it was announced through the camp that the black pearl had again consented to dance for them. it was considered a truly fitting celebration of the fact that there had already been one great thaw, and, although there was every possibility of things freezing up again, yet nevertheless spring had at last loosed her hounds and they were hard on winter's traces. in fact, one belated train, after hours spent on the road, had succeeded in pushing through, an evidence that they all would soon be running with their accustomed, if rather erratic regularity, and there was naturally a tremendous excitement and jollification in the camp at this arrival of the first mail bearing news from the outside world. the messages for pearl included a letter from her mother and one from bob flick, but none from hanson. bob flick announced that his patience was worn thin and that he would be up on the first train bearing passengers. mrs. gallito's letter was full of commiserations for her daughter on her enforced detention, and she evidently regarded the nature of that durance as particularly vile. "pearl, how you been standing it up in that god-forsaken hole where you can't even keep warm is what beats me. seems to me i went to church once, oh, just for a lark, and the preacher talked about some plagues of egypt, all different kinds, you know. it was real interesting. i always remembered it. but in looking back over plagues i've seen, the very worst of all was snow. i'm afraid, when i see you again, you'll be all skin and bone and shadow. i do hope you won't be sick like poor hanson. i had an awful sad letter from him; seems he took cold and's been at death's door." pearl rustled the paper impatiently. she was not interested in this news. hanson occupied her thoughts so little that she did not even pause to wonder how he was. the very sight of his name in the letter stirred a vague irritation in her. absorbed in her love for seagreave, hanson had become to her as a forgotten episode. however, her mother dropped the subject and took up the more interesting one of lolita. "that bird certainly has mourned for you, pearl. i guess she'd have just about pined away if it hadn't been for bob flick." but pearl was not the only recipient of letters from the outside world; all of the little group, with the exception of josé, had received their quota, even mrs. nitschkan. but the bulk of the mail, which gallito brought up from the village postoffice and gravely distributed, fell to mrs. thomas. almost without exception, these envelopes were addressed in straggling, masculine characters which suggested painful effort and seemed to indicate that the writers were more used to the pick and shovel than to the pen. but although mrs. thomas had to spell out the contents of each missive with more or less difficulty, her giggles, blushes and occasional exclamations showed how much pleasure they afforded her. mrs. nitschkan, however, after glancing carelessly at the large, yellow envelope which was addressed to her in a clerkly hand, cast it carelessly aside and went on assiduously cleaning and oiling her gun. but the sight of it aroused mrs. thomas's curiosity, and after glancing at it once or twice over the top of her own letters, she could not forbear to ask: "ain't you going to read your letter, sadie?" "mebbe. sometime. by an' by. when i get good an' ready," returned the gypsy indifferently and abstractedly, squinting with one eye down the barrel of her gun. "what do i want with letters? i got two bear an' a mountain lion before the snow flew." mrs. thomas laid aside her letters for the moment, and, lifting a large pot of coffee from the stove, poured out a cupful for her friend and then one for herself. "here, sadie," she coaxed, "rest yourself with a cup of coffee. i'll set down the sugar and cream an' whilst you're drinking it, open your letter. come now, do. maybe it's from a gentleman." "it sure is," replied mrs. nitschkan, laying her gun carefully across her knee, wiping her hands on the cloth with which she had been polishing it, and then dropping several lumps of sugar into the cup, she poured herself a liberal allowance of cream. "it's a bill for that double-j'inted, patent, electrical fishin' rod that i sent east for, clean to new york city, for a weddin' present for celia." mrs. thomas gave a faint, scornful laugh at the thought of this most incongruous gift for mrs. nitschkan's pretty, feminine daughter. "a fishin' rod for celia!" she exclaimed, "when all she ever thinks about is cookin' an' sweepin' an' sewin' all day." "that's it," mrs. nitschkan radiated self-approbation and satisfaction. "it made a nice show at the weddin', didn't it? and it has sure been useful to me since." but mrs. thomas had again absorbed herself in her correspondence, and it is doubtful if she heard these last words. "say, sadie," she cried presently, a ripple of joyous excitement in her voice, "listen here to what willie barker says, 'if you don't come back soon, i'm a-going to lay right down an' die, or maybe take my own life.'" "then you'll stay right on here," said mrs. nitschkan shortly but emphatically. "such a chanst as that's not to be missed." mrs. thomas pouted, "but, honest, can't we pretty soon leave these old prospects that you're a-nursin' along to salt an' get ready to palm off on some poor easterner?" the gypsy took a long draught of coffee, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "your ungratefulness'll strike in and probably kill you, marthy thomas. here i burdened myself with you to save your life insurance and the nice little property seth left you from a pack of wolves in the camp that's after them, an' not you, an' what thanks do i get? all these months i been workin' like the devil to convert you an' josé, an' as far as either of you's concerned, i might a darned sight better have put in my time tryin' to save the soul of a flea. you couldn't even let a poor, god-forsaken robber like josé alone. don't you know that if you get a thousand husbands they'll all treat you as bad or worse'n seth did?" "he's an angel in heaven right now an' don't you dare say a word against him, sadie nitschkan," cried mrs. thomas defensively, "but he was a devil all the same." "they'll all be devils," returned mrs. nitschkan fatalistically. "they's no man can stand seein' a feather pillow around all the time an' not biff it, especially when it can turn on a gallon of tears any time of the day or night." mrs. thomas made no effort to refute this last aspersion. instead, she began to weep loudly and unrestrainedly. "bob martin says in his letter that he hopes i'm havin' a pleasant time," she sobbed. "he don't know the loneliness, not to say the danger, of being snowed up in these mountains with a woman that ain't got no more feelin' than to skin you alive whenever she's a mind to. i ain't afraid of gentlemen, even husbands, but sometimes when you get to jawin' me, sadie, with a gun in your hand, it makes my poor heart go like that, an' i crawl all over with goose-flesh." fortunately, the thaws continued, and if no great quantity of snow fell between now and then, the first passenger train was scheduled to run through on the day that pearl would dance, but bob flick, by some method known to himself, had succeeded in making his journey on the engine, and thus arrived at gallito's cabin several days before he was expected, looking a little more worn than usual and faintly anxious, an expression which speedily disappeared as he saw the radiant health and spirits of pearl. as for her, she was unfeignedly glad to see him. "i sure have worried a lot about you this winter, pearl," he said to her that evening as they two sat a little apart from the rest, gallito, josé, hugh and seagreave, who all clustered about the fire, while pearl, as usual, had drawn her chair within the warm gloom of the pine-scented shadow. "ain't you silly!" she looked up at him with her heart-shattering, adorable smile. "i am always about you," he said. "you're all i think of, pearl, night and day." she patted his arm lightly. "i've always got you to depend on anyway, haven't i, bob?" her soft, lazy, sliding voice was itself a caress. "you sure have. anytime, anywhere. no matter what happens, i can't ever change, pearl. lord! you ought to know that by this time." "maybe i do, bob, and maybe i like knowing it." "i hope you do, but it wouldn't make any difference whether you did or didn't. i got to love you. i guess the cards fell that way for me before i was born and nothing can ever change that layout." "you've never failed me yet, bob." "and never will. oh, pearl, don't you, can't you see your way to marrying me?" she stirred restlessly, a faintly troubled look shadowing her face. "there's so many of me, and i never know what i'm going to do or how i'm going to feel. i'd just be bound to make you miserable." "it wouldn't be the first time," he said a little sadly. "but you see i know you. i ain't got any mistaken notions about you, and i love you more than any other man in this life'll ever do, pearl." again she moved and looked at him as if his words had roused in her some regret. "i guess that's so; but--it wouldn't be a square deal." "i'll tend to that," he urged, "and you'll just have to know that i'm always loving you, no matter what's to pay." "i--" she began, but was interrupted by josé, who bowed low before her. "señorita," grandiosely, "the ladies and your father beg that, unworthy as i am to dance on the same floor as you, that yet, as a compliment to mr. flick, we go through some of the spanish dances together." pearl assented and half rose, but flick laid a detaining hand on her sleeve. "she will in a minute," he said. "run along now, josé, me and miss gallito's got something to talk over." he bent close to her again. "pearl," there was the faintest shake in his voice, "what are you going to tell me, now?" "oh, bob," the regret was in her voice now, "i wish, i wish you didn't feel that way. i love you more than 'most anybody in the world--but not that way. and--and i don't want to lose your love for me. i like to know it's there. i sort of lean up against it." he waited a moment or two before answering her, and then his voice was as steady as ever. "you can always come back to my love for you. the stars can fall out of the sky and the mountains slide down, but my love for you can't change, pearl. it's fixed and steady and forever." "dear old bob," she touched his cheek as she passed him with a light caress and went on into the room beyond to get her dancing slippers. it was later that evening that josé began his unceasing importunities to see pearl dance in the town hall. a stern and surprised veto of this plan was his immediate answer. but josé was the most convincing and plausible of pleaders. "but, gallito," he cried almost piteously, "since mrs. nitschkan has watched my manners i have been like an angel. no more does the camp say that this hill is haunted, you know that." "i told you what you'd get if you didn't stop hootin' at people who was passin'," remarked mrs. nitschkan, knocking the ashes from her pipe out on the hearth and then carefully refilling it. "but you're none so good now that you need brag. i don't know that playin' monkey tricks to frighten folks ain't just as good a way to put in the time as sittin' 'round holdin' hands with marthy thomas." "sadie!" mrs. thomas drew forth her handkerchief and prepared to shed the ready tear. "how you can have the heart to talk so to a woman that ain't buried her husband twelve months! mr. josé ain't even thought of takin' the liberties you sit there accusin' him of. if i had a live husband to pertect me, you wouldn't dare treat me like what you do. whenever you miss a shot, or get fooled on a prospect, or get some money won away from you, you come back to our little cabin an' sit lookin' at me like you was a wolf an' talkin' like you was a she-bear. and--and it's darned hard, that's what it is." "if you were a man, nitschkan," josé drew himself up truculently, "you would indeed answer for such speeches, and you would not have converted me so easily, either. i have no fear of men." this was quite true, he had not, but his eye quailed and drooped before the steady gaze of mrs. nitschkan. "come, come," said gallito peremptorily, "i am glad to see you all each evening about my fireside, but i will have no arguing nor quarreling, understand that. a man's house is his castle." josé diplomatically dropped the subject, which did not mean that he had abandoned his plan for one moment. he merely waited a more convenient season. his strongest arguments were that it was not an infrequent occurrence for gallito to entertain guests of his own nationality in his mountain cabin. "and my hair!" cried josé pathetically. "it would be a crown of glory to nitschkan if she had it; but it is a shame to me, a man, to have to wear it so long. no one in the camp could possibly know that i have ears." gallito at first absolutely refused to listen to him, but so adroitly did josé bring up the subject every evening that he began to make some impression on his stern jailer. he was careful, though, not to mention his hopes until near midnight, when gallito's normally harsh mood was greatly softened not only by winning the final game, which josé invariably permitted now, but also by the mellowing influence of his bland, old cognac. then gallito would embark on an argument, determined to convince josé of the wild folly of his desire. their debate continued for several evenings and finally ended, as josé meant it should, in gallito giving a reluctant consent, under certain conditions which he insisted should be rigidly carried out. he admitted that it was unlikely that any suspicion would be aroused in the village. those who saw the party enter the hall would, if they thought about the matter at all, take it for granted that the stranger was some friend of bob flick's who had come up with him on the train. but two conditions gallito insisted upon: the first, that josé was to turn the collar of his heavy overcoat high up about his face and draw his hat low over his brows, and the second was that he was only to be permitted to observe the dancing from behind the curtain of the little recess at the end of the hall which served pearl as a dressing room. he might gaze his fill through the peep-hole there, but under no circumstances was he to be seen in the body of the hall. but these conditions, as gallito pointed out, were entirely dependent on pearl. it was a question whether she would tolerate josé for a whole evening in her dressing room. at first she flatly refused to do so and turned a persistently deaf ear to josé's pleading. she had to slip out of one frock and into another at least three times. there would not be room with josé sitting there. "but, dear señorita, i will not be sitting there," he cried. "when the moment comes that you change your frock i will be standing with my face to the wall and my eyes covered with my hands." "i should hope so," murmured mrs. thomas, who was present. but pearl had another reason for not wishing to be alone with josé upon this occasion. she meant to wear her emeralds, and she was not so anxious that the light-fingered bandit should have so near a view of them. when she mentioned this to bob flick and her father, however, they laughed at her fears. not that they trusted josé, but, as they pointed out, no matter how much he might be tempted by the jewels, there was no possible way for him to escape with them. he was clever enough to realize this, therefore his resistance to temptation under trying circumstances might be taken for granted. so pearl at last gave her reluctant consent. upon the afternoon of the day that pearl was to dance hughie brought the news that the first train bearing passengers had arrived, hours late, nearer six o'clock in the evening, than twelve, noon, when it was due; but nevertheless it had made the journey. it brought several people, but no one seemed to know who they were. "it is a question," said gallito, squinting his eyes at the sky, "whether they will get back as easily as they came. see, the snow is again beginning to fall." it was still snowing as the entire party, men and women, drove down the hill to the town hall. as there was not room for all in the mountain wagon, seagreave again drove pearl down in his cart. they arrived early, as gallito meant they should, and to his satisfaction found almost nobody in the hall, which was yet but dimly lighted. pearl immediately vanished into her dressing room, with josé carrying the case containing her make-up, changes of costume, slippers, etc., close behind her. mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas, flick, gallito and seagreave selected their seats in the front row and, sitting down, began a discussion of certain mining matters while the house gradually filled. this took but a few moments. the inhabitants of colina were too keen for a little diversion after the winter famine of amusement to stand upon the order of their coming. they came at once, and almost in a body. pearl was equally prompt, ready to begin upon the stroke of the hour, and as the time approached hughie could be heard running his fingers over the keys, although the curtains had not yet been drawn back. by this time there was no longer standing room in the hall. mrs. nitschkan was still deep in a mining discussion. "who should i run across yesterday," she was saying, "but the thompson boys. they just took a lease on the 'pennyroyal,' you know, and they wanted me to go up and look it over. well, i know, and you know, gallito, the history of that mine from 'way back. 'she's got a bad name, boys,' i says, 'a bad name.' well, i went through some of the new drifts with 'em, and i chipped off some specimens." she pulled two or three of these from her coat pocket and passed them over to the men. "they sure look mighty good to me," she chuckled. "the truth of the matter is that that mine ain't never been worked right. we can knock it so skilful, though, gallito, that the boys'll be glad to let us have it for 'most nothing. jus' look 'round the hall, bob, an' see if you can see 'em here to-night." to oblige her he turned in his leisurely fashion and began to scan the audience. flick had never been known to start; that was a part of his training. if a cannon had been fired off close to his ear, the narrowest observer could not have discerned the twitch of a muscle; neither would he have exhibited the faintest change of expression; training again. now, his face was quite as impassive as usual. his mild, indifferent glance continued to rove over the house, noting with the accuracy of an adding machine certain men who either stood or sat in different parts of the house. presently he encountered the gaze of hanson, who was sitting almost directly opposite to him and who was evidently trying to attract his attention. eye held eye. on hanson's face was unconcealed triumph, a cynical exultation. he nodded with smiling insolence, but flick regarded him with a blank stare of non-recognition for a moment or so and then turned indifferently away. it was a matter of considerable surprise to those who bent watchful eyes on him from various parts of the hall that he did not, as far as they could see, speak either to gallito or seagreave. in any event, he would have had but little time for consultation with them, for almost immediately the curtains were drawn aside, hugh began to play, and pearl made her appearance. that was the signal for applause as prolonged as it was enthusiastic. she was like a vision of the spring so eagerly awaited by these prisoners of winter. her frock, which fell to her ankles, was of some white, silky, soft material and was deeply bordered with silver; her sleeves were of silver and there was a touch of silver on the bodice. her emeralds gleamed like green fire against her bare white throat and as she danced a froth of rose-colored petticoat was visible, foaming above her ankles. to all those eager, watching people pearl seemed truly the incarnation of may in all its glory and shimmer, and hughie's music was like the silver, fluting notes of her insistent heralds proclaiming the south wind, and bird calls and murmuring rivulets of melting snow. and when she ceased and they finally permitted her to withdraw before dancing again it was almost with a shock that they realized that the snow was still falling outside. it was then that bob flick turned at last to his two companions. "you've seen?" was his brief, low-voiced comment. both men nodded. "every deputy in the county here," said seagreave in as low a voice as the one flick had used. "no exits for us anywhere. the sheriff has them well stationed." "thank god, i came," muttered gallito, "but i wish we knew their plan." "that's easy," said flick. "hanson's so sure that he's won the game before it's played that he's ready to tell any one that will listen to him how it all happened, before it's begun. i guess i'll go over and talk to him a little before pearl comes on again." he rose to his tall, languid height and sauntered in his laziest fashion across the floor. "say, stranger," he began, resting his elbow on the back of a chair next hanson, and leaning his head on his hand, "haven't we met before. it seemed to me a few moments ago when i caught your eye that your face was more or less familiar." "well, now ain't that strange!" exclaimed hanson in affected surprise. "but i just had a sort of an idea that you'd recognize me to-night in spite of my disguise. yes, now you ask me, let me tell you, since your memory is so poor, that we have met once or twice before, but it ain't likely that we ever will again. sad," he shook his head and sighed heavily, "i hate to disappoint you by telling you so, but, someway, i got that idea firmly fixed in my head." "is that so?" said flick politely. "well, maybe you're right. it does kind of look so from the layout you've got here. how are you going to play it, anyway? both ends to the middle, i suppose." "correct," returned hanson blithely. "we lined up outside to watch you when you got out of the wagon. if you hadn't brought him with you we wouldn't have disturbed you during the entertainment; just gone up the hill and got him and then rounded the rest of you up afterward. but you were kind enough to save us that trouble." "don't mention it," drawled flick; "but i don't just sabe why you didn't take us when we drove up. you had the whole bunch of us then." "we're taking no chances," hanson winked knowingly. "the boys up here have been having a pretty long, dull winter, and such a move on our part might have given them the idea that we were trying to break up their fun this evening, which they wouldn't have stood for. then, old gallito's popular here, god knows why, and if he'd asked the boys to stand by him and they saw a chance of some excitement, why, we'd have had an unnecessary mix-up. see? not but what we'd have been a good deal more than equal to any scrap they could have put up even if led by you and old gallito, but the sheriff didn't want any trouble of that kind when it was so easy to avoid it." "good sense," commended flick, "but are you so sure you've entirely side-stepped that danger? there's after-the-ball-is-over still to be considered." "trust old uncle wiseacre over there for that," said hanson vaingloriously, and nodding as he spoke toward the sheriff, who leaned big and calm and watchful against the door at the back of the room. "he's a born general. the plan, son, can't be beat. they know he's in the pearl's dressing room and they got the building well surrounded on the outside. i guess it's a scheme that even such crafty crooks as gallito and--" he paused and quailed a little under flick's steady regard, the "_you_" he had meant to say died on his lips. from neither victor nor victim did bob flick ever permit a familiarity. "yes, there's no getaway possible," he substituted hastily. "it'd be foolish of you boys to try and put up a fight." "i guess you're right," agreed flick. "i guess we're too old and stiff and tired to draw our guns unless there's a chance for us, anyway." flick rose with his usual languor. "well, so long mr.---- your name sure does escape me." he strolled back to his companions, resuming his seat in his usual unhurried and indifferent way. the curtains had not yet parted, so he took occasion to relate to gallito and seagreave the result of his conversation with hanson, careless of the fact that the latter sat watching them, gloating with malicious amusement over the spectacle of the three of them so hopelessly entangled in the net and yet engaging in the futile discussion of methods of escape. as bob flick whispered the scheme to the two men the gloom deepened on gallito's face. it seemed to him too comprehensive and efficacious to evade. but harry did not share his depression. as he listened his face changed and set. in his eyes was a flash like sunlight on steel. he was the old seagreave again whom josé had once described to gallito. the seagreave whose mind worked with lightning rapidity, who ventured anything, as gay and invincible he fought in the last ditch, his back to the wall and all the odds against him. "i've got an idea," he said. "it may not work, but it's a chance." he bent forward and in a rapid whisper outlined his plan for them. "i wonder," he said, "if they'd nab me if i started to go over and talk to hughie? do you suppose they would permit me a word with him?" flick laughed. "any number of them," he said. "if the rats they've caught want to run around in the trap, what's that to them?" seagreave had no opportunity to carry out his plan just then, for hugh began to play and pearl made her second appearance. the very sight of her, their vision of spring, who seemed to have sped up from the valley far below and transformed the dark and dreary winter, brought the house to its feet and sent a storm of applause ringing to the rafters. but she was spring no longer. in this dance of the seasons she was giving them she now typified summer, splendid and glowing. her gown was a vivid green, spangled with gold and wreathed in roses. a festoon of pink and crimson flowers lay about her neck, its long ends falling almost to the foot of her frock, and her hair was crowned with roses. and her dancing had changed. it was no longer the springtime she portrayed, with all her plastic grace of motion, symbolizing its delicate evanescence with arch hesitations and fugitive advances, and all the playful joyousness of youth. on this second appearance she was dancing the summer and dancing it with a passionate zest and spirit, alternated with enchanting languors. when at last she ceased it seemed as if the encores which drew her back on the stage again and again would never end. and the sheriff, noting this, stirred uneasily and whispered to a grizzled companion: "i wish this was over, lord, i do! things don't look quite so dead sure as they did. gosh! she's got 'em all right in the hollow of her hand." "it's her you got to reckon with," returned the companion gloomily. "this blasted long winter's got the boys right on edge. they're jus' spoiling for some deviltry or other, and if she comes out in front of the curtain and makes an appeal to 'em, why, there'll be one of the meanest scraps that's been seen in the mountains for some time." "you bet," agreed the sheriff. "what do you suppose that seagreave's chinning hughie about." "god knows!" returned his pessimistic companion. "nothing that's going to help us any, you can stake your bottom dime on that. here she comes again, and you and me's just as big fools about her as the rest if we'd let ourselves be." this time pearl danced the autumn, a vision of crimson and gold, with grape leaves wreathing her black hair. if hugh had conveyed to her any disturbing news during the intermission, she showed no trace of it in her dancing, and if she had stirred her audience to impassioned enthusiasm before, it was unlimited, almost frantic now. she was the flame of autumn upon the mountain hillsides, a torch burning with the joy of life and flinging her gay, defiant splendor in the menacing face of winter. before she had finished the house was on its feet, shouting and clapping and refusing to let her leave the stage. "she's gone to their heads worse'n wine," muttered the sheriff. "i suppose it's now she's goin' to ask 'em to stand by her, an' with leaders like gallito an' bob flick an' harry seagreave to line 'em up an' carry things with a rush, where in hell are we?" but the dramatic appeal he had anticipated was not made. the pearl, after one recall after another, had thrown a final kiss to her appreciative audience, had retired to her dressing room and positively refused to appear again. the sheriff sat down limply for a moment. "i'm beat," he said to the man who had shared his fears, "just beat. the lord is sure on our side to-night. gosh! they had the whole thing in their own hands and didn't know it. well, the rest is pie. all we got to do is to take 'em all nice an' quiet now, and probably not a gun drawed." he moved about giving his orders to different men about the hall. slowly the good-humored, laughing crowd filed out. the presence of the sheriff and the various deputies aroused no suspicion. it was but natural that any one who could get there from the surrounding camps should be present. about half of the people had passed through the narrow door when pearl made her appearance at the back of the hall. she had thrust her arms into a long, fur-lined crimson cloak, but it fell open from the neck down, revealing her crimson and gold frock and gleaming emeralds. a black lace mantilla was thrown over her head and half over her face, showing only her sparkling eyes. she began taking various gay, little steps, still full of that joy of movement which had possessed her all evening. those who remained in the hall began to laugh and applaud. she danced a moment in response to it, and then, pausing, suddenly bowed low and shook her head definitely. then she wrapped her cloak closely about her, turning up its wide, fur-lined collar, and, linking her arm with hughie's, came down the room with him still taking those irrepressible little steps. just as she reached the door she whisked a handkerchief from a pocket in her cloak and held it to her nose. a waft of exquisite perfume filled the air, but the eyes of the two deputies who guarded the door were fixed with an almost stunned astonishment upon the jewels which covered her bare hands. the sheriff had given orders that the pearl and hughie, mrs. thomas and mrs. nitschkan were to be allowed to pass, were, in fact, to be got out of the hall just as quickly as possible; but these orders had not been clearly understood and the two deputies at the door halted pearl, hughie and mrs. thomas, who was close to them. before either pearl or hughie could protest seagreave, who had been about ten feet behind them, was at their side. "let them pass," he said. "those are your orders." "i hadn't heard it," said the other man, "and i'm not taking my orders from you." but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before seagreave's arm, that "left" which had floored many an opponent in the old days of his middle-weight championship, shot out in a hook, lightning-like, to the right side of the jaw of the nearest deputy. the man reeled under that impact and went crashing over against his companion, bringing them both in a heap to the floor. at the same moment pearl, grasping hughie's arm, pulled him about the two who lay half stunned and was out of the door like a flash. mrs. thomas, who had been taken into the confidence of the group only so far as to have it impressed upon her that she uttered the word josé at her peril, and that the bandit's name was now pedro, had not been quick enough to follow pearl and hugh in their flight through the door and now stood helplessly gazing about her, confused, almost dazed, by the whole situation. the sheriff, whose attention had meanwhile been occupied by mrs. nitschkan, who was creating a lusty disturbance in the middle of the floor, ran forward, shouting orders. "let 'em go, i tell you!" to those who would have pursued the pearl. "where's your heads? i told you that this hall had got to be cleared, and cleared quick, of the women. as for you, seagreave," catching harry by the arm, "don't try to wriggle through that door. you're under arrest." "look here, sheriff, it's snowing heavily. hugh's blind, as you know, and can't possibly drive my horse up the hill. i drove miss gallito down in my cart and was to drive her back. you know there's no earthly way for me to escape, so if you let me drive those two up the hill, i'll either come back here or you can get me in my cabin." "so that's your game, son!" the sheriff smiled cynically. "to stir the boys up now. it's too late. they're all safe home, with their boots off, and their wives talkin' to them. even the girl couldn't make 'em forget the honor of capturing crop-eared josé here in colina, so run along, run along. the girl's too pretty to be hurt with a frisky horse. my lord!" striding down the hall again, "you fools stop scrapping with that termagant and put her out, put her out, i say." "try it yourself," called nitschkan tauntingly, enjoying to the full her "hour of glorious strife," and resisting with perfect ease the vague and chivalrous efforts of half a dozen deputies to hustle her from the hall. "any more of you try to mix it up with me and i'll put you all down for the count." "oh, sadie, sadie," cried mrs. thomas, running down the hall toward her friend, "it do beat the dogs how you act. these gentlemen'll think you're no lady. do behave more refined." but mrs. nitschkan paid no heed to her pleadings. "who's this josé you're all talking about?" she cried. "i know pedro, but no josé." then she wasted no more breath in words, but gave herself strictly to the business of the moment, prolonging the straggle far beyond the patience of the sheriff and his men. but ultimately numbers prevailed, and, although she resisted to the last moment, giving no quarter and asking none, she was finally landed outside and the door locked upon her. swearing volubly, the sheriff turned his attention to that far end of the hall where the deputies who had not been engaged in the struggle with mrs. nitschkan stood guard over gallito and flick, who had ranged themselves before the crimson curtain of pearl's dressing room. two men, three, counting josé behind the curtain, against at least twenty! hanson, from the back of the hall, yielded to his inclination to laugh. "they lined up just as i expected," muttered the sheriff as he advanced down the room, "and it's a lot of good it's going to do them. say," he called to flick and gallito, "it ain't no use drawing your guns, boys. i guess you two old hands got sense enough to see that. so all you got to do is to hand over the prisoner. we'll tend to the rest of you later." "i guess you're all right"--bob flick's soft voice had a carrying quality which caused his words to be heard all over the hall--"but we all, gallito and myself here, feel kind of puzzled. of course, we see right from the first what the game was and that you were after us, but we ain't wise yet." [illustration: "there stood the black pearl alone."] "is that so?" sneered the sheriff. "well, you soon will be. you step aside from that curtain, and, bob flick, my men have orders to wing you and gallito both the minute you even start to throw your hands back." gallito shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands and flick laughingly waved his in the air. "i guess you're right there, bill," he said. "you sure got the argument of numbers. but say, boys, honest, what bug you all got in your heads? you see in this land of the free you can't subject me and my friend gallito to such indignities as you're a heaping on us. as far as i can make out, you're only laying up trouble for yourself, and also"--here there rang a peculiarly menacing note through his soft, southern voice--"if i'm correct, you're accusing miss pearl gallito of being a suspicious character, and i'm assuring you now, boys, that either in the desert or here in the mountains that that's the sort of thing you've got to answer for." "stop your kidding, bob," said the sheriff, impatiently. he took a rapid stride forward and with one quick sweep of the arm ripped back the curtain. then he fell back staring, dumb with surprise. for there stood the black pearl alone, a man's coat buttoned across her bare chest, and beneath it the froth of her rose-colored silk petticoats. she stood nonchalantly enough, her head thrown back, her hands on her hips, surveying the group of men with a quick, disdainful smile, and then laughed insolently across them at hanson. "my lord!" cried the sheriff, recovering himself, "how did you get here? why, you just went out of the door." "gee! josé dressed up in her clothes and made a getaway," called a shrill voice from the rear. the sheriff swore audibly and violently as he ran to the door. "here, three of you boys," he ordered, "stay here and hold these prisoners. it ain't ten minutes since the others left and there's no chance on earth for 'em to escape. we'll have 'em before you know it. come on, the rest of you." chapter xiii the morning dawned, but the sheriff and his aids, their numbers considerably increased by the various masculine inhabitants of colina who had joyously proffered their assistance--welcoming anything that promised a little excitement after the wearing monotony of the winter--were still seeking josé, who seemed to have vanished in some manner only to be explained as miraculous. gallito, bob flick, pearl and hugh, mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas had all been taken to the village hotel and were there under guard, while seagreave, also under guard, was permitted to remain temporarily, at least, in his cabin. the reason for this was that the sheriff was beginning to turn over certain rather vexing questions in his mind. suppose, for instance, josé should really have made his escape, impossible as that feat appeared, what definite, tangible proof had he that the crop-eared bandit had really been harbored by gallito? only some vague statements made by a woman to hanson, a woman who thought that she had overheard a conversation or several conversations between gallito and bob flick. there had undoubtedly been some one, some one whose interest it was not to be caught, as the events of the previous night showed, but the explanation they had all given, flick, gallito, hugh, seagreave and the women, had struck the sheriff as extremely plausible, far more plausible, in fact, than hanson's story that crop-eared josé had been secreted for months at a time in gallito's cabin. the explanation which gallito and all of his group had given was this. a younger brother of gallito, pedro by name, had been visiting him for some time. this youth had led a somewhat irregular life both in spain and in this country, and had become involved in several more or less serious affairs; more, so gallito averred, from a certain wildness and recklessness of nature than from any criminal instincts. several of his companions had been arrested and, fearing that he would be also, he had fled to colina and begged gallito to shelter him until it was safe for him to go to work in one of the mines. the night before he had been very anxious to see pearl dance in public, and, not daring to sit in the audience for fear of being recognized by some chance wayfarer, he had gained pearl's consent to watch the entertainment from the safe seclusion of her dressing room. both flick and seagreave, who were in gallito's confidence, believed that the boy's fears were greatly exaggerated, but when they saw the sheriff and all of his deputies in the hall their curiosity was aroused. flick had then gone over to speak to hanson and hanson's conversation had convinced him that pedro was really in danger and would be arrested before the evening was over. they then devised the plan of having him escape in pearl's dancing dress and long cloak, meaning to drive him up the hill and let him take his chances of eluding his would-be captors in the forest surrounding gallito's cabin. but he had slipped out of the cart a short distance up the hill. seagreave believed that there were a pair of snow-shoes in the bottom of the cart, which had disappeared. that was all any of them could say. but when seagreave pointed out to the sheriff that if no one remained in either his or gallito's cabin, it was extremely likely that both dwellings would be looted before nightfall, also that without the fires made and kept up the provisions would freeze and that with a guard over him, he would be as easy to lay hands on as if he were down at the hotel with the rest, the sheriff gravely considered the matter and was disposed to yield the point. as seagreave remarked, he certainly had not mastered the art of flying and he knew no other way by which he might escape. "poor pedro!" he sighed. "you bet it's poor pedro," said the sheriff grimly. "why, you know as well as i do, seagreave, that there ain't no way on god's green earth for that boy to make a getaway. of course, he's given us a lot of bother, what with that damned snow falling again last night and covering up any tracks he might make, but we're bound to get him. why, a little army, if it had enough ammunition, could hold colina against the world. when you got a camp that's surrounded by cañons about a thousand foot deep, how you going to get into it, if the folks inside don't want you? now, take that, boy! how's he going to strike the main roads and the bridges in the dead of night, especially when the bridges is all so covered over with drifts that you can't see 'em by day? and, anyway, the crust of the snow won't hold him in lots of places. 'course he may flounder 'round some, but there's no possible chance for him, and i'm thinking that the coyotes'll get him before we do." to this seagreave agreed, and after the sheriff had further relieved his feelings by some vitriolic comments upon hanson, he granted him permission to look after the two cabins, and indifferently ordered the deputy in charge to go down the hill and get his breakfast at the hotel, remarking with rough humor that he'd leave seagreave the prisoner of the mountain peaks and he guessed they'd keep him safe all right. so the two men, their appetites sharpened by a night spent in searching for the fugitive, took their way down toward the village, and it was not long thereafter that pearl, having secured permission to go up to the cabin and make some changes in her clothing, wearily climbed the hill. the lacks in her costume had been temporarily supplied by the inn-keeper's wife, but these makeshifts irked her fastidious spirit. she had suggested that mrs. nitschkan and mrs. thomas go with her, but they were too thoroughly enjoying the limelight in which they found themselves to consider trudging up to their isolated cabin. mrs. thomas, in a pink glow of excitement, cooed and smiled and fluttered her lashes at half a dozen admirers, while mrs. nitschkan recounted to an interested group just where and how she had shot her bears. "say, have you took in the sheriff?" mrs. thomas found occasion to whisper to mrs. nitschkan. "he's an awful good looker, an' i think he got around that hall so stylish last night." "what eyes he's got ain't for you," answered the gypsy cruelly. "he's kept his lamps steady on pearl." "that's all you know about it," returned mrs. thomas with some spirit. "he sat beside me at the table this morning and squeezed my hand twice when i passed him the flap-jacks. he's a real man, he is, an' likes a woman to be a woman, an' not a grizzly bear like you or a black panther like that pearl." pearl's progress up the hill was necessarily slow. the wagons had cut the snow into great ruts which made walking difficult, and where it was smoother it was exceedingly slippery. but her weariness soon vanished under the stimulus of the fresh morning air. even the exertion of dancing the evening before and the night of excitement which followed had left no trace. she was, indeed, a tireless creature and supple as a whalebone. so, after a few moments' exercise in the exhilaratingly pure air, the sparkle returned to her eye, the color to her cheek, and her step had regained its usual light buoyancy. although march had come with its thaws, there was no suggestion of spring in the landscape. from the white, monotonous expanse of snow rose bleak, skeleton shapes of trees lifting bare, black boughs to the snow-sodden clouds. upon either side of the road lay a forest of desolation--varied only by the sad, dull green of the wind-blown pines--which stretched away and away until it became a mere blue shadow as unsubstantial as smoke on the mountain horizon; and yet spring, still invisible and to be denied by the doubting, was in the air, with all its soft intimations of bud and blossom and joyous life; and spring was in pearl's heart as she hastened up the hill toward seagreave. it brushed her cheek like a caress, it touched her lips like a song. when she was about a quarter of a mile up from the village she crossed a little bridge which spanned a deep and narrow crevasse, a gash which cleft the great mountain to its foundation. pearl lingered here a moment to rest, and, leaning her arms on the railing, looked down curiously into the mysterious depths so far below. the white walls of the sharp, irregular declivity reflected many cold, prismatic lights, and down, far down where the eye could no longer distinguish shapes and outlines, there lay a shadow like steam from some vast, subterranean cauldron, blue, dense, impenetrable. it fascinated pearl and she stood there trying to pierce the depths with her eye, until at last, recalled to herself by the chill in the wind, she again turned and hastened up the hill. but before seeking seagreave and asking him to share his breakfast with her, she followed the instincts of her inherent and ineradicable coquetry and, stopping at her father's cabin, made a toilet, slipping into one of her own gowns and rearranging her hair. then, throwing a long cape about her and adjusting her mantilla, she closed the door behind her and turned into the narrow trail which led at sharp right angles to the road to saint harry's cabin. it was, pearl reflected, almost like walking through the tunnel of a mine; the snow walls on either side of her were as high as her head. occasionally the green fringes of a pine branch tapped her cheek sharply with their rusty needles. then the tunnel widened to a little clearing where stood the cabin, picturesque with the lichened bark of the trees on the rough-hewn logs. seagreave had evidently seen her coming, for before she lifted her hand to knock he threw open the door. "ah," he cried, a touch of concern in his voice, "i was just going down to the other cabin to make up the fires before you came. if you stopped there you must have found it cold, and you did stop," his quick eye noting the change she had effected in her costume. "yes," she smiled, "they wouldn't let me come up the hill in josé's coat and my rose petticoats, and i felt like a miner in the clothes they lent me." she had entered the cabin and had taken the chair he had pushed up near the crackling, blazing fire of logs which he had just finished building to his satisfaction. the bond of sympathy between seagreave and josé was probably that they both performed all manual tasks with a sort of beautiful precision. gallito had characterized harry's cabin as the cell of a monk. it was indeed simple and plain to austerity, and yet it possessed the beauty of a prevailing order and harmony. shelves his own hands had made lined the rough walls and were filled with books; beside the wide fireplace was an open cupboard, displaying his small and shining store of cooking utensils. for the rest a table or two and a few chairs were all the room contained. it was the first time pearl had ever been in the cabin, and, although she maintained the graceful languor of her pose, lying back a little wearily in her chair, yet her narrow, gleaming eyes pierced every corner of the room, with avid eagerness absorbing the whole, and then returning for a closer and more penetrating study of details, as if demanding from this room where he lived and thought a comprehensive revelation of him, a key to that remote, uncharted self which still evaded her. seagreave himself, whose visible presence was, for the time, outside the field of her conjecture, was busy preparing her breakfast, and now, after laying the cloth, he placed a chair for her at the table and announced that everything was ready. he seated himself opposite her and pearl's heart thrilled at the prospect of this intimate _tête-a-tête_, the color rose on her cheek, her lashes trembled and fell. "where's josé?" she said hastily, to cover her slight, unusual embarrassment. "tell me quick how you managed it. neither bob nor pop could tell me because someone was always with us." "ah," he said, "the gods were with us, but it was a wild chance, i assure you. fortunately, it was still snowing. hugh and josé were already in the cart and everyone else had hastened home as fast as he or she could go. the boys would not have waited for me if i had not dashed out just when i did, and i was glad enough to escape, for i was afraid they would make some mistake in the road, hugh not being able to see, and josé familiar with the village only through our description of it. i wasted no time in jumping into the cart and then drove like jehu to the mont d'or, fortunately on our way up the hill." "the mont d'or!" she interjected in surprise. "but why did you stop there?" he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "it is josé's shelter. he had the keys of the engine room. your father had sent them to him, and with them he let himself in, and then locked the door behind him. we got a fair start, of course, but it was only a few moments after we reached here that three or four of the deputies were on our heels." "ah," she cried, "they thought you had driven him here." "naturally, and it is unnecessary to say that they spent several hours in searching, not only this cabin, but your father's and mrs. nitschkan's to boot, and also the stable yonder." he pointed to a little shed farther up the hill where he kept his horse and cart. he held out his coffee cup for her to refill and laughed heartily. "i have no doubt that they will return at intervals during the day to see if there isn't some tree-top or ledge of rock that they may have overlooked; but at present they are too busy exploring every nook and cranny of the various mines, especially the mont d'or." she put down the coffee pot with a clatter and threw herself back in her chair with a gesture of intense disappointment. "then surely they will find josé!" she cried. "oh, you do not know," he exclaimed. "wait; it was stupid of me not to have explained. your father is a wonderful man. he overlooks nothing. he foresaw that in spite of all precautions, josé--and other friends of his," there was a trace of hesitation in his tones in speaking to her of her father's chosen companions, "might be trapped here in the winter time when they could not escape over the one or two secret trails which he knows and which he has shown josé. so, long ago, working secretly and overtime in the mont d'or, he hollowed out a small chamber. it is above one of the unworked stopes and its entrance defies detection." "but are you sure?" she interjected earnestly. "have you seen it yourself?" "yes, i was with josé the first time gallito showed it to him. then he, your father, took us over the other parts of the mine and brought us back to the same spot to see if we could discover the hiding place for ourselves. i assure you we could not. neither josé nor myself liked being baffled in that way, for it seemed to us that we went over every inch of the ground, and your father stood there laughing at us in that sarcastic way of his. finally we gave up the search and gallito marked it, so that it might be found in a hurry. it is above one's head and the wall is too smooth to climb in order to reach it--" "how can josé get in then?" interrupted pearl. "josé has a key to your father's locker, and in that locker he keeps a rope ladder. josé throws up the ladder and the hooks catch on a dark, narrow little ledge; climbing up to this, he finds a small opening; he wriggles into this and finds himself in a small chamber which your father always keeps well provisioned. from this chamber a narrow passage leads up to the surface of the ground, thus providing two exits; but, of course, the one above ground cannot be used now, owing to the snow." pearl, who had been listening breathlessly to this description of josé's hiding place, leaned back with a sigh of relief. "then it looks as if josé might be all right for the present. i do hope so for all our sakes." she sat silent for a few moments, apparently turning over something in her mind. when she spoke again her manner showed a certain embarrassment. "do--do you know," she asked rather hesitatingly, "how they got the information?" "no," he replied. "and that is what is puzzling all of us, but they have so far refused to tell us." almost she uttered a prayer of thankfulness. she very strongly suspected that the only way hanson could have secured the information was through her mother's inveterate habit of eavesdropping, a weakness of hers which she had failed to hide from her daughter, and a feeling almost of gratitude came over pearl that so far hanson had been decent enough to spare that poor babbler. she took a last sip of coffee and rose from the table. "i must go down to the other cabin," she said, reluctance in her heart, if not in her voice. "i will go with you"--seagreave rose with alacrity to accompany her--"and get the fires builded. it should really have been done long ago. but what am i thinking of? wait a moment." he clapped his hand to his pocket. "one never knows what avenues of cleverness and cunning a great temptation may open up." he laughed a little. "on that wild drive to the mont d'or i insisted on josé removing your necklace and all your rings with which he had decked himself. i dare say it cost him immeasurable pangs, but he had no time to express them. as i was driving he passed them over to hugh, and when we reached here hugh gave them to me. he explained that in attempting to give them to you he might be seen, and if he were it might lead to some embarrassing questions." he drew from his pocket first the emeralds and then the rings, laying them carefully upon the table, where they formed a glittering heap. "i don't think it is possible that josé withheld anything," seagreave continued. "he would not dare, and i am quite sure that neither hughie nor i dropped even a ring when he gave them to me. still i would be very much obliged if you will look them over and see if they are intact." at the sight of her treasures pearl uttered an exclamation of pleasure and fingered them lovingly, laying the emeralds against her cheek with a gesture that was almost a caress. "thank you. oh, it was good of you to think of them at such a time and rescue them for me." her soft, sliding voice was warm with gratitude. "they are all here." she slipped the rings on her fingers, her eyes dreaming on them. she fastened the emeralds about her neck and hid them beneath her gown, pressing them against her flesh as if she found pleasure in their cold contact. she lifted her eyes to him; her smile was languourously ardent; impulsively she caught his hand and held it for a moment against her cheek. he started and she felt him tremble. then hastily he withdrew his hand, murmuring at the same time a confused, almost inarticulate protest; but pearl did not wait to hear it. she had risen abruptly and, catching up her cloak and wrapping it hastily about her, had opened the door before he could reach it and had stepped out into the snow. seagreave, who had paused a moment to close the door behind them, heard her utter a sharp exclamation and turned quickly. "dios!" she cried. "dios! what is it?" she had fallen back against the wall of the cabin and was gazing about her with a strange and startled expression. seagreave's eye reflected it as he too stared about him with a look not yet of alarm but of wild, deep wonder. for the moment, at least, all things were the same. above them the peaks towered whitely in the sullen, gray sky. on a level with their eyes, the illimitable forests of bare, black trees mingling with the denser and more compact shapes of the evergreens, stretched away over the hillsides, casting their long blue shadows on the snow-covered ground until they wore blurred indistinguishably in the violet haze of distance. unchanged, and yet so strong was the presage of some unimagined and disastrous event, that when a long shiver ran through the earth pearl screamed aloud, and, stumbling toward seagreave, reached out gropingly for his hand. for the second that they waited the earth, too, seemed to wait, a solemn, awe-filled moment of incalculable change, a tense moment, as if the unknown, mysterious forces of nature were gathering themselves together for some mighty, unprecedented effort. then shiver after shiver shook the ground, the earth trembled as if in some deep convulsion, the white peaks seemed bowing and bending--then a roar as of many waters, the air darkened and earth and sky seemed filled with the mass of the mountains slipping down--down to chaos. pearl had ceased to scream and had fallen to her knees, clinging desperately to seagreave. her face was blanched white with terror, and she was muttering incoherent prayers. as for harry, he had forgotten her, forgotten himself, and was living through moments or centuries, he knew not, which, of wonder and horror. and what a sight! it was not simply a great mountain of snow slipping thunderously down to the valleys beneath; but in its ever gathering momentum and incredible velocity it tore great rocks from the ground and either snapped off trees as if they had been straws, or wholly uprooted them, and now was a fast-flying mass of snow, earth, trees and rocks whirling and hurtling through the air. a huge rock had, as if forcibly detaching itself, flown off from the avalanche and buried itself in the ground only a few feet beyond harry and pearl, and more than one uprooted tree lay near them. death had missed them by only a few paces. not realizing her immunity even after the air had begun to clear, and still panic-stricken and fearful of what might still occur, pearl continued to moan and pray until seagreave, who had been so dazed that he had been almost in a state of trance, again became aware of her presence and, partially realizing her piteous state of terror, lifted her in his arms and, wrapping them about her, endeavored to soothe her and allay her fears, although he had not yet sufficiently recovered himself to know fully what he was doing, and was merely following the instinct of protection. it was impossible for him to realize the mundane again immediately after these undreamed of and supernormal experiences. holding pearl, who still clung to him frantically, cowering and trembling against him, he leaned upon the rough, projecting walls of his cabin and gazed with awed and still unbelieving eyes into this new and formless world, yet obscured with flying snow. gradually as the air cleared he saw that a new world, indeed, lay before them. "look, look, pearl," he cried, hoping to rouse her from her state of blind fright. "it has been an avalanche and it is over now." "no, no," she moaned, and buried her head more deeply in his shoulder. "i dare not look up. it will come again." "no, it doesn't happen twice. it is over now and we are safe and the cabin is safe." and yet, in spite of himself, he sympathized with her fear more than he would have admitted either to himself or her. anything seemed possible to him now. he had looked upon a miracle. he had seen those immutable peaks, as stable as time, bend and bow in their strange, cosmic dance, for the change in the position of one had created the illusory effect of a change in all. "come, look up, pearl," he urged. "it is all over and everything is changed. look up and get accustomed to it." everything was indeed changed. for a few yards before the cabin his path with its white, smooth walls was intact, but beyond that lay an incredibly smooth expanse of bare earth. the road was obliterated; the vast projecting rock ledges which had overshadowed it had disappeared. they had all been razed or else uprooted like the rocks and trees and carried on in that irresistible rush. the light poured baldly down upon a hillside bare and blank and utterly featureless. but far down the road where the bridge had spanned the cañon there rose a vast white mountain, effectually cutting them off from all communication with the village below. nothing remained of familiar surroundings. this was, indeed, a new world. at last seagreave roused himself from his stunned contemplation of it and bent himself to the task of coaxing pearl to lift her head and gaze upon it, too. at last she did so, but at the sight of that bare and unfamiliar hillside her terrors again overcame her. "come," she cried, dragging at his arm, "we must go--go--get away from here. dios! are you mad? it is the end of the world. come quickly." "where?" asked seagreave gently. "home," she cried wildly. "to the church. we can at least die blessedly." seagreave shook his head, his eyes on that white wall--that snow mountain which rose from the edge of the crevasse and seemed almost to touch the sky. "listen, pearl," he spoke more earnestly now, as if to force some appreciation of the situation upon her mind. "this cabin is the only thing upon the mountain. the avalanche has carried everything else away." "not my father's cabin, too," she peered down the hill curiously, yet fearfully, in a fascinated horror. "oh, but it is true. it is gone. oh, what shall we do? but we must get down to the camp. come, come." but for once seagreave seemed scarcely to hear her. he had leaned out from the sheltering wall and was scanning with a measuring and speculative eye the white heap that rose from the edge of the cañon and seemed almost to touch the lowering and sullen sky. "thank god, the camp is safe," he murmured. "the cañon must have saved it, or else it would have been wiped off the earth just as gallito's cabin has been. but it has swept the bridge away, of course." "oh, come." pearl dragged at his sleeve. "i can't stay here. i am afraid." "pearl," and there were both anxiety and tenderness in his voice. "you must understand. try to realize that there is no way to get down." "but there must be some way," she insisted, "with snow-shoes--" he shook his head gently but definitely. "there is no way. we might as well face it." he cast another long look at the sky. "it is the season for the thaws, the big thaws, but, even so, it will take time to melt down that mountain out there. no, it is useless to argue," as pearl began again her futile rebellion against the inexorable forces of nature, "but what am i thinking of?" in quick self-reproach. "you must not stay out here in the cold any longer. come." he threw open the cabin door. but if pearl heard him she gave no sign, but still leaned weakly, almost inertly, against the walls of the cabin, gazing down the hillside with dazed and still frightened eyes. seeing her condition, seagreave wasted no more words, but lifted her in his arms and carried her into the room they had so recently left. there he placed her in a chair and pushed it near the fire and she sat shivering and cowering, her hands outstretched to the blaze. the light from the fire streamed through the room and pearl, cheered and restored more by that homely and familiar radiance than by any words of comfort he might have uttered, gradually sank further and further back in her chair and presently closed her eyes. it seemed to him that she slept. at first her rest was fitful, broken by exclamations and starts, but each time that she opened her eyes she saw the familiar and unchanged surroundings, and seagreave sitting near her; and, reassured, her sleep became more natural and restful. when she awoke it was to find herself alone. seagreave had left, but she could hear him moving about in the next room, near at hand if she needed him. he was evidently bringing in some logs for the fire. "as if nothing had happened," she muttered, "and things will go on just the same. we shall eat; we shall sleep. how can it be?" she got up and began to walk up and down the room. she was young, she was strong, and the shock of those few moments of wonder and horror had almost worn off. her active brain was alert and normal again, and she thought deeply as she walked to and fro, considering all possible phases of her present situation. then, ceasing to pace back and forth, she leaned against the window and looked out. the strange, new world lay before her, an earth bereft of its familiar forests, and which must send forth from its teeming heart a new growth of tender, springtime shoots to cover its nakedness. and as she gazed the sun burst through the gray clouds and poured down upon the wide, bare hillside an unbroken flood of golden splendor. hearing a slight sound behind her, she turned quickly. seagreave had entered and, approaching the window, stood looking at the white sloping plain without. "i couldn't chop any more wood," he said. "it seemed too commonplace after this thing that we have seen. but you--how are you?" "i'm all right," she returned. but she did not meet his eyes; her black lashes lay long on her cheek; her cheek burned. she realized in a confused way that there was some change in their relative positions. she had always felt because of his reticence, his withdrawal into self, his diffidence in approaching her, easily mistress of any situation which might arise between them; but since those moments when they two had gazed upon the avalanche, and she in her terror had flung herself upon his breast, and had wrapped her arms about him and buried her face in his shoulder, he had assumed not only the tone but the manner of authority and had adopted again a natural habit of command, dropped or laid aside from indifference or inertia, but instinctively resumed when through some powerful feeling he became again his normal self, alive and alert, vigorous and enthusiastic. it was as if he had suddenly awakened to a whole world of new possibilities and new opportunities. beneath his long, steady gaze her own eyelids fluttered and fell; her cheeks flushed a deeper rose; her heart beat madly. she was furious at herself for these revealing weaknesses, and yet she, too, was conscious of new, undreamed-of possibilities, sweet, poignantly sweet. "pearl," his voice was low, shaken by the emotion which had overtaken both of them, "do you know that, as far as you and i are concerned, we are the only living human beings in all our world?" she looked at him and, unknown to herself, her face still held its glow of rapture; her eyes were pools of love. her little rill of laughter was broken and shaken as falling water. "the sheriff didn't get us, and yet we're prisoners, prisoners of the snow." "and you, my jailer, will you be kind to me?" but there was nothing pleading in his tone. it rang instead with exultant triumph. "why, pearl"--a virile note of power as if some long-dreamed-of mastery were his at last swelled like a diapason through his voice--"we're in for a thaw, a big thaw, but it will take time to melt down that mountain out there in the crevasse; and you and i are here--alone--for a fortnight, at least a fortnight." he emphasized the words, lingering over them as if they afforded him delight. "a fortnight! here! alone with you!" she cried. "never, never. there must be a way--" she murmured confusedly and ran to the window to hide her agitation and embarrassment, pulling the curtain hastily aside and looking out unseeingly over the hills. she was trembling from head to foot. the wind had risen and was wailing and shrieking over the bare hill and the air was dim with flying snow; but the spring that hours before had kissed her cheek and touched her lips like a song rose now in pearl's heart. she pressed her tightly clasped hands against her breast and closed her eyes. a new world! and she and harry were in it together--and alone. chapter xiv the dawns rose, the suns set, after the avalanche as before, and pearl and seagreave, alone in the cabin, isolated from the world of human beings, took up their lives together, together and yet apart, in the great, encompassing silence of this white and winter-locked world. winter-locked, yes, but all the mighty, unseen forces of nature were set toward spring. nothing could stop or retard them now. under sullen, lowering skies; beneath the blasts which swept down from the peaks; in spite of flying snow; unseen, unsuspected, in the darkness and stillness and warmth of the earth, the transformation was going on. the tender, young banners of green were almost ready for the decking of the trees, and almost completed was the weaving of pink and blue and lavender carpets of wild flowers for the hillsides. and the spring that had arisen glorious in pearl's heart when she had realized that she and harry were prisoners of the avalanche was still resurgent. for the first day or two of their isolation she lived, breathed, moved in the splendor of her heart's dream. it encompassed her with the warmth and radiance of a flood of sunshine. in spite of her protests and appeals, seagreave would not permit her to help much with the household tasks, but busied himself almost constantly with them, maintaining with a sort of methodical pleasure the inspired order of his cabin. it is possible that he gave to each task a more exhaustive and undeviating attention than even he considered necessary, and this to cover the sense of embarrassment he felt in adapting himself not only to this pervasive, feminine presence, but to the exigencies of an unwonted companionship hedged about with restrictions. he often felt as if he were entertaining a bird of brilliant tropical plumage in his cabin, as if it had flown thither from glowing southern lands and brought with it sensuous memories of color and fragrance, and wafts of sandalwood. sometimes he and pearl walked about on the barren hillside, constantly washed more bare of snow by the daily rains which had begun to fall, and sometimes he read aloud to her a little, but in spite of pearl's intelligence she had never cared much for books. she craved no record of another's emotions and struggles and passions. no life at second hand for her. she was absorbed in the living. but if in the day there were many tasks to be done, and harry could occupy more or less time in the hewing of wood and carrying of water, and all of the practical duties which that phrase may stand for, there were long evenings when he and pearl sat in the firelight, their speech and their silence alike punctuated by the wail of the mountain wind about the cabin and the singing of the burning logs upon the hearth. and it was during those evening hours that seagreave felt most the shyness which her constant presence induced in him. by day he busied himself in securing her comfort, but by night he was tormented by his own chivalrous and fastidious thought of her, by his desire to reassure her mind, without words, if possible, as to the consequences of their isolation. but sometimes after he had lighted her candle and she had said good-night, and had entered the little room where she slept, he would either sit beside the glowing embers or else build up afresh the great fire which was never permitted to die out night or day during the winter months, his thoughts full of her, dwelling on her, clinging to the memories of the day. josé's personality had been neither ubiquitous nor dominating. seagreave had noticed him no more about the cabin than he had the little mountain brook which purled its way down the hill; but now his housemate was feminine, and with every passing hour he was more conscious of it. at night, after pearl had gone to bed, he felt her presence as definitely as though she were still there. some quality of her individuality lingered and haunted the room and haunted his thoughts as the sweet, unfamiliar odor of an exotic blossom permeates the atmosphere and remains, even when the flower is gone. and as for pearl, whether she walked on the barren hillsides or dreamed by the fire, or stood at the window watching harry chop wood or carry water from the rushing mountain brook, her mind held but one thought, her heart but one image--him. the studious abstraction, the ordered calm which characterized seagreave's cabin, made fragrant by burning pine logs and fresh with the cold winds from the mountain tops, had altered by imperceptible and subtle gradations until the atmosphere was now strangely electrical, throbbing with vital life, glowing with warmth and color. in outer semblance nothing was changed, no more than was the appearance of the world outside, and yet beneath the surface of the lives in the cabin, as beneath the surface of the earth without, all the mighty forces of nature were bent to one end. without, the spring thaws which were to melt down the mountain of snow in the ravine below were no longer presaged, but at hand. the rain fell for hours each day, but the dull and weeping skies, the heavy air, oppressed seagreave's spirits and made him now sad and listless, but for the most part curiously restless. strive as he would, he could not escape nor ignore it, this atmosphere of the exotic which filled his cabin, the atmosphere of pearl's beauty and magnetism and of her love for him. he did not recognize it as that. he only felt it as some strange, disturbing element which, while it troubled his thought, yet claimed it. his growing love for her filled him with a sort of terror. it seemed to him a mounting tide which would sweep him, he knew not whither, and with all the strength of his nature he struggled to hold to the resolution he had made the first day they were alone in the cabin, not to press his love upon her until she had left the shelter of his roof and was back again with her father. one evening the two sat in the cabin together, as usual, seagreave on one side of the fire reading--that is, his eyes were upon the book and he seemed apparently absorbed in its contents--but in reality his entire thought was focused upon pearl, who sat opposite him in a low chair, her hands clasped idly in her lap, and he struggled desperately to maintain his attitude of friendly comradeship when he addressed her. the leaping of the flames on the hearth made quaint arabesques of shadow on the rough walls and the wind sighed and sobbed in the chimney. thus they sat for an hour or two in silence and then seagreave lifted his eyes and stole one of his swift and frequent glances at pearl. something he saw riveted his attention and he continued to gaze, forgetful of his book, of his past resolutions, of anything in the world but her. she was just loosening the cord which bound the throat of a small black leather bag, and while he watched her she poured its contents into her lap and sat bending over a handful of loose and sparkling jewels. she was not aware of his scrutiny, but sat in complete absorption, her dark, shining head bent over them, lifting them, turning them this way and that to catch the firelight, letting them trickle through her long, brown fingers. there, sparkling in the fire-glow, was the desire of the world, the white, streaming flame of diamonds, the heart's blood of rubies, and sapphires--the blue of the sea and the sky--all their life and radiance imprisoned in a dew-drop. "how beautiful they are!" he cried involuntarily, but what he really meant was, "how beautiful you are!" she started and looked up at him in surprise. "yes, they are," she said. "i have been gathering them for a long time. there are only a few, but every one is flawless." "i never considered jewels before." he bent forward the better to see them. "i have often seen women wear them, but i just regarded them as a part of their decoration. yet i can understand now why you love them. they are very beautiful, unset that way." he looked at her deeply. "but i believe it is for some reason deeper than that that they have a fascination for you. you are like them." she let them fall like drops of rainbow water through her fingers; then she lifted her lashes. "am i hard and cold like them?" she sent darting and dazzling full in his eyes her baffling, heart-shivering smile. he did not answer at once, and she, still gazing at him, saw that he paled visibly, every tinge of color receding from his face; his eyes, deep and dark, held hers, as if reading her soul and demanding that she reveal the strange secrets of her nature. the forces of life ready to burst through the harsh crust of the earth without and express themselves in the innocent glory of flower and grass and tender, green leaves, and the sound of birds, were now seeking expression through denser and more complex human avenues. all the love, all the longing which seagreave had so sternly suppressed during these days he and pearl had spent together, rose in his heart and threatened to sweep away in a mighty tide of elemental impulses all of those resolutions of restraint to which he had clung so hardly. he arose and leaned his arm on the mantel-piece, still gazing at her as if he could never withdraw his eyes. "you are so--so beautiful," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he said. "the world will claim you. you have so much to give it and all your nature, all your heart turns to it. you will soon forget this hut in the mountains, and--and all that it has meant." he buried his head in his arms. she, too, rose and laid the handful of her jewels on the table without another glance at them. "these mountains!" she threw wide her arms and drew a long, ecstatic breath. she came near to him and touched his arm. "i hated them once, i love them now." she smiled up at him, her darkly slumbrous, scarlet-lipped smile. he leaned toward her as if to clasp her close, but the vows he had sworn to himself a thousand times since she had been in his cabin alone with him still held him. slowly he drew back and with all the strength of his nature fought for self-control. he called upon every force of his will, and in that supreme moment his face hardened to the appearance of a sculptured mask; all of its finely-drawn outlines seemed set in stone. she turned angry shoulders to him and stirred the stones on the table with impatient fingers until they rolled about, flashing darts of light. symbols of power, of material and deadening splendor; eternal accompaniments of imperial magnificence! the sapphires sang triumph, the diamonds conquest, the rubies passionate and fulfilled love. "they are what you really care for." he spoke huskily; his voice sounded thick and uncertain in his ears. "that and--and your wonderful dancing, and applause--and success and money. it's natural that you should--but it all makes me realize--clearly, that i can't even try to force myself into your life. there's no place for me. even--even if you were kind--you sometimes seem to--to--to suggest that you would be--i'd be just a useless cog, soon to be dropped. it's all complete without me. but, for god's sake, i'm begging you, i'm begging you, pearl, not to be kind to me for the rest of the time that we're here together." "and what about me?" she flashed. "you've thought everything out from your own side, and you've just been telling it. don't you think i've got a side, too? i guess so." he looked at her in surprise, the emotion that had changed and broken his expression fading into wonderment and puzzle. "what do you mean?" he asked. "kiss me, and i'll show you," she said audaciously. all the allurement, the softness and sweetness of the south was in her mouth and eyes. "how can we go on like this?" his voice was a mere broken whisper. he yearned to her, leaned toward her, and yet refrained from holding her. "like _this_," she murmured, and threw her arms about him and laid her head on his heart, her face upturned to his. "i told you"--so close was she held that she scarcely knew that she was breathing--"i told you--that if i once held you in my arms i'd never let you go." "you may have told yourself; you never told me before. but i'm content." "content! that's no word for this," he cried between kisses. the mounting tide he had feared had become a mighty torrent sweeping away all his carefully built up mental barriers, and with that obliterating flood came a sense of power and freedom. all the youth in his heart rose and claimed its share of life and love and happiness. "let me go," she said at last, and drew away from him, flushed as a dawn and rapturous as a sunrise. "no, never again," and stretched out his arms, but she slipped behind the table, putting it between them. "sit down," she commanded, "and build up the fire. i want to talk, talk a long time, all night maybe." "i hope so," he said ardently, and, obeying her, stooped to place fresh logs on the embers. "but what is there to talk about? we've said and will continue to say all there is in the world worth saying. i love you. do you love me?" "maybe you won't want to say that after you've heard me." she had leaned forward, her arms on her knees, her eyes on the flames which leaped from dry twig to dry twig of the burning logs and on the shower of sparks which every minute or so swept up the chimney. "you hit it off pretty well when you said that all i really cared for was money and jewels and my dancing and the big audiences and all that." her eyes had narrowed so that the gleaming light that shone through her lashes was like a mere line of fire. "you see, i got to play the game. i got to. nothing but winning and winning big ever's going to suit me. i saw that when i was awful young. i sort of looked out on life and it seemed to me that most people spent their lives like flies, flying around a while without any purpose, trying to buzz in the sun if they could, and by and by dropping off the window pane." "nothing but winning will suit you," he said drearily. "you are only repeating what i told you." all the life, the passion had gone out of his voice. "and i'm no prize, heaven knows!" "i ain't through yet," she said. "i never did talk much. i guess i'm going to talk more to-night than i ever talked in my life, but i always saw everything that was going on around me, and it didn't take me long to make out that all you'll get in life is a kick and a crust if you haven't got some kind of power in your hands." "god, you're hard, hard as iron!" the room rang with the echoes of his mirthless laughter. "five, three minutes ago, you were in my arms, soft, yielding, trembling, giving me back kiss for kiss, and now you sit there expounding your merciless philosophy." "it ain't me that's merciless," she returned, apparently unmoved, "it's life. you think my dancing's great, so does everybody; so it is. well, it didn't grow. i made it." here she lifted her head with pride, and folded her arms on her chest. "maybe you don't think it took some training. maybe you don't think it took some will and grit when i was a little kid to keep right on at my exercises when i ached so bad that the tears would run down my cheeks all the time i was at them. my mother knew that you had to begin young and keep at 'em all the time, but mom never would have had the nerve to keep me to it. she used often to cry with me. "when i was a girl i'd liked to have had a good time, just in that careless way like other girls, but i gave that up, too, so's i could work at my dancing. when i'd get tired and blue i'd look at the stones i'd begun to collect with the money i'd earned. i'm hard, yes, i guess you're right. i guess you got to have a streak of hardness in you to be one of the biggest dancers in the world, or to be the biggest anything, but"--here she ran across the room and was down on her knees beside his chair--"i'm not hard any longer. those jewels there," pointing to the table behind her, "they don't mean a thing to me any longer, nor my dancing, either, nor money, nor applause, nor anything in the world but you." he shrank away from her as if he feared the subduing magnetism of her touch. "the useless cog to drop away when you get tired of him! i told you your life was all rounded and complete." "it's not," she cried passionately, "without love. without your love. i've got it and you can't take it away from me." he brushed the wing of hair back from his pallid face. "my love!" his voice seemed to drip the bitterness of gall. "where in heaven's name is there any place for it?" "there isn't much room for anything else," she returned, "and that's the truth. i've told you that all those things that you say make my life complete, don't mean that," she snapped her long fingers, "not that to me any more. i've told you that i'd give them all up for you if you asked me, but," and here she swept to her feet, as if upborne by a rush of earnestness so intense and deeply felt that it was in itself a passion, "but i'll give 'em up, for it's a lot to give, for the man i know you are and--and not for the man that's been shirking life." since the first moments after she had begun to voice her experiences, and what he called her merciless philosophy, he had crumpled down in his chair, and when she had sprung up, he had risen perfunctorily and wearily to his feet, but at her last words he had straightened up as if involuntarily every muscle grew tense, an outward and visible indication of his mental attitude. inherited and traditional pride was in the haughty and surprised uplift of his head; a bright flush had risen on his cheek and his eyes sparkled with a thousand wounded and angry reflections. whether or not she had intended to produce this effect by her words, she was undaunted by it, and went on: "josé tells me that you got a big place in england, just waiting for you to come and claim it, and you quit it and everything there because a girl turned you down. it was sure a baby act." "i--" he began to interrupt her. there were few men who would have cared to ignore that chilled steel quality of seagreave's voice or, for the matter of that, the chilled steel look on his face. but there were certain emotions the pearl had never known, and they included remorse and fear. "i ain't finished yet," the gesture with which she imposed his silence held her accustomed languor. "i got to say that the man--that's you--that fought all through the boer war was no shirker, and the man who did some of the things you did in india--you got some kind of a medal, didn't you?--what was it josé called you?--soldier of fortune--well, you weren't a quitter, anyway." she stretched out her arms to him and smiled, her compelling heart-shattering smile. ardor enveloped her like an aura; the beauty and color of her were like fragrance on the air. "that's the kind of man i want to marry, harry, not a man that's willing to live outside of life and work, and stay dead and buried here in these mountains." he did not bend to her by an inch. her smiles and her ardor splintered against chilled steel and fell unheeded. "is there anything else?" he asked, after a slight interval of silence, during which he had the appearance of waiting with a pronounced and punctilious courtesy for further words from her. she made no answer, merely continued to look at him, but he, apparently unmindful and indifferent to that gaze, lifted his book from the table beside him and, still standing, because she did so, began to read. for a moment or two she seemed dazed and then, with trembling fingers, she gathered up her jewels and placed them in the little black bag. this task accomplished, she started with all the scornful grace, the indifferent languor of a spanish duchess to sweep from the room, but in passing him and noting him still absorbed in his book, her hot blood flushed her cheek, her eyes glittered with angry fire. her slight pause caused him to look up and, seeing the anger on her face, he smiled amusedly, insufferably. the next second she sprang at him like a cat and slapped him across his insolently smiling face, and then flung spanish oaths at him with such force and heat that they seemed to splutter in falling upon the chill of the air. then she flashed from the room. but the maddening smile still lingered on his lips as he bent to pick up the book her blow had sent flying to the floor. and, still smiling, he stood for a moment caressing the white dents her fingers had left on his cheek. finally he replenished the fire, filled and lighted his pipe and, drawing his chair near to the hearth, sat, thinking, thinking, the greater part of the night. pearl was out early the next morning, and walked halfway down the hill. when she returned to the cabin she found seagreave sitting in his chair by the hearth as if he had not moved during the night; his haggard gaze was fixed on the dead ashes of the fire. without speaking to him, pearl stooped down and, with some paper and bits of wood, began to build up a blaze again. he peered at her a moment as if she were a vision, then got up very stiffly as if he had not moved for hours, and began to assist her, mechanically following the usual routine of preparing breakfast. when it was ready they sat down opposite each other as was their custom, and made a pretense of eating. with the exception of a perfunctory remark or so the meal passed in silence. pearl evidently had no intention of apologizing for her behavior of the night before. her manner toward him was that of one who had relegated him to the position of the tables and chairs, and intended to take no more notice of him. taking it for granted that that was the relation she wished sustained between them, seagreave gravely adopted her attitude, and for the next few days if they spoke at all it was principally about the work that was going on down at the crevasse. never had harry occupied himself so constantly and so feverishly, for the most part outside the cabin, chopping and sawing diligently at a huge pile of wood, and in his intervals of leisure he spent a great deal of time down the hill by the mountain of snow, watching its almost magical vanishing. "there is a great crowd down at the ravine to-night," he said to pearl, one evening at supper. "they are working with torches, and i think they will probably have some kind of a bridge swung over by midnight. i managed to signal to them a while ago, and they know that we are safe now. if--if you want to sit up to-night," his voice sounded strained and perfunctory, "i think you could possibly get over before morning." the shadow which had fallen upon her face in the last day or two deepened a little. "it will be cold out there at night." she caught at the first excuse which came into her mind. "it will be better to wait and go down after breakfast." he acquiesced with a nod, but made no answer in words, and soon after he left the room, and she, later, peeping cautiously out from the curtain behind the window, saw him walking back and forth before the cabin. it was an hour or two later when he opened the door and entered. she did not hear him. she was standing, her elbow on the mantel-piece and her cheek on her hand, looking down into the fire. his footsteps roused her from her reverie and she looked up, in that moment of surprise, forgetful of self and therefore self-revealing. thus she stood for one fleeting second, holding him with her smile, her whole being seeming to rush out and meet and encompass him and embrace him. then her eyelashes drooped long and black on her cheek, and her face was all aflame with color. he stood still a second, breathing hard. then from the shadow he hurled himself into that zone of glowing firelight where she stood. a white flame passed over his face and lighted his eyes with that burning, incandescent glow that only those cold, blue eyes can show. primeval, all preliminary bowing and scraping in the minuet of wooing ignored, he saw his heart's desire and seized it, lifting the pearl in his arms, crushing her against his breast, until she, dazed for the moment, lay captured and captive. but her second of surprised, involuntary non-resistance served her well. harry looked into her eyes and forgot his vigilance; and with a twist pearl slipped through his arms and was across the room. she stood against the wall of the cabin, her head thrown back, a smile on her white lips, her eyes daring him. seagreave took no dares. it was a part of his creed. he was across the room in a step, his arms outstretched as if to clasp her. but pearl held him with her eyes until at least she covered her face with her hands and wept and leaned toward him, and again seagreave caught her in his arms with a murmur of passionate and inarticulate words. "i love you, i love you," he whispered, his lips seeking hers. "pearl, forgive me. i--i--forgot myself, forgive me. why, you are as safe here as in your father's cabin. it will never happen again. i'll never touch you again unless you let me. why, pearl," with a tremulous attempt at a joke, "for the rest of the time that we're here you can keep me locked up in the other room if you want to, and just pass my food through the door now and then when you feel like it." "oh, harry," she was still sobbing, "i'm such a devil. all my life i've been trying to see what i could get. i set out to make everything and everybody pay me, and i never got anything but chaff; money and jewels and applause--all chaff. the only happiness is giving, and i want to give, give, give to you. that's what i been longing to do ever since i loved you, and all i could do was to call you names--a quitter and a shirker." she wept afresh. "and the worst of it is i mean it, i wish i didn't, but i do." "but you were right," he said, "good and right, too. you hurt my man's vanity, and i got nasty--sarcastic, you know. i've got you to thank forever for bringing myself right home to me--showing me to myself. i was a morbid, love-sick boy, who indulged in so much self-pity that he thought he was a very fine romantic figure, running off from his responsibilities and burying himself in the ends of the earth." "i was jealous, too, of that girl you quit things for, that girl that was like violets and white roses. i ain't like 'em." "jealous! you! it wasn't long that i remembered her, but you were right again--i liked that life. i'd got used to it. the other kind seemed impossible to me--i've been a quitter and a shirker--just what you called me--but i'm going back home to take it all up again, or if you would rather, i'll stay here and work mines in these mountains, or help reclaim the desert--if you'll marry me, pearl." "but i'm the black pearl--a dancer. i don't see how i can begin to be anything else now; but i will, i'll be anything you ask me, harry," throwing her arms about his neck, "i will." he laughed and held her closer still. "i'll never ask you to be anything else. 'the black pearl--a dancer,' that's enough for me. you shall have all the joy of your gift--its expression. i'm not such a selfish animal as to ask you to give that up, so that i can keep you--you beautiful, tropical bird--in a cage, just to gratify my sense of possession--and watch you mope and pine, because i've kept you from your flights. no, sweetheart, you shall dance, and have your big audiences that inspire you, and the applause you love ... and then you'll come back to me, and i'll be waiting for you and working--always working. i promise you that, pearl. but," fixing determined eyes on her, "i'll not dangle around after you, and patch up your rows with your managers, and engage your maids, nor be known as the black pearl's husband, by the lord, no! i'll do my own work in the world, and stand and fall by my own merit, if there's any in me. but kiss me, pearl, kiss me." "then it's the last kiss till to-morrow," she smiled, "for it's past midnight now." the morning dawned, a blare of sunlight. pearl, glancing from the window just before they ate their early breakfast, could see that bridge was in place. both she and harry were quiet. it was the last meal together in the cabin, and more than once tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she made a pretense of eating. "they're happy tears, harry, honest, they are," she assured him. "i guess i'm kind of locoed at the thought of seeing pop and bob and hughie again. come on, let's hurry down now and meet them." she stood up and drained her coffee cup and then threw her cape about her. "come on." she held out her hand to him and smiled. chapter xv the sun-flooded hillside showed plainly the path of the avalanche; blank, featureless it lay, without sheltering tree or rock to diversify its bald monotony. but it was bare no longer, for the brown earth was covering her nakedness with a delicate mist of green. beyond the sweep of the avalanche the maples were swinging their tassels, and the swelling buds of the oaks and aspens showed that they were almost ready to burst into leaf; the air was full of bird calls and fluttering wings, and the breeze, although chill, seemed ineffably soft in comparison with its recent rigorous blasts. pearl and seagreave had gone but a short distance from the cabin when suddenly pearl shielded her eyes with her hand. "look," she cried excitedly, and pointed to two men who were standing down by the bridge evidently awaiting them, "i can't quite see from here, but it is, it must be, bob and pop." she almost flew down the hill after that, and seagreave, his face suddenly set in lines of determination, kept pace with her. he had noticed, even if she had not, that those two motionless figures at the bridge had not advanced one step to meet her, but were maintaining an attitude portentously watchful, it seemed to him, and boding ill for the warmth and spontaneity of the welcome she so evidently expected. but pearl appeared to see nothing of this, and as she drew near the two who awaited her, she would have flown like a bird into her father's arms. but before she could throw her arms about him he caught her wrists and pushed her back a step or two anything but gently. "why weren't you down at the bridge last night?" he asked sternly. the old man had changed since the avalanche. there were anxious deep hollows about his eyes which were at once brighter and more sunken than ever. his parchment skin looked livid and lifeless and his mouth had tightened until it was drawn in and pinched. "why weren't you down at the gully waiting for us?" he asked again. "the bridge was across at midnight. the boys have been working night and day to get you out, and this is the way you act, hiding up there in that cabin like you'd as lief stay there as not." "yes, pearl, why weren't you down to meet us?" bob flick spoke for the first time, his slow, soft voice was placating and yet it was evident that his sympathies were with gallito. "the boys had the place all lit up with torches while they worked, and your pop and i waited half the night for you down here. why didn't you come?" neither of the men had so far even glanced at seagreave, but ignored him as thoroughly as if he were not there. pearl looked at flick a moment in frowning incomprehension. petted, spoiled child that she was, she could not bear to be scolded where she had expected a rapturous welcome. from flick to her father she glanced, and then back again. "what's the matter with you two?" she cried. "are you mad just because i didn't come chasing down the hill in the dead of night? how did i know that the boys were going to get the bridge across at midnight?" "because, if you'd been the sort of girl you ought to be, you wouldn't have stayed a minute longer in that cabin than you could have helped. you'd have stood down by the gully all night long just to show the folks in the camp that you wouldn't stay in that cabin after there was any chance at all for you to get away," gallito answered her before bob flick got a chance. "what made you stay up there? you and him, too," he pointed one, long, gnarled forefinger at seagreave, "have got to answer me that question. and there's another one, too, and you'll answer it." again pearl stared at him, and again she turned her puzzled eyes on bob flick. then, as the meaning of their attitude flashed over her, she fell back a pace or two, her face grown white. "dios!" she murmured, with stiff lips, a sob rising in her throat. then she tossed high her head in hot resentment. her mouth was set in a thin scarlet line of obstinacy, her eyes burned, but their expression was unreadable. with a slow movement of her body, expressing infinite scorn, she swung away from her father and her lover and, with her eyes upon the far, blue ranges, superbly ignored them. bob flick shot a warning glance at gallito, who was about to speak, and took a hasty step forward. "look here, pearl," he said conciliatingly, "don't mind your pop. the strain on him's been awful. it's been hard on all of us. you sure gave us some terrible days, not knowing whether you were alive or dead, but we all kind of figured from the direction that the snow-slide took that it missed the cabin, and we wouldn't believe anything else but that you were as much alive as ever and as anxious to see us as we were to see you. and, pearl, listen," striving to divert her gaze from those dim, blue ranges, "we ain't been idle. there's some great news for you. you tell her, gallito." "yes," the spaniard's tone softened a little and he lifted his head with a touch of pride, "it sure is great news. i been in correspondence with sweeney and he opened up the matter of a contract again. i been dickering with him just the same as if we knew that you were safe and alive. i wouldn't let myself think anything else; and the result, pearl," he paused, his eyes scanning her face, "the result is that he's just doubled his offer of last year and will play you over a circuit twice as big, the cities only. how does that strike you?" but there was no answering enthusiasm on pearl's face, not even a gleam of interest. gallito and flick looked at each other in dismay. her indifference was genuine, they saw that clearly. there was no affected disdain in her manner of receiving the news. it was simply a matter which did not touch her at all. seeing this, a slow, burning flush crept up into her father's face, his jaws worked. "pearl, did you hear?" he demanded, "because if you didn't, you'd better pay attention, and pay attention quick. i've accepted for you, given my word to sweeney that if you were alive you'd take this offer. and now you and me are going to leave colina within a few hours, and you're going to leave for good. understand?" she smiled in slow, indifferent scorn and answered nothing, and her attitude maddened gallito. "what do you mean by acting this way?" he cried. "let's get down to it. why weren't you down at the gully last night? wouldn't he let you?" again he pointed an accusing finger at seagreave, who stood a little apart watching the scene with folded arms. "pearl, you answer me, for i'm going to ask you that question straight out now. ain't you just as good as when you came?" but pearl's seven or seventeen devils were in full possession of her now, and one of them, the demon of silence, stood her in good stead, for she knew intuitively that this attitude of non-explanation would prove far more irritating to her inquisitors than the vials of her wrath poured freely upon them. but gallito was in a white fury by this time. "by god!" he cried again, "you will answer me. you will tell me, and tell me now." "i'll be hanged first," she flashed the words at him as a snake darts its fangs. "and i'll be hanged if you'll ask her such questions before me," cried seagreave, speaking for the first time. her father looked at him with a slow and bitter smile, then he gave a little nod of acrid comprehension. "you keep out of this, harry seagreave," he said, in a low, cold, deadly voice. "this is between the girl and me. pearl, you come with me--now. we leave colina, as i told you, within a few hours. you come now." he took a step or two down the hill as if expecting that she would follow him. a wailing wind blew down from the peaks. the mocking bark of a coyote sounded near at hand in those wild solitudes, a bird flew from one tree to another, and the sound of a breaking twig was like a pistol shot. moments passed and still pearl had not obeyed her father's command. it was not repeated, which was characteristic of gallito. he merely waited until at last she lifted her eyes and unwaveringly met his. "i'm not going," she said clearly. harry made a quick, impetuous step toward her, but before he could reach her, her father had caught her by the wrist again and swept her aside. "look here, gallito," cried seagreave, "since she won't explain, you've got to listen to me. i--" "i've told you to keep out of this, seagreave," interrupted gallito, in his harsh, grating voice. "i'll deal with you later." but at the sound of seagreave's voice the color had come back to pearl's cheek, the light to her eyes. hands on hips, she swung her skirts and surveyed bob flick and her father with a scornful, slanting gaze. "i didn't know that there was anybody in the world that would dare ask me such questions, even you, pop. and making arrangements with sweeney without waiting to consult me! and ordering me to leave colina on two or three hours' notice! dios!" she spread her hands out on either side of her as if pushing away an impossible thing. "i can hardly believe it. i didn't answer you, pop, nor you, bob, because i was trying hard to take things in. but now," she turned to seagreave, her head lifted higher yet in the glory of joy and pride, "i'm not going to leave colina--yet, and i'm not going to sign up with sweeney; am i, harry?" seagreave passed her father and was beside her in two strides. "you're going to do as you please," he said. she leaned toward him, smiling, her fugitively sweet, tantalizing smile; and, oblivious of the others, seagreave caught her to him as if he would hold her against the world. and, seeing this, bob flick turned and walked down the hill with never a backward glance. not so gallito; his eyes had darkened, those fierce hawk's eyes; his face was livid. "pearl," his voice grated in his throat, "you can't make a fool of both me and yourself like this. you are a fool of a woman like all the rest, and because i have the bad luck to be your father i must save you from your own madness. you've got your big chance, the chance you've been waiting for, and you're not going to throw it away now, just because you been staying up in that cabin alone with him until you've lost your wits about him." he indicated seagreave with a contemptuous jerk of the thumb. "seagreave," in cold fury, "you're a damned thief to take advantage of her this way. now, pearl, you come on." he seized her by the wrist and would have drawn her roughly from harry's encircling arm. she resisted, and harry, in the strength of his indignation, unloosed the old man's grasp and drew her hastily away. but the touch of his hands had roused in gallito fresh rage, and with almost unbelievable quickness he lifted his heavy, gnarled stick and swung it above seagreave's head. harry leaped back, near, perilously near, the edge of the ravine. the soft, moist earth crumbled beneath his feet; for a second he tottered on the edge, and then went down like a shot. pearl stood arrested in that first, quick rush of hers, frozen, gazing in wild unbelief at the spot where harry had disappeared. as for gallito, he also gazed almost uncomprehendingly, until the expression of surprise on his livid face gave way to a saturnine and vindictive satisfaction. "he did it himself," he muttered, "the fool! i never touched him." then, shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands as if well content to leave the matter to fate, he turned and began to walk down the hill, still muttering as he went. this roused pearl from her momentary trance. "father," she cried wildly, "you must help me. you tried to hurt him and now you've got to help me. we must get him. father, father," she babbled, running after him, "you must stay, you must help me, you must. you can't go and leave him. oh, stay, stay, and i'll do anything, anything in the world. i'll sign the contract. i'll do anything." but gallito went on as if he did not hear her. his own belief was that harry was done for. there was not one chance in a thousand that he was alive, one chance in a million, considering the depth of the ravine. well, better so. his conscience was clear. he had not struck him, but had merely lifted his stick in self-defense after seagreave had laid hands on him. as for pearl, she would eventually turn to him and agree to his wishes, there was nothing else for her to do. in the meantime, by leaving her to herself, he avoided the unpleasant sound and sight of her grief and reproaches. therefore, in spite of her passionate pleading, he went on. and pearl, finally realizing that she could hope nothing from him, turned and ran back to the ravine. there she threw herself flat on the ground and, groaning and sobbing, drew herself to the edge of the cliff and gazed down into those depths of purple shadow. much of the snow still lingered, and for a moment in the white, dazzling glare of the sunlight on the steep walls, she could see nothing. then, as her eye became accustomed to those flashing refractions of light, she gave a loud, sobbing cry, her whole body became strangely limp and inert. for one dreadful moment she feared that she was going to faint. then she drew on all the strength of her will and was herself again, ready in that moment of poignant relief to dare anything, do anything to save him. for quite plainly she saw harry. instead of whirling down into those impenetrable depths and being buried in the mass of snow at the bottom, he had been caught almost miraculously on the out-curving trunks of two or three young pine trees growing close together and springing from a narrow out-cropping ledge of rock. it was not so very far down, at most not more than thirty feet. "harry," she cried, "harry," sending her voice ringing down the chasm; but he did not even stir at the sound, only the narrow walls gave back the echoes. the silence struck the chill of a new terror to her heart, and she sprang to her feet, gazing wildly about her in every direction. "i must have help. i must have help," she muttered. but, oh, it would take so long to get men from the camp, and all the time she would be gone he would be lying there silent and motionless, perhaps--no, she shuddered, she would not even think the word. once more she sent her seeking, despairing gaze over the hillside, and then uttered a sharp, muffled exclamation, for, rising above the jagged walls of the ravine, and not many feet away, climbing, agilely and rapidly, she saw a man. a moment more and she bent forward in a state half of relief and half of superstitious terror, muttering a prayer, almost believing that it was a vision; and then, with a relief beyond all speech, she saw that it was josé. she could not be mistaken. he had pulled himself over the cliff by this time and had cautiously risen to his feet. up and down the hill and in every direction he sent his sweeping, careful gaze, his far-sighted eyes taking in every detail of the landscape. then he came toward pearl, over the bare, brown earth, running low. "oh, josé, josé," she cried, almost hysterical in her relief, "harry is down there," pointing to the cliff, "hurt, and you must help me get him up, you must." "carramba! so that was the noise and screaming i heard in my rock cell yonder, just as i was about to creep out and take a little air. i would not have dared to come so far if i had not seen you here alone." he threw himself on the ground and looked over the cliff. "saints and devils! it is true. poor harry! but you and i cannot get him up alone." "but we can, we must," she cried imperatively. "go to his cabin quickly and bring some ropes. there is plenty of strong rope there. you can run more quickly than i. go." "but the risk." josé shook his head dubiously. "i shall be in full sight all the way." "what of it?" she cried frantically. "the moments pass and we are doing nothing. no one will see you. oh, go." then, as he still hesitated, a sudden thought struck her. she tore open the neck of her gown and drew out the little black leather bag of loose stones. "look!" she pulled it open and held it out to him that he might see the gleaming jewels inside. "there, will that make it worth your while? they are yours, josé, if you will only go." with a low exclamation of surprise and admiration, josé bent over them. then he looked at pearl, his eyes alive with darting gleams of avarice. he would have risked his life any time, almost without a thought, in order to gain them, and here without his even lifting a finger, they had fallen into his hands, straight out of heaven. it was evidently a reward for the patience with which he had borne the long days that he had lain hidden in gallito's rock-hewn chamber in the mont d'or. "it shall never be said of crop-eared josé that he left a friend in distress," he exclaimed virtuously, and, stuffing the little bag in his pocket, sped up the hill. uttering broken expressions of relief, pearl again threw herself flat on the ground and gazed over the edge of the cliff. and, as she lay thus, moaning out passionately tender words which harry, lying motionless and unconscious, could not hear, a sudden thought struck her. she would go to him. she looked down, far down where those rocky walls lost themselves in indefinite hazes and shuddered; but another glance at harry and courage flowed to her again. she saw where, on the narrow projecting ledge and on the trunks of those up-springing pines, she could get a foothold near him, if it were but possible for her to climb down. scanning the wall closely, it seemed to her rough and jagged enough for her to do so with comparative safety. just as she reached this decision, she heard a faint holloo from the same direction in which josé had come and, turning her head quickly, she saw mrs. nitschkan hastening over the hill toward her. "gosh a'mighty!" exclaimed the gypsy, when she had come within speaking distance. "what kind of a howdy-do is this? i brought up a bite for josé to eat and, although i've stood down there whistling my head off, he never poked his head out of the ground, the jack-rabbit! and the next thing i see is you lying flat in the mud." "oh, nitschkan!" tears of relief were streaming down pearl's face. "thank god that you've come. harry fell over the cliff. we can see him, and josé's gone to the cabin to get ropes." with many exclamations of surprise mrs. nitschkan peered over the edge of the ravine. "saved by them little sticks of pine trees and a piece of rock no wider than my foot! ain't that the workings of providence for you!" "is he--is he--do you think he is--" pearl's voice broke in anguish. "no, i don't. he ain't lookin' that way," said mrs. nitschkan, with such force and heartiness that pearl was immediately reassured. "he's jus' got the sense knocked out of him. i don't jus' see yet how we're goin' to get the ropes fastened to him, so's he can be drug up." "i'm going down to him. i'll fasten them." "you! and yet i don't know but what it ain't best. it'll take all the strength josé and i've got to draw him up careful and not go bumping him too much against the rocks." pearl took off her shoes, then, shutting her lips tightly and reassuring herself with the knowledge that the rock was rough and she was sure-footed, she lowered herself over the side of the ravine and reached for a foothold. presently she found it, and then another. slowly, with cut and bleeding hands, she made her way down. half way, perhaps, she grasped a little bush which seemed to spring securely from the cliff and held tightly to this until she could grasp another jutting point of rock and then another bush, until at last, with a great sobbing sigh, she found her feet planted on what seemed sure ground. it was the trunks and the outspreading branches of the same pine trees which held seagreave. she took a second to draw a long breath, and then, holding cautiously to a little branch, she bent over him. with infinite tenderness she attempted to straighten out one leg which was doubled beneath him, but he moaned and sighed so that she desisted, seeing from the limp way that it lay that it was broken. he had evidently fallen on his back; and like a dagger zig-zagging its way through her heart was the thought, "what if that, too, were broken?" oh, how should they get him up without injuring him further and cruelly hurting him with the ropes. and he must be so cold. she shivered herself in the damp, icy air of this ravine. she called up to mrs. nitschkan to swing down to her her long cape, which she had discarded before beginning her climb. the gypsy did so carefully, but just as she let the end of it go a gust of wind swept it in slow circles down the ravine. mrs. nitschkan uttered more or less profane exclamations of disgust; but pearl said nothing. after her first feeling of intense disappointment, a new idea had come to her, and she hastened to act upon it. as quickly as she could with her torn fingers she unfastened her gown and slipped out of it, and then, unheeding mrs. nitschkan, who was scolding her like a magpie, she threw it over seagreave, tucking it about him as best she could. the breath of the snow-damp air upon her shoulders and arms was like a bath of ice water, but she scarcely noticed it, for she heard mrs. nitschkan welcoming josé. [illustration: "holding cautiously to a little branch, she bent over him."] he and the gypsy immediately began swinging great coils of rope over the cliff. "can you get the ropes under him, pearl, and tie 'em in a kind of cradle?" called mrs. nitschkan. "of course," she answered, "if you and josé will tell me how." then, under their direction, she managed to bind the ropes securely about seagreave, moaning and weeping herself at the pain she evidently caused him, although he did not so far recover consciousness as to realize what was happening to him. when she had finished, she caught another swinging end of rope which they threw her and climbed up the cliff. she took a moment or two to get her breath, and then slowly and with all the care possible under the circumstances, they drew seagreave up. "dios!" cried josé, panting, "it is well that you two are so strong, because we have yet to get him to the cabin. fortunately i, also, have great strength." after some discussion it was finally decided that pearl was to hasten on ahead and build up the fires and heat water, while mrs. nitschkan and josé carried harry up the hill. it was for them a slow and difficult progress, but the cabin was finally reached and the gypsy and josé laid him on his bed, undressed him and examined his injuries. presently mrs. nitschkan came into the outer room, where pearl cowered beside the fire, her hands over her face. she caught imploringly at the other woman's skirt. "oh, nitschkan, what is it? will he live? tell me, tell me, quick." "things might be better and they might be worse, but," with rough good will, "you ain't no call to wear mourning yet. his back ain't hurt serious, but his left leg and his right arm are both broken and he's an awful lot cut and bruised, especially about the back and the head. i can set a leg myself, as good as most, and many a one have i done, but those that i've set 'em for don't always seem to have as good use of their limbs after as before. so if you want him as good as new again, you'd better have a doctor." "yes," agreed josé, who had come into the room. "they are bad breaks. i, too, can set a leg or an arm, but, as you say, nitschkan, those for whom i have done it have usually been ungrateful enough not to use them right." pearl staggered to her feet. "i will go," she said, "if you two will only stay here and look after him, while i am gone. oh dear josé, promise me that you will not leave nitschkan alone. you can hide here in the cabin when you see me coming with the doctor." josé's fingers touched the little black bag in his pocket. "saints and devils!" he cried, expanding his chest, "only a dog would refuse you. of course i will stay." chapter xvi for the first few weeks after harry's accident pearl's consciousness of the external events in the world beyond the confines of the four walls of the cabin seemed obliterated. she could never remember afterward whether the rain fell or the days were flooded with sunshine. all of her energies and interests were absorbed in one issue--his recovery. fortunately, his injuries proved more painful than dangerous, and were necessarily slow in the mending; but the nursing was arduous, and pearl might have found it difficult indeed had it not been for the assistance of the two mountain women and josé. it would be another matter to define correctly the motives that impelled that debonair bandit to stand by her side so manfully in the face of gallito's wrath and reiterated prohibitions. it might have been a conscientious wish to earn the jewels, over the possession of which he had not ceased to gloat, or it might have been an impish desire to annoy gallito. again, it might have been gratitude toward seagreave, sympathy with the pearl, or, as easily the revolt of josé's volatile nature against the monotony of life in the narrow confines of his rock chamber. but to josé's danger, as to the passing days, pearl was alike oblivious, and it was not until harry was able to sit up again for brief periods, that she became aware of times and seasons, of other persons and of the world of human interests and reactions. she awoke to a realization of these facts with a sort of wonder. she looked abroad over the hillsides and saw a new world. the long-awaited spring had sped up from the valleys of mist, and at the wave of her white wand the mountains had bloomed with a delicate iridescence--the luster on young leaves and shining blades of grass. it was then that she also began to apprehend something of the nature of josé's difficulties. "i must be more virtuous than i thought," he explained to her one day, not without a touch of complacence, "for if the devil were truly my friend, he would fly away with your father. those hawk's eyes of his are ever on me and he orders me daily not to leave the mine. if i could but cook for him," he added mournfully, "he would soon see reason, for," with customary boastfulness, "i have yet to see the man whose opinions i could not change with a single dish. i, crop-eared josé, have won freedom more than once on an omelette, and have gained the sympathy and interest of those set against me, with a single sauce. see, he even threatens me because i am true to my friends, but," and here he adopted his most wheedling tone, "if you only would make up with him, and i could but cook him one supper, here in this cabin, and let him win two or three games at cards from me, all would be well again." "ah, if i only could," sighed pearl, "but he wouldn't listen to me unless i consented to leave harry and sign with sweeney. you know how set he is, when he makes his mind up. no, he won't listen to me unless i give in about this contract." josé nodded without speaking. for once he appeared to be turning something over in his mind. in truth, he was; he felt now that his comfort and safety very largely depended upon a reconciliation between pearl and her father, and he was prepared to take long chances in an attempt to effect this. therefore he informed gallito that from certain remarks pearl had made from time to time, he, josé, was convinced that her heart was greatly softened toward her father, and that for his part he was also convinced that she desired nothing more than to see gallito again. the old spaniard knew josé too well to put much faith in any of his utterances, but, nevertheless, inspired by a vague hope that pearl might have repented her decision and wearied of her bargain, he climbed the hill to seagreave's cabin the next afternoon to see her. harry had been sitting up longer than usual that day, and josé and pearl had helped him back to his couch in the inner room, where he now lay asleep, and pearl had resumed her seat in the open door, where she sat gazing out at the wonderful panorama spread before her and idly enjoying the sight, the sound, the fragrance of early summer. blue ranges, an infinite succession of them, stretching away to an illimitable and expanding horizon, floating in faint pearl hazes, but the hills near at hand were vividly green, their varied monotony of tone broken here and there by great waves of pink and blue wild flowers. birds were flying from tree to tree, calling and singing, and there fell pleasantly upon pearl's ears the ripple and splash of the mountain brook. the joy in her heart at harry's recovery mingled pleasantly with nature's joy in her prodigal, flowering summer. but all this harmonious blending of natural sounds and sights was broken by the sudden, harsh intrusion of human discord. hearing footsteps near at hand, pearl turned quickly to see her father standing almost at her elbow. lean, gnarled, grizzled and thorny as ever, he was gazing searchingly at her from under his overhanging, bushy brows. so unexpected was the sight of him that pearl showed plainly her uncontrollable surprise, which, courageous as she was, was not without a faint touch of fear. her upper lip drew back from her teeth at the corners of the mouth and the frown so like his own darkened her brow. rising, she had sprung to the doorway, stretching her arms from post to post as if to prevent him from entering, and he, noting that unconscious attitude of protection for the one within, smiled sourly. "what are you doing here?" her voice was harsh and so low that it was barely audible. "no harm to you or him, either, so don't be scared. i got more important business in hand. i didn't come to quarrel with you, pearl. i came to talk to you like you were a sensible girl." he had been rolling a cigarette between his fingers, and now he lighted it, and for a moment watched the smoke wreaths drift upward. "patience takes most of the tricks in life, i've learned, so i waited until i heard that he was all right again"--he jerked his thumb toward the cabin--"and then i waited until you had time to think, and that's all i'm here to ask you to do, my girl, think." again he gazed deeply at her, nodding his head as if to emphasize his words. gallito could be impressive, even magnetic when he chose, and he chose now. "i can think a-plenty," returned pearl curtly, "but what is it you want me to study about now? if it's about signing up with sweeney, i can tell you once and forever that it's no use. you're just wasting your breath." his face darkened a little, his eyes gave one quick, wicked flash, but he controlled his temper. "maybe, maybe," he said placatingly, "but that ain't all i came to talk about. i guess i've lived long enough to know that it's no use to talk to a woman about her interests when she's lost her head about some man." he showed his teeth in a wolfish and contemptuous smile. "no, i ain't such a fool as to waste my breath that way. you are an awful headstrong and wilful girl. carraja! i do not know where you get such qualities. but somewhere back in your head you have inherited from me, your father, a grain of sense and reason, and because of that i come here to-day, not to try and coax you, no, i know better than that, but to talk to you as man to man." he paused here as if to let some underlying meaning in his words impress her, and she, conscious of this, felt a sudden shiver of apprehension run over her, a momentary despair, as if she were being entangled in some yet invisible net whose meshes were being drawn tight about her. a quick glance at gallito failed to restore her confidence. there was a look upon his face which did not betoken any expectation of defeat. again she shivered; he had spoken truly, he was not one to plead, and he would not be here unless he felt that he was in possession of certain arguments which must inevitably coerce her to yield. "now, pearl," his tone was still placating, "for your own sake and for the sake of your future, i am not willing that you should miss this great offer which sweeney has made you. you have already treated him badly once. he knows he cannot depend on you. how many times do you think he will stand that? you can't afford to do it. i have been holding him off and holding him off until i can't do it any more, and we must now come to a final agreement. and one thing more," he stopped a second to light another cigarette, "what about hughie? you and he have worked out a lot of dances together. he's got his heart set on traveling with you and playing for you. i don't see how you got the heart to spoil all his plans." for the first time there was a touch of real emotion in his voice; it was hughie, not pearl, who held the first place in his heart. a quiver passed over pearl's face. "oh, i am sorry about hughie," she cried, "but what can i do? i can't leave harry. it's no use asking me to do that." she looked up at gallito and, in spite of her tears, there was an immovable resolve on her face and, seeing this, a slow, dark flush crept up her father's cheeks. "listen, pearl," he said, and although he still held the manner of reasoning amicably with her, there was a touch of iron in his grating voice, "i'm here to make terms with you and to keep the relations which should be between father and daughter, but there are many things to consider when a girl is as obstinate as a pig. then it is her father's duty to decide for her and to see that she does what an obedient and well-brought up girl should do, and he must use what means are in his power to make her see the right way." "there are no means in your power to make me see things differently," she said, "yours or anybody else's." "so!" he said slowly, and flicked the ashes from his cigarette with a hand which trembled slightly. "but all my cards are not played yet. you think that everything shall go your way, but that is not life; no, that is not life. since you have none of the feelings of respect and obedience which a child should have for a parent, it shall be a game between us. now, at once, i will play my trump card." there was a grim and saturnine triumph in his voice. "josé!" she started and looked at him askance, puzzled and yet fearful. "josé!" she repeated uncertainly. "yes, josé. josé has been useful to you, and josé has spent all his time with you and him." he nodded his head in the direction of the inner room. "i have warned him." there was a quiver of passion and resentment in his voice. "i have pointed out to him again and again the risks that he was running not only for himself, but me. yet for me--me who has befriended him at the risk of my own life, who has kept him in my cabin for many months, he has no thought, no gratitude. that all goes to seagreave, seagreave who stole you and who now lies strapped in his bed unable to help you or josé or any one else. well, let seagreave save him now. and how?" his harsh, mirthless laughter rang out. "yes, how? does seagreave know the secret trails over the mountains? not he. then how is our dear josé to escape? will you engage to get him safely out of colina on a railroad train? i think not. remember there is a big price on his head." pearl had shrunk back from him while he was speaking, both horror and fright on her face. "but you can't do that for your own sake," she cried. "it will then be known that you have kept josé all these months, and that it was he who escaped the night i danced. do you think the sheriff will forgive you that you lied to him and fooled him? i guess not. and then you sheltered josé and hid him after that. on your own account you can't let him be taken." gallito smiled in unpleasant triumph. "if i should turn state's evidence for so notorious a criminal as crop-eared josé i should certainly get immunity myself. i was weak, yes, in my unfortunate desire to reform a fellow countryman, but finding all my efforts hopeless, i at last saw my duty and gave him up." for the moment fear almost overcame pearl, and then her high spirit flared. "and you would give poor josé up," she said. "i would never have believed it, and yet i see you really would do it, just to have me obey your will. but you can't do it, and you won't do it. i tell you now, if you even dare threaten such a thing, i will send for the sheriff and i will tell him the whole story. i will let him know what you are. and more, too"--she made quick steps toward him--"i will have you arrested for assaulting harry." "ho, ho!" he laughed loudly. "self-defense, my girl, self-defense. who could prove anything else? who would take your word under the circumstances?" "but i will tell more, much more," she cried, all aflame now. "i will tell of all the cut-throats and thieves you have sheltered in your cabin from time to time. i know their names and i will prove what i say. i will show them the chamber in the mine where josé is hiding. what will they think of that? you have a high standing in colina and in other places. you are respected. are you willing to give all that up just so you can force me to sign with sweeney? i don't believe it, i won't believe it. but as sure as you don't help josé to escape, so sure will i do what i say. oh," she stopped suddenly, a sob in her voice, "oh, here comes bob, bob and hughie!" for the first time she left the doorway in which she had remained protectingly, and ran forward to meet the two who were rapidly mounting the hill. "oh, bob!" she cried. "oh, hughie! i knew you two wouldn't go back on me. i knew you'd come sooner or later, both of you." hughie clung to her, one arm around her, and flick's hard and impassive face softened a little as he gazed at her. "why, pearl, what's the matter?" he asked. "you look pale, and tears! why, that ain't a mite like you! has he been cutting up rough," he glanced toward her father, "and worrying you?" "why didn't you come before?" she lifted her shadowed eyes to his. he winced a little, his mouth twisting slightly. "ain't it enough that i've come now?" something in his voice conveyed even to her who had so long taken his unwearying devotion without question and as a matter of course what it had cost him to seek her again. they had drawn near the cabin by this time and flick looked at gallito's frowning face a moment. "are you needing me, pearl?" his drawling voice was as lazily indifferent as ever, but his glance held an intimation of danger for gallito which the old man did not fail to understand. "maybe," pearl replied in a low voice. "you 'most always come when i need you, bob." "i guess your interference ain't needed now, flick," began gallito. "i can--" hughie ran his hand caressingly down the old spaniard's sleeve. "no need to tell old bob that we're a united family, pop," he cried. "why i'm already composing a wedding march." he caught his adopted father's hand in his. at this mute expression of affection from the being who was nearest his heart gallito's face softened a little, although he gazed back at bob flick with a baffled and still scornful smile. "well," he said reluctantly, "it ain't often i confess i'm beat, but i guess i'm too old to stand both hughie and the girl taking sides against me, not to speak of you, flick, and i know if it came to a choice between me and those two where you'd stand." "there ain't going to be any sides taken," said flick. "we are going to give in and take what's coming to us, gallito, like sensible men, whether we like it or not. when's the wedding, pearl?" a great, beautiful wave of crimson swept over her face. "harry wants it right away," she said. "the sooner the better," remarked bob flick dryly. "and, by the way"--he put his hand in his pocket and drew out the little black leather bag she had given josé--"josé sent you back this for a wedding present. honest, he didn't keep out more than three stones. why," a flash of alarm on his face, "what's the matter, hughie?" the blind boy was standing a little apart from the rest. his head was thrown up and his face was pale. he was nervously clinching and unclinching his hands, but with that exception his attitude was one of tenseness and singular stillness, as if every faculty were concentrated. "there's something about," he gasped, "something bad. i can't tell what it is yet, but i'll know in a minute. ah-hh!" he rushed across the open space before the cabin and into the trees that grew thickly at the side. it took flick but a second to follow him, and the next moment pearl and her father heard him call. "come out. i got you covered, but i'll thank you first for your gun." gallito also started forward now, but before he had taken more than a step or two hugh emerged first from the underbrush, followed by hanson and then by flick. seeing who it was, pearl had shrunk back into the shadow of the room, but then, as if forcing herself to an unpleasant task, she came forward again and leaned against the door post, nonchalant and disdainful in spite of her pallor and the faint trembling of her lower lip. hanson swept off his hat and bowed low with exaggerated courtesy and much of his old swagger. the heavy dissipation of the last few months was evident in a marked and shocking way. his figure was gross and bloated, and his bold, ruddy good looks had vanished; his swollen face was purple and the features seemed curiously thickened. the hand which held his hat trembled constantly. "again we meet," he cried. "well, under the circumstances, i've no objection. you pleasant little band of thieves have got ahead of the honest man once or twice, but not for keeps. this is my day, thank you. i'm not giving away information ahead of time again, but, just between friends, i'll mention that the sheriff is overdue at nitschkan's cabin, where josé happens to be. they'll be up after the rest of you presently." "carraja!" gallito ground his teeth, "and i left him at the mine." then quickly to pearl, "suppose he should get away from them. are both horses in the stable?" "both," she said. "hurry, you get on one and i will have the other ready for him. come, i will help you. hugh, get down to nitschkan's and warn them if you can." gallito ran through the cabin after her. this commotion roused seagreave and after calling once or twice to pearl and receiving no answer, he made his way to the doorway, appearing there, thin and white, still upon crutches. "hello, seagreave," called hanson, still with his air of bravado. "you've been a long time coming to that door. i been sitting back in the bushes watching for you as patient as a cat watches a mouse-hole, with my gun all cocked and my finger on the trigger, ready to pick you off the minute you showed up. nothing against you personally, but the black pearl didn't spare me, so why should i--oh, you needn't reach for your gun. good old bob, ain't that what the pearl calls him, has got me covered." "so have i for that matter," said seagreave. "all right, if it amuses you." hanson shrugged his shoulders indifferently and leaned up against a tree which, growing before the cabin, had escaped the sweep of the avalanche. "lord! don't i know what you two cut-throats stand ready to do to me? and no one any the wiser. well, what the hell do i care? but say, seagreave, since we're all having this nice little afternoon tea talk together, sociable as a sunday school, it might do you good to take some account of the has-beens. here's bob, he had her before i did, but that ain't taking away the fact that i had her once, by god! i guess everybody understands that there's more behind those emeralds than the pretty story we've all heard so often. the black pearl certainly ain't cheap." "let him alone, harry." bob flick's voice arresting seagreave in his swift rush toward hanson had never been more liquid, more languid. all through hanson's speech his face had not shown even a flicker of expression. "this is mine. it always has been mine, and i've known it ever since you and me, mr.----, i never can recall your name, but, then, yellow dogs ain't entitled to 'em, anyway--met in the desert." "i guess that's straight. you always had it in for me from the first night i saw her. well, you'll only be finishing what she begun. she broke me; she drove me straight to hell. maybe it was a mis-spent life i offered her, but when i met her i had money and success, i wasn't a soak. i still had the don't-give-a-damn snap in me, and, even if you're middle-aged, that's youth. but she's like a fever that you can't shake off. and she don't play fair. but she's the only one. you know that, bob flick, and she didn't have the right--" "i ain't ever questioned her right, hanson"--flick used his name for the first time--"and i'm standing here to prove it now. for the sake of miss gallito, because she once took notice of you, i'm going to treat you like you was a gentleman. here's your gun. take your twenty paces. and, remember, this ain't to wound, it's to kill." hanson took the pistol and measured off the paces. then he turned and looked from one man to another with a smile of triumph on his evil face. "broke by the black pearl and then shot by her dog! that's a nice finish. i can shoot some myself, but i ain't in your class, flick, and you know it. i guess not. i prefer my own route." he looked toward the cabin, where it seemed to him that pearl or her shadow wavered a moment in the doorway. "here's dying to you, honey," and before either man could stop him he lifted his pistol and shot himself through the heart. * * * * * in the meantime certain events of more importance than the passing of hanson, to those involved, were taking place in mrs. nitschkan's cabin. as soon as gallito had left the mine and taken his way up to seagreave's josé also had departed from his cell by way of the ravine and had hastened to the abode of mrs. nitschkan, where he and mrs. thomas were soon absorbed in the composition of various appetizing dishes, for with the connivance of the two women josé hoped that evening again to subjugate gallito with the spell of his cookery, and win back the indulgence he had been steadily losing. the afternoon, then, was passing most pleasantly for both mrs. thomas and himself when suddenly the door was flung open and mrs. nitschkan, who had been fishing in a creek further down the hill, came dashing in. "josé," she cried, "the sheriff and his boys is all out after you again. there's nobody else they'd want up this way. they couldn't keep under cover all the way, for they had to cross the bridge, and i happened to see 'em then. get out quick through the trees for harry's cabin." "but i don't know the secret trail." "gallito does. anyway, cut for it an' maybe i can throw them off the scent. gosh a'mighty! cut for it. they're here." with one last, hasty kiss on mrs. thomas' cheek, josé was out of the door like a flash. "now quick, marthy." mrs. nitschkan had seized a pair of scissors and cut the pocket from her skirt, tucking the roll of bills which it contained into her man's boot. "cry, marthy, cry like you never cried before. go on, i say. yelpin's your strong suit. now yelp." with that she fell to swearing lustily herself and throwing the furniture about, even turning the stove over and sending a great shower of soot about the room. at the height of all this noise and confusion, dominated, it must be said, by mrs. thomas's loud and, to do her justice, sincere weeping, there came a thunderous knocking on the door, and without waiting to have it answered the sheriff threw it open and stepped in. "holy smoke!" he cried. "what you knockin' down the cook-stove for?" "'cause i'm fightin' mad, that's why," returned mrs. nitschkan tartly, "and i sure am glad to see you. i been robbed, that's what. ain't that so, marthy?" mrs. thomas lifted her tear-stained face and corroborated this with mournful nods. "whilst i was takin' a little nap," went on mrs. nitschkan excitedly, "a rascal brother of gallito's who shouldn't never have been let out of jail cut the pocket clean out of my skirt and stole my roll. look here!" exhibiting the jagged hole, and also the empty pocket which lay upon the floor, "i just waked up to find him gone. he can't have got far, though. i guess he thinks i ain't on to that rock chamber gallito blasted out for him in the mont d'or, but he showed it to marthy here, and she showed it to me. come on, and we'll get down there quick." "some of us will." the sheriff was inclined to believe her, and yet he was still suspicious. a rock chamber in the mont d'or! that certainly accounted for the miraculous escape of last winter. "pedro?" he asked. "are you sure it ain't josé?" "i ain't heard of any josé, have you marthy?" asked mrs. nitschkan innocently. "pedro was his name. but come on quick." "two of you boys search this cabin and the woods around," ordered the sheriff, "and two of you go up to seagreave's cabin. the rest come along with me." led by mrs. nitschkan, still volubly lamenting her loss, they started down the hill toward the ravine, when the sheriff suddenly looked up to see upon the crest of the hill just before it dipped into a descending slope two horsemen at full gallop, both horses and riders outlined against the sky. "our men are up there, boys," he cried. "quick. i've got the fastest horse in the county, and we'll get them before they get to three rocks." he was back to his horse again and on it and up the hill before his men were fairly in the saddle. it was a race after that, and so rapidly did he gain on gallito and josé that it looked as if his prediction of getting them before they reached three rocks was about to be verified. "i must do it, i must do it," he kept muttering to himself, "for it's bad going after that, and it'll take us all some time to find him." he was lessening the distance between them with every long, powerful stride of his horse, but already the three rocks, gaunt and high, loomed before him as if forming an impassable barrier across the road. suddenly, just as josé and gallito had almost reached them and the sheriff was gaining upon the fugitives in great leaps, he saw them swerve their horses aside and dash into a clump of trees to the right of the rocks. "oh, the fools! the fools! i got 'em now. instead of going for the rocks, they've made for the trees." a few minutes later he and his men found the horses ridden by gallito and josé blown and hard-breathing among the trees, but no trace could they discover of the men they sought. beyond the three rocks the character of the hills changed strikingly. instead of the wide, undulating, wooded plateau, over which riding was so easy, the mountains suddenly seemed split by mighty gashes, a great pocket of crevasses and towering cliffs. the sheriff and his men beat about aimlessly and conscientiously for several hours, but in vain. josé and gallito had long before "hit" the secret trail. so finally the sheriff, who was inclined to put less faith than ever in hanson's representations, and convinced in his own mind that gallito was merely conniving at the escape of an unregenerate brother, and that mrs. nitschkan's tale was true, called off his men and rode home. "the cuss ain't important," he remarked, "and i guess gallito'll be glad enough to make up nitschkan's loss to her and keep her mouth shut." * * * * * it was evening. pearl and seagreave sat in the door of the cabin. her head drooped, her hands lay listlessly in her lap, and her brooding gaze was fixed on the soft, dark night. "oh," she cried at last, "how can i do anything but leave you? look at the mischief i've done in the world. look at it!" seagreave clasped his arms about her and laid his cheek on hers. "let's forget it all, pearl, forget that you've been a firebrand and i've been a quitter, and begin life all over again. there's only one thing in it, anyway, and that's love." "just love," she answered softly. "well, love's enough." * * * * * appleton's recent books novels japonette (the turning point). by robert w. chambers, author of "the common law," "the firing line," "the fighting chance," "iole," etc. with pictures by charles dana gibson. inlay on cover. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . "japonette" is one of the most delightful stories mr. chambers has ever written. it is the romance of a bewilderingly pretty girl and a young new york society man. just as they come to know each other, fate steps in and renders them both penniless by wrecking the great firm in which their fortunes are invested. how the idle young man, without occupation or profession, is moved to swing about and take up the business of life in dead earnest is told with the brilliance and animation which are mr. chambers's chief assets. "perhaps there are some people who would not like 'japonette'; if such there are one ought to be sorry for them."--_boston transcript_. the price she paid. by david graham phillips, author of "the grain of dust," "the husband's story," "old wives for new," etc. mo. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . "the price she paid" is the story of a young woman, raised in luxury and idleness, who by the sudden death of her father, is thrown upon her own resources. talented and determined, she sets out to be an opera singer, but the way is long and rough and she is obliged to pay the full price before success crowns her efforts. "little idea is conveyed in a brief outline of the terseness and vigor of the story. it is a very significant book for a variety of reasons."--_philadelphia press_. "it is a question whether among the dozens of flesh and blood people whom david graham phillips has created there be one more genuinely real than this mildred gower. again the marvel of the man is upon us in the full measure of his realistic artistry."--_washington star._ the favor of kings. by mary hastings bradley. illustrated. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . the most spectacular romance of english history--the story of beautiful, proud, ill-fated anne boleyn, second wife of henry viii and mother of queen elizabeth. "there is no moment when the long, thrilling tale, well constructed, well characterized, crammed with rapid action, fails to interest and convince."--_chicago record-herald._ the sheriff of badger. by george pattullo. illustrated. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . a vigorous romance of the cowboy country. a story of the modern cowboy of the southwest, the man who does not live with a gun in his hand, but who fights to a finish when necessity demands it. the sheriff of badger is a flesh and blood individual of pluck and quiet daring. his breezy adventures will keep you keenly interested and highly entertained. the maker of opportunities. by george gibbs, author of "the bolted door," "the forbidden way," etc. illustrated. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . a bright, breezy story about a young club man, who spends all of his time and most of his comfortable income in providing matrimonial and other opportunities for his friends. "very entertaining, full of dash and vivacity and of cleverness."--_richmond times dispatch._ the diary of a freshman. by charles macomb flandrau, author of "viva mexico," "prejudices," etc. new edition. mo. cloth, cents net. postpaid, cents. this classic of undergraduate life relates the adventures and misadventures of a youth fresh from a western home, who is suddenly dropped into the turmoil of his opening year at a great eastern college. from the moment that "mamma left for home" right up to class day, the author chronicles minutely and most amusingly the experiences of his freshman hero. halcyone. by elinor glyn, author of "the reason why," "his hour," etc. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . mrs. glyn's new novel is a very modern love story in which the principals are a dreamy little girl--a finished product of greek life and thought--and a rising young politician, with a fine old professor as the god in the machine. the scenes are laid in a beautiful park in england, and on the continent. it is an up-to-date idyll, rich in romance, rapid in action, pure, clean, wholesome, inspiring. the host of readers of "the reason why" will find this new story exactly to their liking. sharrow. by the baroness von hutten, author of "pam," "our lady of the beeches," "he and hecuba," etc. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . "sharrow" is a story of complicated plot woven around the possession of a wonderful old estate owned by the sharrows since the middle ages. "it is a book of flesh and blood and character, of individuality and power. real people walk through its pages and real motives and emotions direct the movement of the story."--_new york evening sun_. "the spell of sharrow is cast over the reader before he knows it."--_baltimore news_. faith brandon. by henrietta dana skinner, author of "espiritu santo," "heart and soul," etc. with frontispiece. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . mrs. skinner's new novel has for its heroine a most piquant and delightful american girl, who, at the age of sixteen, falls in love with a russian prince. he is a man of lofty character with a serious purpose in life and devotes his energies to political journalism. the course of true love runs anything but smoothly. the story is full of action and incident, and has especial interest through its warmth and color, its pictures of life in russia and the humanness of its characters. "a novel of purpose as well as an enchaining romance."--_springfield union_. _appleton's recent books_ * * * * * the mystery of the second shot. by rufus gillmore. illustrated with pen-and-ink sketches by herman heyer. mo. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . bertrand newhall, a scheming boston banker, gets control of an old, reliable trust company, wrecks it to bolster up another business, and disappears. police and reporters hunt him in vain. as ashley, a reporter, is "combing" the neighborhood of newhall's home for evidence, a young girl draws him inside a house, where he finds the banker dead, a pistol beside him. the police call it suicide, but ashley thinks differently, and ultimately he solves a problem quite new in the annals of crime. the nameless thing. by melville davisson post, author of "the gilded chair," etc. illustrated. mo. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . a thrilling mystery story. the queer death of a recluse in his library is the main theme. there is absolutely no clue, and the mystery is doubled by the fact that, although the room is shot up and in the greatest disorder, both windows and door are found locked on the inside--the man dead in a pool of his own blood. the clearing up of this mystery leads the reader through many exciting adventures. "something exceptional in the way of detective stories. it is such stories as these that dignify the art of fiction writing."--_boston transcript_. the trevor case. by natalie s. lincoln. illustrated by edmund frederick. mo. cloth, $ . net. postpaid, $ . . one of the most ingenious and exciting detective novels of recent years. the scene is washington. the beautiful young wife of the attorney-general is found murdered. a burglar is caught leaving the house, but incriminating evidence points to other people high in official and political life. there is a bewildering conflict of clues and a series of startling climaxes before the case is cleared up. not one reader in fifty can guess the ending. [illustration: dick in the desert james otis] sunshine library. the blind brother. by homer greene $ . the captain's dog. by louis Énault . dear little marchioness. the story of a child's faith and love . dick in the desert. by james otis . the gold thread. by norman mcleod, d.d. . how tommy saved the barn. by james otis . j. cole. by emma gellibrand . jessica's first prayer. by hesba stretton . laddie. by the author of "miss toosey's mission" . little peter. by lucas malet . master sunshine. by mrs. c. f. fraser . miss toosey's mission. by the author of "laddie" . musical journey of dorothy and delia. by bradley gilman . a short cruise. by james otis . the wreck of the circus. by james otis . thomas y. crowell & company, new york and boston. dick in the desert by james otis author of "how tommy saved the barn," etc. new york: east th street thomas y. crowell & company boston: purchase street copyright, , by thomas y. crowell & company. typography by c. j. peters & son, boston. presswork by s. j. parkhill & co. [illustration: "thanks to the timely attention, dick soon opened his eyes."--page .] for the lad to whom i have given the name of dick stevens this little story has been written, with the hope that he may enjoy the reading of it even as i did his modest manner of telling it. james otis. contents. chapter page i. dick's daddy ii. a lonely vigil iii. a sand-storm iv. at antelope spring v. dick "pulls through" dick in the desert. chapter i. dick's daddy. between fox peak and smoke creek desert, on the western edge of the state of nevada, is a beautiful valley, carpeted with bunch grass, which looks particularly bright and green to the venturesome traveller who has just crossed either of the two deserts lying toward the east. "buffalo meadows" the indians named it, because of the vast herds of american bison found there before the white men hunted simply for the sport of killing; but those who halt at the last watercourse prior to crossing the wide stretches of sand on the journey east, speak of it as "comfort hollow." to a travel-stained party who halted at the water-pool nearest the desert on a certain afternoon in september two years ago, this last name seemed particularly appropriate. they had come neither for gold nor the sport of hunting; but were wearily retracing their steps, after having wandered and suffered among the foot-hills of the sierras in a fruitless search for a home, on which they had been lured by unscrupulous speculators. nearly two years previous richard stevens--"roving dick" his acquaintances called him--had first crossed the vast plain of sand, with his wife, son, and daughter. his entire worldly possessions consisted of a small assortment of household goods packed in a stout, long-bodied wagon, covered with canvas stretched over five poles bent in a half-circle, and drawn by two decrepit horses. the journey had been a failure, so far as finding a home in the wilds was concerned, where the head of the family could live without much labor; and now the homeless ones, decidedly the worse for wear, were returning to willow point, on the little humboldt river. the provisions had long since been exhausted; the wagon rudely repaired in many places; the cooking utensils were reduced to one pot and a battered dipper; the canvas covering was torn and decaying, and the horses presented a skeleton-like appearance. the family had suffered outwardly quite as much as the goods. young dick and his father wore clothing which had been patched and repatched with anything mrs. stevens could push a needle through, until it would have been impossible to say what was the original material; but to a boy thirteen years of age this seemed a matter of little consequence, while his father preferred such a costume rather than exert himself to tan deer-hides for one more serviceable. mrs. stevens and six-year-old margie were in a less forlorn condition as to garments; but they also needed a new outfit sadly, and nearly every day young dick told them confidentially that he would attend to the matter immediately after arriving at willow point, even if it became necessary for him to sell his rifle, the only article of value he owned. "once across the desert, mother," he said, as the sorry-looking team was drawn up by the side of the pool, and he began to unharness the horses while his father went in search of game for supper, "and then we shall be well on our way to the old home we had no business to leave." "it is this portion of the journey that worries me most, dick. you remember what a hard time we had when the animals were in good condition; and now that they are hardly able to drag their own bones along, the danger is great." "no more than when we crossed the river; and even though father did feel afraid there, we got along all right," was the cheerful reply. "there should be plenty of game here, and after a square feed things won't look so bad." mrs. stevens turned wearily away to make preparations for the evening meal in case the hunter should bring in a supply of meat, but made no reply. she understood why young dick spoke encouragingly, and felt proud that the boy displayed so much tenderness for her; yet the fact could not be disguised that dangers beset the little party on every hand. it required but a small amount of labor in order to make ready for the night. tired as the horses were, there was no likelihood of their straying very far; and dick simply removed the harness, allowing the animals to roam at will. the wagon served as a camp; and the most arduous task was that of gathering materials with which to make a fire, when nothing larger than a bush could be seen on either hand. then there was no more to be done save await the return of the hunter, and it was not until the shadows began to lengthen into the gloom of night that young dick felt seriously alarmed. he knew his father would not have gone very far from the camp in search of game, because he was on foot, and there was no more promising place for sport than within the radius of a mile from where they had halted. besides, when hunting took the form of labor which must be performed, richard stevens was not one who would continue it long, unless he was remarkably hungry. young dick's mother gave words to her anxiety several times; but the boy argued with her that no harm could have befallen the absent one in that vicinity, and for a time her fears were allayed. when another hour passed, however, and nothing was heard from his father, even dick lost courage, and believed that the culminating point in their troubles had been reached. his mother and margie had entered the wagon when night was fully come, knowing they must go supperless to bed unless the hunter returned; and to dick the thought that these two whom he loved so dearly were hungry, brought him almost as much sorrow as the unaccountable absence of his father. he believed, however, that it was his duty to appear unconcerned, as if confident his father's prolonged absence did not betoken danger. he trudged to and fro in the immediate vicinity of the vehicle, at times whistling cheerily to show there was no trouble on his mind; and again, when it was impossible to continue the melody because of the sorrow in his heart, repeated to his mother that nothing serious could have befallen the absent one, that probably he had unconsciously wandered a long distance from the camp on the trail of game. "it don't stand to reason he will try to make his way now it is dark, mother dear; but within an hour or two after sunrise he'll be here, and the breakfast we shall then have will make up for the loss of supper." mrs. stevens made no reply; and listening a moment, dick heard the sound of suppressed sobs. his mother was in distress, and he could do no more toward comforting her than repeat what he did not absolutely believe. he knew full well that unless some accident had befallen him, his father would have returned before dark; that he would not have allowed himself to be led so far away from the camping-place that he could not readily return; and the boy's sorrow was all the greater because it was impossible to console his mother. clambering into the wagon, he put his arms around her neck, pressing his cheek close against hers, and during what seemed a very long while the two remained silent, not daring to give words to their fears. then dick bethought himself of a plan which offered some slight degree of hope, and starting up suddenly, said,-- "i ought to have done it before, an' it ain't too late now." "done what, dick dear?" "gone out in the direction father took, and fired the rifle two or three times. it may be he has lost his bearings, and the report of the gun would be enough to let him know where we are." "but you must not go now that it is dark, my boy. suppose you should lose your way? then what would become of margie and me?" "there's no danger of that, mother. i've been in the woods often enough to be able to take care of myself, surely." "your father would have said the same thing when he set out; but yet we know some accident must have befallen him." "let me go only a little way, mother." "of what avail would that be, my son? if the purpose is to discharge your rifle, hoping father may hear the report, why not do it here?" "i will, if you won't let me go farther." "i can't, dick dear. i might be braver under other circumstances, but now the thought of your leaving me is more than i can bear." "i won't go so far but that i can see the wagon," dick said, kissing his mother and little margie much as though bidding them good-by; and a few moments later the report of his rifle almost startled the occupants of the wagon. during the next hour dick discharged his weapon at least twelve times, but there was no reply of whatsoever nature. if his father was alive and within hearing, he was too badly disabled to give token of his whereabouts. the supply of cartridges was not so large that very many could be used without making a serious inroad upon the store; and realizing the uselessness of further efforts in this direction, dick went back to the wagon. margie had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in her mother's lap; and mrs. stevens, unwilling to disturb the child, was taking such rest as was possible while she leaned against the canvas covering of the wagon. dick seated himself beside her. it was not necessary he should speak of his failure, for she knew that already. he had thought it his duty to join her for a few moments, and then go outside again to act the part of sentinel, although such labor could be of little avail; but before he had been nestling by her side five minutes his eyes were closed in slumber; and the mother, her mind reaching out to the absent father, spent the hours of the night in wakefulness, watching over her children. the sun had risen before dick's eyes were opened; and springing to his feet quickly, ashamed of having slept while his mother kept guard, he said,-- "i didn't mean to hang on here like a baby while you were awake, mother, but my eyes shut before i knew it." "it is well you rested, my son. nothing could have been done had you remained awake." "perhaps not; but i should have felt better, because if anything has happened to father, though i don't say it can be possible, i'm the one who must take care of you and margie." mrs. stevens kissed the boy, not daring to trust herself to speak; and he hurried out, for there was before him a full day's work, if he would do that which he had decided upon in his mind the evening previous. there was no reasonable hope any one would come that way for many days--perhaps months. they were alone, and whatever was done must be accomplished by this thirteen-year-old boy. "i'm going after something for breakfast, mother, and then count on trying to follow father's trail," dick said, after looking around in every direction, even though he knew there was no possibility of seeing any human being. "there is no reason why you should spend the time in trying to get food for us, dick dear. margie and i can get on very well without breakfast, and you will have the more time to hunt for your father; but remember, my boy, that you are the only one we can depend upon now, and without you we might remain here until we starved." "i'll take good care not to go so far from the wagon but that i can find my way back; for surely i'll be able to follow on my own trail, if there's no other. hadn't i better do a little hunting first?" "not unless you are very, very hungry, dick. food would choke me just now, and there is enough of the bread we baked yesterday morning to give you and margie an apology for a breakfast." "i can get along without; you shall eat my share. now, don't worry if i'm not back until near sunset. the horses are close at hand, and you may be certain they won't stray while the feed is plentiful. stay in the wagon, even though there is nothing to harm you if you walk around. we must be careful that no more trouble comes upon us; so keep under cover, mother dear, and i'll be here again before night comes." dick was not as confident he could follow his father's trail as he would have it appear to his mother; but he decided upon the direction in which he would search, and set bravely out heading due west, knowing he could hold such a course by aid of the sun's position, as his father had often explained to him. dick was hungry, but scorned to let his mother know it, and tried to dull the edge of his appetite by chewing twigs and blades of grass. after walking rapidly ten minutes, more careful as to direction than he ever had been, because of the responsibility that rested upon him, he stopped and shouted his father's name; then listened, hoping to hear a reply. save for the hum of insect life, no sound came to his anxious ears. once more he pressed forward, and again shouted, but without avail. he continued on until, seeing the trail made by the wagon when they had come in from the stream, he knew he was very near to the border of the valley. surely his father would not have gone outside, because he had said before they arrived that only in the buffalo meadows were they likely to find game. then dick turned, pushing on in a northerly direction at right angles with the course he had just been pursuing, and halting at five-minute intervals to shout. his anxiety and hunger increased equally as the day grew older. try as he might, he could not keep the tears from over-running his eyelids. the sun was sinking toward the west before he heard aught of human voice save his own; and then a cry of joy and relief burst from his lips as he heard faintly in the distance his own name spoken. "i'm coming! i'm coming!" he cried at the full strength of his lungs, as he dashed forward, exultant in the thought that his father was alive, for he had begun to believe that he would never see him again in this world. mr. stevens continued to call out now and then to guide the boy on the way, and as he drew nearer dick understood from the quavering tones that his father was in agony. "i'm coming, daddy! i'm coming!" he shouted yet louder, as if believing it was necessary to animate the sufferer, for he now knew that some painful accident had befallen his father; and when he finally ended the search his heart literally ceased beating because of his terror and dismay. dick believed he had anticipated the worst, but yet was unprepared for that which he saw. lying amid the blood-stained sage-grass, his shirt stripped into bandages to tie up a grievously injured limb, lay "roving dick," his face pallid, his lips bloodless, and his general appearance that of one whom death has nearly overtaken. "daddy! daddy!" dick cried piteously, and then he understood that consciousness had deserted the wounded man. he had retained possession of his faculties until aid was near at hand, and then the long strain of physical and mental agony had brought about a collapse. dick raised his father's head tenderly, imploring him to speak--to tell him what should be done; but the injured man remained silent as if death had interposed to give him relief. looking about scrutinizingly, as those born and bred on the frontier learn to do early in life, dick saw his father's rifle twenty feet or more away, and between it and him a trail of blood through the sage-brush, then a sinister, crimson blotch on the sand. mr. stevens's right leg was the injured member, and it had been wrapped so tightly with the improvised bandages that the boy could form no idea as to the extent of the wound; but he knew it must indeed be serious to overcome so thoroughly one who, though indolent by nature, had undergone much more severe suffering than he could have known since the time of leaving the wagon to search for game. it seemed to dick as if more than ten minutes elapsed before his father spoke, and then it was to ask for water. he might as well have begged for gold, so far as dick's ability to gratify the desire was concerned. "to get any, daddy, i may have to go way back to the wagon, for i haven't come upon a single watercourse since leaving camp this morning." "your mother and margie?" "i left them at the camp. how did you get here?" "it was just before nightfall. i had been stalking an antelope; was crawling on the ground dragging my rifle, when the hammer must have caught amid the sage-brush; the weapon was discharged, and the bone of my leg appears to be shattered." "poor, poor daddy!" and dick kissed him on the forehead. "we must be four miles from the camp," mr. stevens said, speaking with difficulty because of his parched and swollen tongue. "i should say so; but i went toward the west, and after travelling until noon struck across this way, so have no idea of the distance." "i shall die for lack of water, dick, even though the wound does not kill me." "how shall i get it, daddy?" the boy cried piteously. "i can't leave you here alone, and i don't believe there's a drop nearer than where we are camped." "you _must_ leave me, dick; for you can do no good while staying here, and the thought that help is coming, even though there may be many hours to wait, will give me strength. can you find your way to the camp and back after nightfall?" "i'll do it somehow, daddy! i'll do it!" "then set out at once, and bring one of the horses back with you. i should be able to ride four miles, or even twice that distance, since it is to save my life." "but you'll keep up a brave heart, daddy dear, won't you? don't think you are going to die; but remember that mother and i, and even little margie, will do all we can to pull you through." "i know it, dick, i know it. you are a good lad--far better than i have been father; and if it should chance that when you come back i've gone from this world, remember that you are the only one to whom the mother and baby can look for protection." "you know i'd always take care of them; but i am going to save you, daddy dear. people have gotten over worse wounds than this, and once you are at the camp we will stay in buffalo meadows till it is possible for you to ride. i'll look out for the whole outfit, and from this on you sha'n't have a trouble, except because of the wound." "give me your hand, my boy, and now go; for strong as may be my will, i can't stand the loss of much more blood. god bless you, dick, and remember that i always loved you, even though i never provided for you as a father should have done." dick hastily cleared the mist from his eyes, and without speaking darted forward in the direction where he believed the wagon would be found, breaking the sage-brush as he ran in order that he might make plain the trail over which he must return. chapter ii. a lonely vigil. it was not yet dark when dick arrived within sight of the wagon, and shouted cheerily that those who were so anxiously awaiting his coming might know he had been fortunate in the search. as soon as his voice rang out, startlingly loud because of the almost oppressive stillness, mrs. stevens appeared from beneath the flap of the canvas covering, and an expression of most intense disappointment passed over her face as she saw that dick was alone. "it's all right, mother!" he cried, quickening his pace that she might the sooner be relieved from her suspense. "it's all right!" "did you find your father?" "yes; an' i've come back for one of the horses. he's been hurt, an' can't walk." "thank god he is alive!" she cried, and then for the first time since the previous evening she gave way to tears. dick did all he could toward comforting her without making any delay in setting out on the return journey. while he filled the canteen with fresh water he repeated what his father had bidden him to say; and when his mother asked concerning the wound, he spoke as if he did not consider it serious. "of course it's bad, for he thinks one of the bones has been splintered; but i don't see why he shouldn't come 'round all right after a spell. we've known of people who had worse hurts and yet got well." "but they were where at least something of what might be needed could be procured, while we are here in the desert." "not quite so bad as that, mother dear. we have water, and i should be able to get food in plenty. after i've supplied the camp, i'm goin' on foot to antelope spring, where we can buy whatever daddy may need." "across the desert alone!" "a boy like me ought to be able to do it, and"-- "your father hasn't a penny, dick dear." "i know that, mother; but i'll sell my rifle before he shall suffer for anything. now don't worry, and keep up a good heart till i come back." "can't i be of some assistance if i go too?" "you'd better stay here with margie. father and i can manage it alone, i reckon." then dick set about catching one of the horses; and as he rode the sorry-looking steed up to the wagon, his mother gave him such articles from her scanty store as the wounded man might need. "you're a good boy, dick," she said, as he stooped over to kiss her; "and some day you shall have your reward." "i'll get it now, mother, if i see you looking a little more jolly; and indeed things ain't quite so bad as they seem, for i can pull our little gang through in great shape, though i'm afraid after it's been done i sha'n't be able to get you and margie the new outfit i promised." "we should be so thankful your father is alive as not to realize that we need anything else." "but you do, just the same, whether you realize it or not; an' i'll attend to everything if i have time enough. don't trouble yourself if we're not back much before morning, for i reckon daddy can't stand it to ride faster than a walk." then, without daring to stop longer, lest he should betray some sign of weakness, dick rode away, waving his hand to margie, who was looking out of the rear end of the wagon, but giving vent to a sigh which was almost a sob when they could no longer see him. young though he was, dick understood full well all the dangers which menaced. although he had spoken so confidently of being able to "pull the gang through," he knew what perils were before them during the journey across the desert; and it must be made within a reasonably short time, otherwise they might be overtaken by the winter storms before arriving at their old home. the beast he rode, worn by long travelling and scanty fare, could not be forced to a rapid pace; and when night came dick was hardly more than two miles from the wagon. he could have walked twice the distance in that time; but the delay was unavoidable, since only on the horse's back could his father be brought into camp. when it was so dark that he could not see the broken sage-brush which marked the trail, it was necessary he should dismount, and proceed even at a slower pace; but he continued to press forward steadily, even though slowly, until, when it seemed to him that the night was well-nigh spent, he heard a sound as of moaning a short distance in advance. "i've come at last, daddy. it's been a terrible long while, i know; but it was the best i could"-- he ceased speaking very suddenly as he stood by the side of the sufferer, whom he could dimly see by the faint light of the stars. from the broken and uprooted sage-brush around him, it was evident the wounded man had, most likely while in a delirium of fever, attempted to drag himself on in the direction of the camp, and had ceased such poor efforts only when completely exhausted. he was lying on his back, looking straight up at the sky as he alternately moaned and talked at random, with now and then a mirthless laugh which frightened the boy. "don't, daddy, don't!" he begged, as he raised the sufferer's head. "see, it's dick come back; and now you can ride into camp!" "mother is dying of thirst, and i'm--see that stream! come, boys, we'll take a header into it--i'm on fire--fire!" frightened though he was, dick knew water was the one thing his father most needed; and laying the poor head gently back on the sand, he took the canteen from a bag which had served instead of a saddle. "drink this, daddy, and you'll feel better," he said coaxingly, much as if speaking to a child. the wounded man seized the tin vessel eagerly, and it required all dick's strength to prevent him from draining it at once. "i'm afraid to give you more now, my poor old man; but wait, like a dear, and i'll let you take it again when you're on the horse." not until after a violent struggle, which frightened dick because it seemed almost as if he was raising his hand against his father, did he regain possession of the canteen, and then a full half of the contents had been consumed. when his thirst was in a measure quenched, mr. stevens lay quietly on the sand, save now and then as he moaned in unconscious agony, heeding not the boy's pleading words. "try to help yourself a bit, daddy," he urged. "if you'll stand on one foot i can manage to lift you onto the horse's back." again and again did dick try by words to persuade his father to do as he desired, and then he realized how useless were his efforts. he had heard of this delirium which often follows neglect of gun-shot wounds, but had no idea how he should set about checking it. after understanding that words were useless, and knowing full well he could not lift unaided such a weight onto the horse's back, he crouched by his father's side in helpless grief. never before had he known what it was to be afraid, however far he might be from others of his kind; but now, as he listened to the meaningless words, or the piteous moans, terror took possession of him, and the soft sighing of the gentle wind sounded in his ears like a menace. the horse strayed here and there seeking food, but he gave no heed. such garments as his mother had given him, dick spread over the sufferer; and that done there was nothing for him save to wait. it seemed to the anxious boy as if the night would never end. now and then he rose to his feet, scanning the eastern sky in the hope of seeing some signs of coming dawn; but the light of the stars had not faded, and he knew the morning was yet far away. finally, when it seemed to him as if he could no longer remain idle listening to a strong man's childish prattle, the eastern heavens were lighted by a dull glow, which increased steadily until he could see the horse feeding on the dry bunch-grass an hundred yards away, and his long vigil was nearly at an end. his father called for water from time to time, and dick had given him to drink from the canteen till no more than a cupful remained. now he asked again, but in a voice which sounded more familiar; and a great hope sprang up in the boy's heart as he said,-- "there's only a little left, you poor old man, and we can't get more this side the camp. shall i give it to you now?" "let me moisten my lips, dick dear. they are parched, and my tongue is swollen until it seems ready to burst." dick handed him the canteen; and his father drank sparingly, in marked contrast to his greedy swallowing of a few moments previous. "it tastes sweet, my boy; and when we are at the camp i'll need only to look at the brook in order to get relief. are you soon going for the horse?" "i went, an' have got back, daddy dear. you've been talking mighty queer--on account of the wound, i suppose." "how long have you been with me, child?" "i must have got here before midnight, and the morning is just coming now." "you're a good boy, dick." "that's what mother said before i left, and between the two of you i'm afraid you'll make me out way beyond what i deserve. we must get back as soon as we can, you poor old man; for she'll be crying her eyes sore with thinking we've both knocked under. will we have a try at getting on horseback?" "yes; and i reckon it can be done. lead the beast up here, and then help me on my feet--i've grown as weak as a baby, dick." "and i don't wonder at it. according to the looks of this sage-brush you must have lost half of all the blood you had at this time yesterday." now that his father was conscious once more, all dick's reasonless terror fled, and again he was the manly fellow he had always shown himself to be. the horse was led to mr. stevens's side; and dick raised the nearly powerless body until, at the expense of most severe pain, but without sign of it by even so much as a groan, his father stood on the uninjured limb. fortunately the horse was too weary to make much protest at what followed; with a restive steed it would have been impossible for the boy to half lift, half push his father up until he was seated on the bag that served as saddle. "how is it now, you poor old man? can you hold on there a couple of hours?" "i must, my boy; and if it so be i show signs of losing my reason again, you must contrive to lash me here, for unless this wound is attended to in better shape than it is just now, i'll go under." "for mother's sake you must keep a good grip on yourself. it'll come tough, i know; but once we're in camp you shall live on the fat of the land." dick took up his father's rifle,--his own he had left in the wagon when he went after the horse,--and, leading the animal by the bridle, marched on, glancing back every few seconds to learn how the rider was faring. although he struggled to repress any evidence of pain, mr. stevens could not prevent the agony from being apparent on his face; and dick, who had neither eaten nor slept during the past twenty-four hours, did all a boy could have done to cheer the sufferer, without thought of his own necessities. "we'll soon be in camp, daddy, when you're to have everything you need," he said from time to time; and then, fancying this was not sufficient encouragement, he finally added, "you know i'm going over to antelope spring to get some doctor's stuff as soon as i've found game enough to keep the camp supplied while i'm away." "antelope spring!" mr. stevens cried, aroused from his suffering for an instant by the bold assertion. "you shall never do it, dick, not if i had twenty wounds! it's as much as a man's life is worth to cross the desert on foot, and these horses of ours are worse than none at all." "by the time we've been in camp a couple of weeks where the feed is good, they'll pick up in great shape, and be fit to haul the old wagon home. won't it be prime to see the town once more? and there'll be no more hunting 'round for a place where we can get a livin' easy, eh, daddy?" "no, dickey; once we're there we'll stay, and i'm going to turn over a new leaf if my life is spared. i'll do more work and less loafing. but you're not to cross the desert alone, my boy." "it may be travellers will come our way, an' i can go with them," dick replied, taking good care not to make any promises; for he understood from what his mother had said that it would be absolutely necessary that aid should be had from the nearest settlement. fortunately, as it then seemed to the boy, the pain which his father was enduring prevented him from dwelling upon the subject; and as dick trudged on, trying to force the horse into a more rapid gait, he turned over in his mind all he had heard regarding such a journey. there were many times when it seemed certain mr. stevens must succumb to the suffering caused by the wound; but he contrived to "keep a good grip" on himself, as dick had suggested, and after what seemed the longest and most painful journey the boy had ever experienced, the two came upon landmarks which told they were nearing the encampment. his father was ghastly pale. the big drops of sweat on his forehead told of intense pain; and, in order to revive his courage yet a little longer, dick shouted loudly to warn the dear ones who were waiting. "they'll soon come running to meet us; and you must put on a bold front, daddy, else mother will think you're near dead. hold hard a little while longer, and then we'll have you in the wagon, where all hands of us can doctor you in great shape." it is more than probable that, had he been alone, with no one to cheer him, mr. stevens might never have been able to endure the agony which must have been his. thanks to dick's cheering words, however, he not only kept his seat, but remained conscious until his wife and son lifted him from the horse to the bed hastily prepared in the vehicle. then nature asserted herself; and he speedily sank into unconsciousness accompanied by delirium, as when dick had watched by his side. "he was just that way all night, and it frightened me, mother. what can we do for him?" "i don't know, dick dear; indeed i don't. unless he can have proper attention death must soon come, and i am ignorant of such nursing as he needs. if we were only where we could call in a doctor!" "wouldn't it do almost as well if we had medicine for him?" "perhaps so; but if we could get such things it would also be possible to at least find out what we should do." "the horses wouldn't pull us across the desert until after they've rested a spell," dick said half to himself. "and even if they could, we must have food." "see here, mother; you fix up daddy's leg the best you know how, and i'll look around for something that'll fill the pot. there are rabbits here in plenty, though it's mighty hard luck when you have to waste a cartridge on each one. i'll have enough in the way of meat by the time you've washed the wound. i've heard the poor old man himself say that plenty of cool water was needed on a bullet-hole." mrs. stevens could not be hopeful under the circumstances, for she knew better than did dick how slight was the chance that the injured man could live where it was impossible to care properly for the wound; but she would not deprive the boy of hope, and turned to do as he suggested. although weary and footsore, dick did not spend many moments in camp. he waited only long enough to get his rifle and ammunition, and then trudged off; for meat must be had, even at the expense of cartridges, both for the wounded man and the remainder of the family. an hour later dick returned with two rabbits; and when these had been made ready for cooking, he clambered into the wagon to see his father. the invalid looked more comfortable, even though nothing had been done for his relief save to cleanse the wound, and dress it in such fashion as was possible; but he was still in the delirium, and after kissing the pale forehead, dick went to where his mother was making ready for the long-delayed meal. "i don't reckon there's a bit of anything to eat, mother?" "i shall soon have these rabbits cooked." "but i must be off after larger game, and don't want to wait till dinner is ready." "you need the food, dickey, and there is only a tiny bit of bread." "give me that, mother dear. it will stop the hole in my stomach for a spell, and when i come back there'll be plenty of time to eat meat." had the circumstances been one whit less grave, mrs. stevens would not have consented to his setting out before having eaten a hearty meal; but she knew that more meat would soon be needed, since they had no other food, and two rabbits would hardly provide the famishing ones with enough to stay their hunger for the time being. the piece of bread, baked the day previous from the last of their store of flour, was brought out; and, munching it slowly that it might seem to be more, dick started off again. not until nearly nightfall did he return; but he had with him such portion of a deer's carcass as he could drag, and all fear of starvation was banished from camp. the wounded man was resting more comfortably, if such term can be applied properly when one is suffering severest pain; and after hanging the meat beneath the wagon, dick questioned his mother as to what might be done if they were within reach of a physician. "if we could see one, dickey, your father's life might be saved, for such a wound should not be exceedingly dangerous. if i knew how to treat it, and had the proper washes, we ought to nurse him back to life; but as it is, i haven't even that which would check the fever." "if you could talk to a doctor would it be all right?" "i believe so, dickey." "would the medecine you want cost very much?" "it is the same to us whether the price be much or little, since we haven't the opportunity to get what is needed, nor the money with which to pay for it if a shop were near at hand." dick ceased his questioning, and set about performing such work around the camp as might well have been left undone until the next day. a generous supply of broiled venison was made ready, and the boy ate heartily; after which he went into the wagon, telling his mother he would play the part of nurse until dark, when she could take his place. once in the vehicle, partially screened from view, dick, after much search for the bit of a lead-pencil his father owned, wrote on a piece of brown paper that had contained the last ten pounds of flour mr. stevens had purchased, the following words,-- dear mother,--i know you won't let me go to antelope spring if i tell you about what i'm minded to do, so i shall slip off the first thing in the morning. i'll take my rifle with me, and by selling it, get what stuff daddy needs. i can talk with a doctor too; and when i come back we'll fix the poor old man up in great shape. don't worry about me, for i can get across without any bother. i'm going to take the canteen and some slices of meat, so i sha'n't be hungry or thirsty. i count on being back in three days; but if i'm gone five you mustn't think anything has gone wrong, for it may be a longer trip than i'm reckonin' on. i love you, and daddy, and margie mighty well; and this footing it across the desert ain't half as dangerous as you think for. your son, dickey. when this had been done, he kissed his father twice, smoothed the hair back from the pale, damp forehead, and whispered,-- "i'm going so's you'll get well, my poor old man; and you mustn't make any kick, 'cause it's _got_ to be done." then he came out as if tired of playing the nurse, and proposed that he sleep under the wagon that night. "with all hands inside, daddy would be crowded; and i'm as well off out-of-doors. kiss me, mother, for i'm mighty tired." chapter iii. a sand-storm. in this proposal to retire thus early mrs. stevens saw nothing to excite her suspicions regarding dick's real intentions. he had worked for thirty-six hours almost incessantly; and it would not be strange if this unusual exertion, together with the weariness caused by excitement, had brought him to the verge of exhaustion. his mother would have insisted upon bringing out one of the well-worn blankets, but that dick was decidedly opposed to taking anything from the wagon which might in the slightest degree contribute to his father's comfort. "i'm very well off on the bare ground, and with the wagon to shelter me from the dew i couldn't be better fixed. our poor old man needs all we've got, mother; and you may be sure i won't lay awake thinking of the feather-beds we had at willow point, 'cause it's about as much as i can do to keep my eyes open." "you are a dear good boy, and god will reward you. in addition to saving your father's life, for that is what you've done this day, you have lightened my burden until it would be wicked to repine." "i'll risk your ever doing anything very wicked, mother; and if the time comes when it seems to you as though i don't do exactly as you want me to, just remember all you've said about my being a good boy, an' let it be a stand-off, will you?" "i am certain you will never do anything to cause me sorrow, dickey, dear. don't get up until you have been thoroughly rested; for now that we have food in camp, i can do all that will be necessary." then dick's mother kissed him again, not leaving him until he had stretched out at full length under the wagon; and so tired was the boy that mrs. stevens had hardly got back to take up her duties as nurse when his loud breathing told that he was asleep. when dick awakened it was still dark; but he believed, because he no longer felt extremely weary, that the night was nearly spent; and for the success of his plan it was of the utmost importance he should set out before his mother was astir. it was his purpose to travel on foot to antelope spring, a distance in an air-line of about forty-five miles, fifteen of which would be across the upper portion of smoke creek desert. in this waste of sand lay all the danger of the undertaking. the number of miles to be travelled troubled him but little, for more than once had he walked nearly as far in a single day while hunting; and he proposed to spend thirty-six hours on each stage of the journey. creeping cautiously out from under the wagon, he fastened his letter to the flap of the canvas covering in such a manner that his mother could not fail to see it when she first came out; and then he wrapped in leaves several slices of broiled venison, after which he stowed them in his pocket. the canteen was filled at a spring near-by. he saw to it that his ammunition belt contained no more than half a dozen cartridges, and then took up his rifle, handling it almost lovingly; for this, his only valuable possession, he intended to part with in order to secure what might be necessary for his father's relief and comfort. the weapon was slung over his back where it would not impede his movements; and with a single glance backward he set out with a long, swinging stride such as he knew by experience he could maintain for many hours. it was still dark when he had crossed the fertile meadows, and arrived at the border of an apparently limitless expanse of yellow sand. here it would not be possible to maintain the pace at which he had started, because of the loose sand in which his feet sank to the depth of an inch at each step. having set out at such an early hour, this boy, who was perilling his life in the hope of aiding his father, believed the more dangerous portion of the journey might be accomplished before the heat of the day should be the most severe. when the sun rose dick had travelled, as nearly as he could estimate, over three miles of desert; and his courage increased with the knowledge that one-fifth of the distance across the sands had already been traversed. at the end of the next hour he said to himself that he must be nearly midway on the road of sand; and although the labor of walking was most severe, his heart was very light. "once across, i'll push on as fast as any fellow can walk," he said aloud, as if the sound of his own voice gave him cheer. "by making an extra effort i ought to be in antelope spring before midnight, and have plenty of time to sleep between now and morning. half a day there to sell the rifle, an' buy what is needed, an' by sunset i should be at the edge of the desert again, ready to make this part of the tramp after dark." he walked quickly, and like one who intends to go but a short distance. the forty-five-mile tramp seemed to him but a trifle as compared with what was to be gained by the making of it. he thought of his mother as she read the note he had left on the flap of the wagon-covering, and wondered if she looked upon his departure as an act of disobedience, which, in fact, it was, since both his parents had insisted he should not attempt it. then his thoughts went out to his father, and he told over in his mind all the questions he would ask of the doctor at antelope spring; for he had no doubt but that he should find one of that profession there. he took little heed to the monotonous view around him, until suddenly he saw in the distance what appeared to be a low-hanging cloud; then he said to himself that if a shower should spring up the sun's face would be covered, and the heat, which was now very great, must be lessened. as this cloud advanced, descending to the sands while it rose toward the heavens, it grew more black; and on either side were long columns of seeming vapor rising, and as rapidly disappearing. then across the darkness on that portion of the horizon something bright moved swiftly, as if a flash of lightning had passed over the face of the cloud; and in an instant the sun and the sky were shut out from view. now the clouds took on the appearance of a dense black fog, coming up from the southward over the desert, until dick was seemingly looking at a gigantic wall, over the face of which shone now and then bright flashes of light. there was a shrieking and moaning in the air, so it seemed to the startled boy; and he failed to understand the meaning of this strange scene, until, the impenetrable wall having come so near, he could see that what appeared like flashes of light were gigantic columns of sand springing high in the air with fantastic shapes, and glinted by the sun from above the apparent vapor, until they were swallowed up in the enormous bank of cloud behind them. then it was dick knew the meaning of this terrible danger which threatened him. it was a storm of sand. "dancing giants" some have termed it, and others speak of it as the "hot blizzard." as if in an instant the dancing, swirling columns and the rushing cloud of sand, which swayed to and fro in fantastic movements, surrounded him. he was in the centre of a cyclone freighted with particles of sand. the wind roared until one might have believed he heard the crash of thunder. dick halted, terrified, bewildered; and as he came to a standstill, it seemed to him that the clouds on every hand lowered until he could see the blue sky above. then with a shriek from the wind the very sand beneath his feet rose and fell like billows of the sea. the tempest was upon him. he shielded his eyes with his arm; but the stinging, heated particles sought out every inch of his body, and his clothing afforded but little protection. the sand penetrated his ears and nostrils, and burned his lips until they bled. he had heard it said that to remain motionless in such a tempest means death; for wherever the wind meets with an obstruction, there it piles the sand in huge mounds, and his father had told of more than one hunter who had thus been buried alive. it was death to remain motionless, and yet to move seemed impossible. whether he turned to the right or the left the whirlwind struck him with a fury which it was difficult to withstand. it was as if the wind swept in upon him from every point of the compass--as if he was the centre of this whirling, dancing, blinding, murderous onrush of sand. the boy's throat was dry. he was burning with thirst. the dust-laden air seemed to have literally filled his lungs, and it was with difficulty he could breathe. despite the protection he sought to give, his eyes were inflamed, and the lids cruelly swollen. he sank ankle-deep at every step, and above him and around him the wild blasts shrieked, until there were times when he feared lest he should be thrown from his feet. pulling his hat down over his aching eyes, the bewildered, terrified boy tried to gain some relief from the thirst which assailed him. he understood that the contents of his canteen must be guarded jealously; for if he lived there were still several miles of the desert journey to be traversed, and the walking would be even more difficult than before the storm set in, because of the shifting sand. his distress rendered him reckless; and regardless of the future, he drank fully half the water in the canteen, bathing his eyes with a small quantity poured in the hollow of his hand. it would have been better if he had not tried to find relief by this last method, for the flying particles of sand adhered to such portions of his face as were wet, forming a coating over the skin almost instantly. he attempted to brush it off, and the gritty substance cut into his flesh as if he had rubbed it with emery-paper. then came into dick's mind the thought that he should never more see his parents on this earth, and for the instant his courage so far deserted him that he was on the point of flinging himself face downward upon the sand. fortunately there appeared before his mental vision a picture of his father lying in the wagon with the certainty that death would come unless his son could bring relief, and this nerved the boy to yet greater exertion. with his arms over his face, he pushed forward once more, not knowing whether he might be retracing his steps, or proceeding in the proper direction. every inch of advance was made against the fierce wind and drifting sand which nearly overthrew him. every breath he drew was choked with dust. how long he thus literally fought against the elements it was impossible for him so much as to conjecture. he knew his strength was spending rapidly; and when it seemed as if he could not take another step, he stumbled, and fell against a mound of sand. it had been built by the "dancing giants" when some obstruction had been found in the path of the storm; and as dick fell prostrate at the foot of this slight elevation, there instantly came a sense of deepest relief. the sand was no longer thrown against him by the blast; the wind had ceased to buffet him; he was in comparative quiet, and for an instant he failed to understand the reason. then he realized that this mound, which had thrown him from his feet, was affording a shelter against the tempest, which was now coming from one direction instead of in a circle as heretofore; and a fervent prayer of thanksgiving went up from his heart, for he believed his life had been saved that he might aid his father. after recovering in a measure from the exhaustion consequent upon his battle with the elements, he proceeded with infinite care to brush the particles of sand from his face; and this done, his relief was yet greater. overhead the air was full of darkness; the wind still screamed as it whirled aloft the spiral columns of dust; the wave-like drift of the sand surged on either side; but for the moment he was safe. he had been told that such tempests were of but short duration, and yet it seemed to him as if already half a day had been spent in this fight for life. then he said to himself that he could remain where he was in safety until the wind had subsided; but even as the words were formed in his mind he was conscious of a weight upon his limbs as if something was bearing him down, and for the first time he realized that he was being rapidly buried alive. to remain where he was ten minutes longer must be fatal; and perhaps even that length of time would not be allowed him, for if the wind so shifted as to cut off the top of the mound, then he would be overwhelmed as if in a landslide. there was nothing for it but to go into the conflict once more; and in this second effort the odds would be still greater against him, because his courage was lessened. he knew the danger which menaced, and the suffering he would have to endure the instant he rose from behind the poor shelter; yet it was necessary, and the boy staggered to his feet. there was nothing to guide him in the right direction, for all around was blackness and flying grit; yet he believed his way lay directly in the teeth of the storm, and because of such belief pressed onward, resolving that he would continue as long as was possible. as he said to himself so he did, staggering this way and that, but ever pressing forward on the course which he believed to be the true one, blinded, choking, bewildered by the swirling particles until he was dimly conscious of falling, and then he knew no more. at the moment dick fell vanquished, hardly more than a quarter of a mile distant were two men mounted on indian ponies, and leading three burros laden with a miner's outfit for prospecting. to them the sand-storms of the desert were not strange; and with the knowledge born of experience they made preparations for "riding out the gale," when the low, dark cloud first appeared in the eastern horizon. the animals were fastened with their heads together; the riders bending forward in the saddles, and, as well as it could be accomplished, throwing over all the heads a number of blankets. the two horsemen had taken the precaution while assuming this position to present their backs to the wind, and each had tied one end of his blanket around his waist in such manner that it could not be stripped off by the tempest. two or three blankets were fastened to the heads of the animals, and thus the faces of all were protected. when the sand had whirled around them until the animals were buried nearly to their bellies, the riders forced the bunch onward ten or fifteen paces, continuing to make this change of location at least every five minutes during the entire time the tempest raged; and thus it was they escaped being buried in the downpour of sand. from the time the first blast struck dick, until the "dancing giants" whirled away to the westward, leaving the sky unclouded and the yellow sands shimmering in the sunlight, no more than thirty minutes had passed; yet in that short interval one human life on which others depended would have been sacrificed, unless these two travellers who were uninjured should chance to reach that exact spot where lay the boy partially covered by the desert's winding-sheet. "you can talk of a gale at sea where the sailors are half drowned all the time; but it ain't a marker alongside of these 'ere red-hot blizzards, eh, parsons?" one of the horsemen said as he threw off the blanket from his head with a long-drawn sigh of relief. "drownin' must be mighty pleasant kind of fun alongside of chokin' to death on account of bein' filled plum full with dry sand," parsons replied. "i allow there ain't no call for us to stay here braggin' about our nevada hurricanes, tom robinson, more especially since we'll make less headway now the sand has been stirred up a bit." "there's nothin' to hold me here," robinson replied with a laugh. straightway the two men turned their ponies' heads toward the west; and as they advanced the patient burros, laden with a miscellaneous assortment of goods until little else than their heads and tails could be seen, followed steadily in the rear. five minutes after they had resumed their journey parsons cried, as he raised himself in the stirrups, shading his eyes with his hands as he peered ahead,-- "what's that 'ere bit of blue out there? part of somebody's outfit? or was there a shipwreck close at hand?" "it's a man--most likely a tenderfoot, if he tried to walk across this 'ere desert." the two halted, and dick stevens's life was saved. had the storm lasted two or three minutes longer, or these prospectors gone in any other direction, he must have died where he had fallen. now he was dragged out from beneath the weight of sand, and laid upon a blanket, while the men, knowing by experience what should be done in such cases, set about restoring the boy to consciousness. thanks to the timely attention, dick soon opened his eyes, stared around him for an instant in bewilderment, and then exclaimed as he made a vain attempt to rise,-- "i come pretty near knockin' under, didn't i? the last i remember was of fallin'." "i allow it was the closest shave you'll ever have agin," parsons replied grimly; "an' i'm free to say that them as are sich fools as to cross this 'ere sand-barren afoot oughter stay on it, like as you were in a fair way of doin' before we come along." "an' that's what daddy would say, i s'pose. if he'd known what i was goin' to do, there would have been a stop put to it, even though it was to save his life i came." "how can you save anybody's life by comin' out in sich a tom-fool way as this? less than a quart of water, and not so much as a blanket with which to protect yourself." "i can do it by goin' to antelope spring an' findin' a doctor," dick replied. "you see, daddy shot himself in the leg--stove a bone all to pieces; and mother don't know what to do, so i slid off this mornin' without tellin' anybody." "countin' on footin' it to antelope spring?" parsons asked as if in surprise. "yes; it ain't more'n forty-five miles the way we've reckoned it." "where did you start from?" "buffalo meadows." "and when did you count on makin' that forty-five miles?" "i allowed to get there before midnight." "where's your camp?" "well, we haven't got anything you can rightly call a camp; but we're located in a prairie schooner near by the spring in the valley." "how many in the party?" "daddy, mother, an' margie." the two men looked at dick an instant, and then glanced at each other, after which parsons said emphatically,-- "the boy has got grit; but the old man must have been way off to come through this section of the country in a wagon." dick explained how it was they chanced to be travelling, and then, eager to gain all the information possible, asked,-- "do you know anything about antelope spring?" "nothin' good. there's a settlement by that name; but it's a no-account place." "i s'pose i'll find a doctor?" "i reckon they've got somethin' of the kind hangin' 'round. but are you countin' on draggin' one down to buffalo meadows?" "i don't expect to be so lucky. but mother seemed to have the idea that if somebody who knew all about it would tell her how to take care of daddy's wound, she'd get along with such stuff as i could fetch to help him out in the fever. say, i don't reckon either of you wants to buy a good rifle? there ain't a better one on humboldt river;" and as he spoke dick unslung the weapon which hung at his back. "what's your idea in sellin' the gun? it strikes me, if you're countin' on pullin' through from buffalo meadows to willow point, you'll need it." "of course i shall; but it's got to go. you see, daddy's dead broke, an' i must have money to pay for the doctor's stuff. i don't s'pose you want it; but if you did, here's a good chance. if you don't buy i reckon there'll be some one up to antelope spring who'll take it off my hands." "haven't you got anything else you can put up, instead of lettin' the rifle go? in this section of the country a tool like that will stand a man good agin starvation." "it's all i own that's worth anything, an' i'll be mighty sorry to lose it; but she's got to go." again the men looked at the boy, then at each other; and parsons motioned for his companion to follow him a short distance away, where, to dick's great surprise, they began an animated conversation. chapter iv. at antelope spring. dick was perplexed by the behavior of these two strangers. he failed utterly to understand why they should have anything of such a private nature to discuss that it was necessary to move aside from him; for in a few moments they would be alone on the desert, after he had gone his way. the discussion, or conversation, whichever it may have been, did not occupy many moments; but brief as was the time, dick had turned to continue his journey at the instant when the men rejoined him. "what do you allow you ought to get for that rifle?" parsons asked abruptly. "that's what i don't know. you see, i didn't buy it new, but traded for her before we left home. it seems to me she ought to be a bargain at--at--ten dollars." "an' if you get the cash you're goin' to blow it right in for what the doctor can tell you, an' sich stuff as he thinks your old man ought to have eh?" "that's what i'll do if it costs as much." "s'posen it don't? allow that you've got five dollars left, what then?" "i'll buy flour, an' bacon, an' somethin' for mother an' margie with the balance." "do you mean to tell me your father was sich a tenderfoot as to come down through this way without any outfit?" robinson asked sternly. "he had plenty at the time we started; but you see we struck bad luck all the way along, and when we pulled into buffalo meadows we had cooked the last pound of flour. there wasn't even a bit of meat in the camp when he got shot. i knocked over a deer last night, an' that will keep 'em goin' till i get back." "an' a kid like you is supportin' a family, eh?" parsons asked in a kindly tone. "i don't know what kind of a fist i'm goin' to make of it; but that's what i'll try to do till daddy gets on his feet again. say, how long do you s'pose it'll take a man to get well when one leg is knocked endways with a bullet plum through the bone of it?" "it'll be quite a bit, i'm thinkin'--too long for you to stay in buffalo meadows at this time of the year. two months ought to do it, eh, parsons?" "well, yes; he won't get 'round any quicker than that." "i don't know as it makes much difference if he can't walk a great deal, 'cause after the horses have had plenty of grass for a couple of weeks we'll pull across this place; an' once on the other side i sha'n't worry but what i can take 'em through all right." "look here, my son," robinson said, as he laid his hand on the lad's shoulder. "you've got plenty of sand, that's a fact. i allow there ain't a kid within a thousand miles of here that would tackle the contract you've taken this mornin'. if we wasn't bound to the winnemucca range, an it wasn't quite so late in the season, we'd help you out by goin' down to camp an' straightenin' things a bit; but it can't be done now. we'll buy your rifle though, an' that's what we've agreed on. ten dollars ain't sich a big pile for the gun; but yet it's plenty enough--leastways, it's all we can afford to put out just now." "i'll be mighty glad to sell it for that if you need a rifle; an' it'll be better to make the trade now than wait till i get into antelope spring, 'cause there's no dead certainty i'll find anybody there who'll buy it." parsons took from a buckskin bag a small roll of bills, and when he had counted out ten dollars there was but little of the original amount remaining. he handed the money to dick; and the latter, after the briefest hesitation, held the rifle toward him. "sorry to give it up, eh?" robinson asked. "well, i ain't when it comes to gettin' the money for daddy; if it wasn't for that i'd be. you see, it's the first one i ever owned, an' the way things look now, it'll be a good while before i get another." "i'll tell you how we'll fix it, son. my partner an' i ain't needin' an extra rifle just now; an' more than as likely as not--in fact, i may say it's certain--we'll be up 'round your way before the winter fairly sets in. now, if you could keep it for us till then, it would be the biggest kind of a favor, 'cause you see we're prospecting an' have got about all the load the burros can tackle." "you're--you're--sure you want to buy this gun, eh?" "well, if we wasn't, there wouldn't have been much sense in makin' the talk." "but if you're prospectors, there isn't any show of your gettin' 'round to willow point." "oh, we drift up an' down, here an' there, just as the case may be. there ain't any question about our trailin' all over the state in time, and you shall keep the rifle in good shape till we call for it. so long, my son. it's time for you to be hoofin' it, if you count on gettin' to antelope spring this side of to-morrow mornin'." as he spoke, parsons mounted his pony, robinson following the example; and in another moment the two were on their way once more, leaving dick in a painful state of uncertainty regarding their purpose in purchasing the gun. during two or three minutes the boy stood where they had left him, and then cried,-- "hello there! hold on a minute, will you?" "what's the matter now?" and parsons looked over his shoulder, but neither he nor his partner reined in their steeds. "are you buyin' this rifle? or are you makin' believe so's to give me the ten dollars?" "s'posen we was makin' believe?" "why then i wouldn't take the money, 'cause i ain't out begging." "don't fret yourself, my son. we've bought the gun all right; an' the next time we meet, you can hand it over. i wish our pile had been bigger so's we could have given twenty, 'cause a kid like you deserves it." the horsemen continued on, and by this time were so far away that dick would have been unwise had he attempted to overtake them. he stood irresolutely an instant as if doubtful of the genuineness of this alleged business transaction. it was as if the men feared he might attempt to overtake them; for despite the heavy loads on the burros they urged the beasts forward at their best pace, and dick was still revolving the matter in his mind when they were a mile or more away. "well, it's no use for me to stand here tryin' to figure out whether they've given me this money or really mean to buy the rifle, for i've got to strike antelope spring between this time an' midnight. now that there are ten dollars in my pocket, i'll be a pretty poor stick if i don't do it; but the sand-storm came mighty near windin' me up. it was the toughest thing i ever saw." then dick set forward once more, toiling over the loose surface into which his feet sank three or four inches at every step; and when he finally stood on the firm soil east of this waste of shifting sand, it was two hours past noon. as he had reckoned, there were more than thirty miles yet to be traversed; but the distance troubled him little. he had in his possession that which would buy such knowledge and such drugs as his father might need, and he believed it would be almost a sin to rebel even in his thoughts against the labor which must be performed. now he advanced, whistling cheerily, with a long stride and a swinging gait that should have carried him over the trail at the rate of four miles an hour; and not until late in the afternoon did he permit himself to halt, and partake of the broiled venison. then he ate every morsel, and, the meal finished, said aloud with a low laugh of perfect content:-- "it's lucky i didn't bring any more; for i should eat it to a dead certainty, an' then i wouldn't be in as good trim for walkin'. daddy always says that the less a fellow has in his stomach the easier he can get over the ground, and the poor old man never struck it truer." after this halt of fifteen minutes dick pressed forward without more delay until he came upon the settlement, at what time he knew not, but to the best of his belief it was hardly more than an hour past midnight. there was no thought in his mind of spending any portion of the money for a bed. the earth offered such a resting-place as satisfied him; and since the day his father departed from willow point in the hope of finding a location where he could earn a livelihood with but little labor, dick had more often slept upon the ground than elsewhere. now he threw himself down by the side of a storehouse, or shed, where he would be protected from the night wind; and there was hardly more than time to compose himself for rest before his eyes were closed in slumber. no person in antelope spring was awake at an earlier hour next morning than dick stevens; for the sun had not yet shown himself when the boy arose to his feet, and looked around as if to say that he was in fine condition. "a tramp of forty-five miles ain't to be sneezed at, an' when you throw in fifteen miles of desert an' a sand-storm to boot, it's what i call a pretty good day's work; yet i'm feelin' fine as a fiddle," he said in a tone of satisfaction, after which he made an apology for a toilet at the stream near-by. dick had no idea in which direction a physician might be found; therefore he halted in front of the first store he saw to wait until the proprietor came, half an hour later, to attend to customers. it was such a shop as one would naturally expect to find in a settlement among the mountains of nevada. from molasses to perfumery, and from ploughs to fish-hooks, the assortment ran, until one would say all his wants might be supplied from the stock. cheese was what dick had decided upon for his morning meal; and after purchasing two pounds, together with such an amount of crackers as he thought would be necessary, he set about eating breakfast at the same time that he gained the desired information. "i've come from the other side of smoke creek desert," he began, speaking indistinctly because of the fulness of his mouth, "an' want to find a doctor." "ain't sick, are yer?" the shopkeeper asked with mild curiosity. "daddy shot himself in the leg, an' mother don't know what to do for him; so i've come up to hire a doctor to tell me, an' buy whatever he says is needed." "a kid like you come across the desert! where's your pony?" "i haven't got any. daddy's horses are so nearly played out that they've got to be left to grass two or three weeks, if we count on doin' anything with 'em." "did you walk across?" the shopkeeper asked incredulously. "that's what i did;" and dick told of his sufferings during the sand-storm, not in a boastful way, but as if it were his purpose to give the prospectors the praise they deserved. when he had concluded, the proprietor plunged his hands deep in his pockets, surveyed the boy from head to foot much as parsons and robinson had, saying not a word until dick's face reddened under the close scrutiny, when he exclaimed,-- "well, i'll be jiggered! a kid of your size--say, how old are you, bub?" "thirteen." "well, a baby of thirteen lightin' out across smoke creek desert, an' all for the sake of helpin' your dad, eh? do you reckon you can bite out of dr. manter's ear all you want to know, an' then go back an' run the business?" "it seems as if he ought to tell me what mother needs to do, an' i can remember every word. then she said there would have to be some medicine to stop the fever; an' that's what i'm countin' on buyin', if he gives me the name of it." "when are you goin' back?" "i'm in hopes to get away this noon, an' then i'll be in camp by to-morrow mornin'." "say, sonny, do you want to stuff me with the yarn that you've travelled forty-five miles in less'n thirty-six hours, an' count on doin' the same thing right over agin, which is ninety miles in less'n three days?" "i've done the first half of the journey, an' it couldn't have been more'n two hours past midnight when i got here. with such a lay-out as this for breakfast i'll be in good shape for goin' back; an' it would be a mighty poor boy who couldn't get there between this noon an' to-morrow mornin', 'cause i'll go across the desert after dark, an' it ain't likely there'll be another sand-storm." "well, look here, sonny, stand right there for a minute, will you, while i go out? i won't be gone a great while, an' you can finish up your breakfast." "but i want to see the doctor as soon as i can, you know." "that'll be all right. i'll make it in my way to help you along so you sha'n't be kept in this town a single hour more'n 's necessary." having said this, and without waiting to learn whether his young and early customer was willing to do as he had requested, the proprietor of the store hurriedly left the building, and dick had finished his meal before he returned. the boy was stowing the remainder of the cheese and crackers into his pockets when the shopkeeper, accompanied by two men, who looked as if they might have been hunters or miners, entered. "is this the kid?" one of the strangers asked, looking as curiously at the boy as had the proprietor. "that's the one; an' the yarn he tells must be pretty nigh true, 'cause he met parsons an' robinson, an' accordin' to his story they bought his rifle, leavin' it with him till such time as they want to claim it." the newcomers questioned dick so closely regarding the journey and its purpose that he began to fear something was wrong, and asked nervously,-- "what's the reason i shouldn't have come up here? when a feller's father is goin' to die if he can't get a doctor afoul of him, it's a case of hustlin' right sharp." "an' accordin' to the account you've given, that's about what you've been doin'," one of the strangers said with an approving nod, which reassured the boy to such an extent that he answered without hesitation the further questions which were asked. when the curiosity of the men had been satisfied, one of those whom the landlord had brought in, and who was addressed by his companions as "bob mason," said to dick, as he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder,-- "we'll take care of you, my bold kid, an' see that you get all your father needs. if it wasn't that the doctor in this 'ere town is worked mighty hard, i'd make it my business to send him right down to your camp. but i reckon, if it's nothin' more'n a bullet through your dad's leg, he'll pull 'round all right with sich things as you can carry from here. now come on, an' we'll find out what the pill-master thinks of the case." dick was thoroughly surprised that so much interest in his affairs should be manifested by strangers, and it pleased him that he was to have assistance in this search for medical knowledge. he followed this new friend readily, and in a few moments was standing before the doctor, listening to mr. mason's highly colored version of the journey. when he would have corrected the gentleman as to some of the points which had been exaggerated, he was kindly bade to "hold his tongue." "i've heard all your yarn, my boy, an' can imagine a good many things you didn't tell. there's precious few of us in this section of the country that was ever overtook, while on foot, by the dancin' giants, an' lived to tell the story." "i wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for mr. parsons an' mr. robinson." "what they did don't cut any figger. it's what you went through with that i'm talkin' about, an' the doctor is bound to hear the whole story before he gives up what he knows." not until mr. mason had concluded the recital after his own fashion did he give the professional gentleman an opportunity to impart the information which dick had worked so hard to obtain; and then the physician, after telling him in a general way how the patient should be treated, wrote out in detail instructions for mrs. stevens to follow. then from his store of drugs, pills, and nauseous potions he selected such as might be needed in the case, writing on each package full directions, at the expense of at least an hour's time; and when he had finished, dick believed that his father would suffer for nothing in the way of medicine. "there, lad," dr. manter said as he concluded his labors, and tied in the smallest possible compass the articles he had set out, "i allow your mother should be able to do all that is necessary; and unless the bone is so shattered that the leg must be amputated, it is possible you will get along as well without a physician as with one." "do you mean there's a chance my poor old man might have to let his leg be cut off?" "if you have described the wound correctly, i should say there was every danger. i have written, however, to your mother, so that she may be able to decide if anything of the kind is probable, and then you may be obliged to make another journey up here. at all events, if your father's life should be in danger, you may depend upon it i will come to the camp; although i am free to admit that a ride across smoke creek desert isn't one that i hanker for, although you seem to have made the journey on foot and thought little of it." "that's 'cause i was doin' it on daddy's account. how much is your price for this stuff?" mr. mason instantly plunged his hand in his pocket; and before he could withdraw it the physician replied,-- "you have earned all i've given you, lad; and i'd be ashamed to take even a dollar from a plucky little shaver like you." "but i've got ten dollars, an' can pay my way. if i'd thought the prospectors meant to give me the money instead of buyin' the rifle, i'd got along without it; but they said twice over that they wanted the gun, an' i believed 'em." "no one can accuse you of being a beggar; but if it's the same to you, i'd rather let this go on account, and some day perhaps, when you've struck it rich, come around and we'll have a settlement." "doctor, you're a man, every inch of you!" mr. mason said in a loud tone, as he slapped the physician on the shoulder with a force that caused him to wince with absolute pain. "you're a man; an' if the people in this town don't know it already, they shall find it out from yours truly. i reckon we can ante up a little something in this 'ere matter, so the kid won't go home empty-handed; for i tell you there's nothin' in antelope spring too good for him." again dick looked about him in surprise that such praise should be bestowed for what seemed to him a very simple act. the kindly manner in which the physician bade him good-by, with the assurance that he would himself go to buffalo meadows if it should become necessary, served to increase the boy's astonishment; and instead of thanking the gentleman, he could only say, because of his bewilderment,-- "i did it for daddy, sir; an' it would be a mean kind of fellow who wouldn't do as much." then mr. mason hurried him away, and despite dick's protests insisted on leading him from one place to another, until it was as if he had been introduced to every citizen in the settlement. he was not called upon to tell his story again, because his conductor did that for him; and the details of the narrative were magnified with each repetition, until dick believed it absolutely necessary he should contradict certain portions wherein he was depicted as a hero of the first class. when mr. mason had shown the boy fully around the town, he said by way of parting,-- "now you go down to mansfield's, an' wait there till i come." "where's mansfield's?" "that's the store where i found you." "but i can't wait a great while, mr. mason. you know i've got to be back by to-morrow mornin'; an' i ought to be leavin' now, 'cause it's pretty near noon." "don't worry your head about that, my son. you shall get to camp before sunrise to-morrow mornin', an' without so very much work on your part, either. now go down to mansfield's, an' wait there till i come. mind you don't leave this town till i'm back there." mr. mason hurried away as he ceased speaking; and dick walked slowly down the street, debating in his mind whether he must obey this order. chapter v. dick "pulls through." when dick had retraced his steps to mansfield's he found no less than ten of the citizens there, several of whom he had already met; and all were evidently eager to talk with the boy who had walked across smoke creek desert. there were but few in that section of the country who would have dared to make the venture, although it was by no means a dangerous or difficult journey for a horseman; and dick's bravery, in connection with all the circumstances, pleased the citizens of antelope spring wonderfully well. the package dick carried told that he had been successful in finding a physician, and mr. mansfield was curious to learn how much the medical gentleman had charged for his services. "he wouldn't take a cent," dick said in reply to the question. "it seems to me the folks in this town are mighty good." "i don't reckon we'll ever be hung for our goodness," the proprietor of the shop said with a grin; "but it is considerable of a treat to see a kid with so much sand as you've shown. dr. manter knew which side his bread was buttered on when he wouldn't take your money; an' if your father don't get better with what you're takin' to him, you can count on manter seein' the thing through. you've got quite a load, my son." "yes; an' i'm countin' on carryin' more, if you'll take money for what i buy. i don't want to set myself up for a beggar, 'cause i've got the stuff to pay for everything." "what do you want?" "about ten pounds of flour, and the same weight in bacon or salt pork, with a little pepper and salt, will be as much as i can carry." "it's a good deal more'n i'd want to tote forty-five miles 'twixt now and sunset," one of the visitors remarked; and dick replied cheerily,-- "it wouldn't seem very heavy if you was carryin' it to your folks who'd had nothin' but fresh meat to eat for the last month. mother and margie will be wild when i bring in that much." "i'll put up twenty-five pounds in all, for i reckon there are other things that would come handy," mr. mansfield said as he began to weigh out the articles, and dick asked quickly,-- "you're to let me pay for 'em?" "sure," the proprietor replied as he winked at the loungers. "you shall give all the stuff is worth." "i didn't want to hang 'round here very long; but mr. mason said i was to wait for him." "if bob mason give sich orders it'll be worth your while to stop a spell; for he's as cross-grained as a broncho when matters don't go to his likin', an' might make trouble for you." dick was considerably disturbed by this remark, which had much the sound of a threat, and looked out of the door uneasily. the citizens had been exceedingly kind to him; but he had had no little experience with inhabitants of frontier towns, and knew that friendship might be changed to enmity very suddenly. the shopkeeper had not finished filling the small order when bob mason rode up on a wiry-looking broncho, and after tying the beast to a hitching-post, entered the store. "i had an idea that was what you were up to," one of the loungers said; and mason replied with a laugh,-- "when we have sich a visitor as this 'ere kid, i reckon we're called on to make things pleasant for him." then turning to dick he added, "if it so be your daddy pulls through all right for the next week or ten days, he should be in condition to ride this far?" "after the horses have rested a little i counted on starting for willow point." "it strikes me that would be too rough a journey for the old man at this time of the year. we're needin' kids like you in this town, an' i allow you'll find a shelter here till spring. then, if the settlement don't suit you, it'll be only a case of goin' on when the travellin' is easier." "do you mean that we'd better live here?" dick asked in surprise. "that's the way some of us have figgered it." "can i find work enough to pay our way? you see, daddy won't be in shape to do anything for quite a spell." "i'll give you a job on my ranch, an' pay fair wages." "then we'll be glad to stop." "all right, my son. you shall take your own time about comin', and i'll hold the job open till you get here. now i'm allowin' to lend you that broncho, so you can get back in case the old man grows worse. he's a tricky beast; but i reckon you'll handle him without any too much trouble. the only drawback is that i can't furnish a saddle." "if you can spare the pony, i'll get along without the fixings," dick replied, his eyes gleaming with delight; for with such a steed he would be able to visit the town at short notice, if it should become necessary. "i'm allowin' that i've got a saddle he can have for a spell," mr. mansfield replied thoughtfully; and although dick insisted that there was really no need of one, it was brought out. the loungers took it upon themselves to see that the broncho was properly harnessed; and now that it was no longer necessary to limit the weight of the supplies, the shopkeeper suggested that the amount of flour and bacon be doubled. "will ten dollars be enough to pay for it?" dick asked. "we'll make a charge of it, seein's you're goin' to work for bob mason. you can give me an order on him after you've been here a spell, an' it'll be the same thing as cash." "now you're doin' the square thing, mansfield," mason said approvingly; and despite dick's protests that he preferred to pay his way so long as he had the money, the matter was thus arranged. "you are sure i can earn enough to pay for what we'll need to eat between now and spring?" the boy asked doubtfully. "i'm allowing from what i've seen, that you'll earn a man's wages, an' that'll be thirty dollars a month. if your father is anything like you, i'll guarantee he can find work enough to support the family; an' antelope spring is needin' settlers mighty bad." the supply of provisions and the medicines were packed in a bag, divided into two portions of equal weight that they might be carried over the saddle, and then dick was ready to mount. he realized fully how kind the people of the town had been to him, and was eager to say that which should give token of the gratitude in his heart; but the words refused to come at his bidding. he stammered in the attempt to speak, cleared his throat nervously, and tried again,-- "you've been mighty good, all hands, an' i'm thinkin' it'll help daddy pull through. i wish--i wish"-- "that's all right, my son," bob mason interrupted. "we've got a good idea of what you want to say, an' you can let it go at that. as a general thing we don't get stuck on kids; but when one flashes up in the style you have, we cotton to him mightily. you can push that 'ere broncho right along, for forty-five miles ain't any terrible big job for him, an' canter into camp this side of midnight with considerable time to spare." "i thank you all, an' so will mother an' daddy when they get here," he said in a husky tone, as he mounted; and then waving his cap by way of adieu, he rode away, the happiest boy to be found on either side of the rocky mountains. night had not fully come when he halted at the eastern edge of the desert to give the broncho water and grass; and here he remained an hour, the crackers and cheese left from breakfast affording an appetizing supper to a lad who had known but little variation in his bill of fare from fresh meat, broiled or stewed, more often without salt or pepper. the stars guided him on the course across the waste of sand, and the pony made his way over the yielding surface at a pace which surprised the rider. "he can walk four miles an hour, according to this showing, and i should be in camp before ten o'clock." in this he was not mistaken. the broncho pushed ahead rapidly, proving that he had traversed deserts before, and was eager to complete the journey; and when dick came within sight of the wagon, his mother was standing in front of the camp-fire, so intent on broiling a slice of venison that she was ignorant of his coming until he shouted cheerily,-- "here i am, mother dear, coming along with a good bit of style, and so many fine things that you'll open your eyes mighty wide when this bag is emptied. how is my poor old man?" he had dismounted as he ceased speaking, and was instantly clasped in his mother's arms. "o dick, dick, how sore my heart has been! your father said you could not get across the desert on foot, and i have pictured you lying on the sands dying." "you've made your pictures all wrong, dearie; for here i am in prime condition, and loaded down with good things. the people up at antelope spring have shown themselves to be mighty generous. how is daddy?" "he is resting comfortably just now, although he has suffered considerable pain. did you see a doctor?" "yes; an' am loaded way up to the muzzle with directions as to what must be done. let's go in and see the poor old man, an' then i'll tell you both the story." mr. stevens's voice was heard from the inside of the wagon as he spoke dick's name; margie clambered out, her big brown eyes heavy with slumber, to greet her brother, and the boy was forced to receive her caresses before it was possible to care for the broncho. then, as soon as might be, dick entered the wagon, and the hand-clasp from his father was sufficient reward for all his sufferings in the desert. it was midnight before he finished telling of his journey, and reception by the men of antelope spring. he would have kept secret the peril which came to him with the sand-storm; but his father questioned him so closely that it became necessary to go into all the details, and more than once before the tale was concluded did his mother press him lovingly to her as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "you mustn't cry now it is all over," he said with a smile, as he returned the warm pressure of her hand. "i'm none the worse for havin' been half buried, an' we're rich. i'm countin' on pullin' out of here as soon as the horses are in condition; an' we'll stay at the town till spring--perhaps longer." although he claimed that he was not hungry, his mother insisted on preparing supper from the seemingly ample store of provisions; and when the meal had been eaten it was so nearly morning that dick would have dispensed with the formality of going to bed, but that his mother declared it was necessary he should gain some rest. his heart was filled with thankfulness when he lay down under the wagon again, covered with a blanket; and perhaps for the first time in his life dick did more than repeat the prayer his mother taught him, for he whispered very softly,-- "you've been mighty good to me, god, an' i hope you're goin' to let my poor old man have another whack at livin'." dick had repeated to his mother all the instructions given him by the physician, and before he was awake next morning mrs. stevens set about dressing the wound in a more thorough manner than had ever been possible before. she was yet engaged in this task when the boy opened his eyes, and learning to his surprise that the day was at least an hour old, sprang to his feet like one who has been guilty of an indiscretion. "what! up already?" he cried in surprise, as looking through the flap of the wagon-covering, he saw what his mother was doing. "yes, dick dear, and i have good news for you. both your father and i now think he was mistaken in believing the bone was shattered by the bullet. perhaps it is splintered some, but nothing more serious." "then you won't be obliged to have it cut off, daddy, an' should be able to get round right soon." "there's this much certain, dick, whether the bone is injured or not, my life has been saved through your efforts; for i know enough about gun-shot wounds to understand that i couldn't have pulled through without something more than we were able to get here." "yet you would have prevented me from leaving if i had told you what was in my mind." "i should for a fact; because if one of us two must go under, it would be best for mother an' margie that i was that one." "why, daddy! you have no right to talk like that!" "it's true, dick. i've been a sort of ne'er-do-well, otherwise i wouldn't have been called roving dick, while you are really the head of the house." "i won't listen to such talk, daddy; for it sounds as if you were out of your head again, as when we were alone that night. you'll perk up after we're at antelope spring, an' show the people there what you can do." "i shall be obliged to work very hard in order to make a good showing by the side of you." dick hurried away, for it pained him to hear his father talk in such fashion; yet at the same time he hoped most fervently that there would be no more roaming in search of a place where the least possible amount of labor was necessary, and it really seemed as if "roving dick" had made up his mind to lead a different life. there was little opportunity for the boy to remain idle. the supplies he had brought from mr. mansfield's shop would not suffice to provide the family with food many days unless it was re-enforced by fresh meat; and as soon as dick had seen to it that the horses and the broncho were safe, he made preparations for a hunting-trip. when breakfast had been eaten, and how delicious was the taste of bacon and flour-bread to this little party, which had been deprived of such food so long, he started off, returning at night-fall with a small deer and half a dozen rabbits. the greater portion of the venison he cut up ready for smoking; and when his mother asked why he was planning so much labor for himself, he replied cheerily,-- "we're likely to lay here ten days at the very least, for the horses won't be in condition to travel in much less time; and now is my chance to put in a stock of provisions for the winter. it never'll do to spend all my wages for food; because you and margie are to be fitted out in proper shape, and now i haven't even the rifle to sell, for that belongs to the prospectors." not an idle hour did dick stevens spend during the time they remained encamped at buffalo meadows; and when the time came that his father believed they might safely begin the journey to antelope spring, he had such a supply of smoked meat as would keep the family in food many days. mr. stevens's wound had healed with reasonable rapidity, thanks to the materials for its dressing which dick had risked his life to procure; and on the morning they decided to cross the desert the invalid was able to take his place on the front seat of the wagon to play the part of driver. dick rode the broncho, as a matter of course; and to him this journey was most enjoyable. not until the second day did the family arrive at their destination, and dick received such a reception as caused his cheeks to redden with joy. bob mason chanced to be in front of mansfield's store when the party rode up, and insisted on their remaining there until he could summon the inhabitants of the settlement to give them welcome. "we're glad you've come," mr. mason said when he believed the time had come for him to make a speech. "we've seen the kid, an' know how much sand he's got; so if the rest of the family are anything like him, and i reckon they must be, we're gettin' the kind of citizens we hanker after. i've pre-empted the boy, an' allow he'll look out for things on the ranch as well as any man i could hire, an' a good deal better'n the average run. we've got a house here for the rest of you, an' stevens will find plenty of work if he's handy with tools. now then, kid, we'll get the old folks settled, an' after that i'll yank you off with me." mason led the way to a rude shanty of boards, which was neither the best nor the worst dwelling in the town; and to mrs. stevens and margie it seemed much like a palace, for it was a place they could call home, a pleasure they had not enjoyed since leaving willow point two years ago. dick observed with satisfaction that there was a sufficient amount of furniture in the shanty to serve his parents until money could be earned with which to purchase more; and then he rode away with bob mason, leading the team-horses to that gentleman's corral. he had brought his family to a home, and had before him a good prospect of supplying them with food, even though his father should not be able to do any work until the coming spring; therefore dick stevens was a very happy boy. here we will leave him; for he is yet in mason's employ, and it is said in antelope spring to-day, or was a few months ago, that when "bob mason hired that kid to oversee his ranch, he knew what he was about." it is hard to believe that a boy only fifteen years of age (for dick has _now_ been an overseer, or "boss puncher" as it is termed in nevada, nearly two years) could care for a ranch of six hundred acres; yet he has done it, as more than one can testify, and in such a satisfactory manner that next year he is to have an interest in the herds and flocks on the "mason place." mr. stevens recovered from the wound in due time; and early in the spring after his arrival at the settlement, he joined messrs. parsons & robinson in prospecting among the ranges. his good fortune was even greater than dick's; for before the winter came again the firm had struck a rich lead of silver, which has been worked with such profit that "roving dick's" home is one of the best and the cosiest to be found in the state. mr. stevens would have been glad had young dick decided to give up his work on the ranch; but the latter has declared again and again that he will leave mining strictly alone, because "cattle are good enough for him." the end. [transcriber's note: * pg added opening quotes before "i went, an' have got back". * otherwise, archaic and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation retained.] none [illustration: little tales of the desert cover] little tales of the desert _by_ ethel twycross foster, l. l. b. _member suffolk bar_ _illustrations by_ hernando g. villa published by the author los angeles, cal. copyright by ethel t. foster kingsley, mason and collins co. printers and binders los angeles contents christmas on the desert trade rats a chat with mrs. cottontail rabbits and cactus burrs the dangerous pet a visit to palm springs the road-runner a strange capture a desert may party [illustration: _christmas on the desert_] [illustration] christmas on the desert mary was worried. to-morrow would be christmas. christmas! a day always spent close to new york city, that place where santa claus obtained all the contents of his wonderful pack. here she was, out in the heart of the great arizona desert. her little head was sorely puzzled over many things. around her were sand, rocks and mountains; no snow, no ice, save on the tops of the distant peaks. how was santa to draw his gift-laden sleigh over barren stretches of sage brush and sand? besides, he surely would be far too warm, with his heavy fur coat and cap, to say nothing of the poor reindeer who could scarcely live in such a country. mary and her mother had joined her father at his mine, where they were going to spend the winter, sleeping in a tent, eating in a tent, but spending the remainder of the time out of doors, under the clear, blue sky and breathing the sweet, pure air. mary enjoyed all these things and no troubled thought crossed her mind until the approach of christmas. she sought counsel with her mother, but mother merely looked wise and said "wait." mothers, somehow, seem to know all about these things and mary had great confidence in hers, and so she ceased to worry, but still she wondered. christmas eve at last arrived and mary with many misgivings retired early, as children often do in order to hasten the coming of the day. she slept well, but awoke just as the sun came peeping up from behind the distant mountains. she sat up on her cot very suddenly and rubbed her eyes. what was that rapidly moving object coming over the brow of the nearest hill? she hurried into her clothes and went out. as the speck came nearer it began to take definite form. but how strange! what did it all mean? mary stood and stared with wide open eyes. quickly it came nearer and nearer and presently rolled over the nearest rise and swung up in front of the camp. mary had seen many interesting sights during her short life of six years, but never one so strange. first came twelve little burros with harnesses nearly hidden by holly berries, while behind was the queerest chariot that ever popped out of a fairy tale. the wheels were covered with blue and yellow flowers and above was an immense spanish dagger with the center removed, and in its place stood the same dear old santa claus, whom mary had seen every year of her life. mary had never before seen him in his desert costume. instead of his warm fur coat, he wore a kakhi coat and trousers, with high top boots, a bright red scarf around his neck and a wide sombrero hat. below the hat peeped out the same kindly, bright eyes above the rosy cheeks and snowy white beard. beside him, instead of the usual evergreen tree, a large, queer, crooked limbed joshua tree, was standing. it was literally laden with presents, and all was lighted up, not with candles or wax tapers, but with the crimson blossoms of the spanish dagger. on every dagger point was hung a gift. there were grown up presents for father and mother and the cook and the miners; and there was a real doll with blue eyes and teeth, that said "papa," and "mama," and cried exactly like the dolls found in far away new york. there was a tea set and a little kakhi suit. there was a cute little set of furniture made from cactus burrs, to say nothing of the delicious cactus candy, and other sweetmeats which must have come from a far away town. santa descended with a bow and a smile to all, distributed the gifts, joined them for a moment at breakfast, for the dear old man works very hard and gets hungry, and then with a cheery, "merry christmas to all," he was off again, leaving behind one of the little burros named bepo, for mary's own use. as he sped away over the sand toward the next camp, mary gave a sigh and turned to her mother with a happy laugh, saying, "i guess santa looks after the little girls and boys everywhere, doesn't he, mamma?" trade rats the little clock struck twelve, all were sleeping soundly, the tent flap was rolled away and a streak of moonlight stretched half across the floor. mary and her mother lay on a bunk and beyond the partition one could hear the even breathing of father and cousin jack. all else was still save the occasional cry of a night hawk or the far distant call of a coyote. slowly, cautiously, stealthily into this silence crept a tiny object. its sharp, black eyes flashed fire in the moonlight and in its small mouth it carefully carried a cactus burr. "pst! mary, did you hear something?" it was cousin jack's hoarse whisper that broke the silence and awakened mary from a beautiful dream and her eyes popped open wide. she snuggled closer to mother and stared into the moonlight. all she could hear was a funny, little scratching sound, unlike any she had ever heard around camp, and she knew not what it meant. none of her little animal friends made a noise like that. jack was out of bed, had lighted a candle and in his pajamas, was searching under bunks, tables and chairs for the thing that had caused the noise. mary sat up in bed, in time to hear a swift, rustling sound and see a small object dart out of the tent door. jack knew it would do no good to search outside so tumbled back into bed and once more all was still. [illustration] next morning at breakfast all were wondering who the strange visitor could have been, but soon the incident was forgotten. toward noon, mary went to a vacant bunk where she kept her clothes, and picked up her new doll. she removed its dress and looked about for a little, red, wool gown, of which she was very fond, for the day was chilly and it looked like rain. but the gown was gone, high and low she looked, but find it she could not. at last, tired out with searching, she fell asleep, and the pretty lost gown remained a mystery. during the next few days strange things happened. on the day following one of dolly's stockings was gone, on the next, its mate; on the next a pretty little velvet bonnet, and so on for a week. the strangest part of it was that something or somebody was bringing in little sticks of wood and cactus burrs and piling them up among the doll clothes. at the end of the week, jack decided to solve the mystery. he said he was going to sit up all night and see what kind of a thing was coming into the tent so regularly. he didn't do exactly what he intended to do, for by ten o'clock his eyelids grew too heavy and he was fast asleep in the vacant bunk which he had chosen for a hiding place. patter, patter, patter, something was coming. jack awoke with a start of expectation. there was no moon tonight, but he had left a candle burning in a distant corner. it was all he could do to keep back a chuckle when he saw a big gray rat dart across the floor with a good sized twig in its mouth. jack kept perfectly still and the little fellow, not even seeing him, continued its way across the floor to the bunk on which sat jack beside the doll clothes. it clawed its way up the side of the bunk, dropped the twig, then selected a soft, woolly skirt. then it turned and scampered away through the door and out into the sagebrush. jack gave a hearty laugh and at once awakened the whole family and told them his story. "of course," said father, "it was a trade rat. why didn't we think of that before? the hills are full of tiny holes where they burrow down and build their nests." "but what about the twig?" asked jack. "they always pay for what they take," was the unexpected reply, "they are great fellows to steal both food and clothing, but they never take anything without replacing it with a cactus burr, a twig, a chip of wood, or something of the sort. they seem to think it wrong not to leave something in place of what they take." "but what did they do with all my dolly's clothes?" asked mary, "surely they can't wear them." "indeed no, my dear little girl," said father, "but probably if you could find their nest, you would see them busy at work lining it with the soft, downy cloth in preparation for a family of little ones." mary talked and wondered about all these happenings, and you can imagine her delight when big joe came running up to camp one day and told her he had found her rat's nest. the men had been digging on a little hill preparing to build the foundation of an extra tent. the hill was covered with rat holes and gopher holes, and joe lifted up a shovel full of adobe and underneath was a little cave all carefully lined with warm clothing. on the soft bed lay mother rat and six tiny little fellows with eyes just opened. they were peering around with a frightened look and giving shrill little squeaks of dismay. [illustration: _joshua trees_ (_mary and bepo_)] [illustration] a chat with mrs. cottontail one bright sunday morning mary wandered away from camp alone. the fact was she did not know what to do. at home she always attended church with father and mother, but here the nearest church was eighty miles away, a bit too far for a morning ride, you see. father did not work sunday, and as it was about the only time he had to chat with mother, mary was for the moment forgotten. she followed along a little trail leading over a small hill east of camp. upon arriving at the top she noticed a clump of trees beyond, and they looked so cool and shady that she trotted down the trail and sat beneath them. now this was a dangerous thing to do, for she could no longer see home, and there were many trails leading in all directions. a little girl of six years could hardly be expected to remember the way back. she was soon rested and decided to start for home. she was getting hungry, too. a tiny hill rose from the clump of trees in every direction, which one ought she to choose? she was not a child to be daunted by a thing like this, so boldly started up the path she thought led home. she climbed to the top, but no camp was in sight, no tents, no horses, nothing to indicate the surroundings of those dear people that she did want dreadfully to see, o! so quickly. "oh me, oh my, i guess i'm lost!" she cried with a little break in her voice. "i hope there are no bears in these hills. oh, why did i run away, and where is my mamma?" she ran back down the hill, throwing herself on the ground under the trees while the great big tears chased down her rosy cheeks. "can i help you, little girl?" said a tiny voice near by, "you are getting your pretty dress soiled and your hair will be full of sand." "oh, i didn't know rabbits could talk," and mary's eyes grew big and round with wonder. there before her stood a little cottontail perched upon its haunches and blinking at her with its cute little pink eyes. "yes, we desert rabbits could always talk, didn't you know that? but, where is your mamma and what are you doing out here alone?" "i guess i'm lost," answered mary, "but you live here, can't you find my home?" "no, dear little girl, i can't, and i will tell you why. mr. man with many brothers and sisters lives in your home. mr. man has a gun and he uses that gun to kill poor little rabbits like me. don't you remember eating some for dinner yesterday? well, on that day several of our dear little playfellows were killed. now you see i don't care to be eaten, so must not go near your home, even to show you the way." mary gave a little shudder, for she did remember eating rabbit for dinner the day before and that she liked it, too; but she made a resolve never to do so again. "but i'll not desert you for all that," continued the strange friend. "my home is close by and as you are but a wee bit of a girl and have no gun, i'll take you there." mary was delighted. to visit a real rabbit village and to be taken there by mrs. rabbit, herself, would be a strange adventure, indeed. mrs. rabbit led the way down a narrow path worn by the little feet of her numerous family. mary trotted along behind when suddenly the rabbit stood up, gave a jump and darted away into the bushes. mary, startled, looked up in surprise. there stood cousin jack gazing down at her with an amused twinkle in his eyes; why! she, herself, was lying, her head pillowed on her chubby arms, directly under the shady tree where she had thrown herself in despair but a few moments before. "well, little girl, what have you been dreaming about?" he asked. "mother is sure you are lost or eaten up by some of your wild friends." at this, mary stood up and looked around indignantly. "did i really dream about all those dreadful things mrs. cottontail told me?" she said. [illustration] rabbits and cactus burrs mary and bepo, the burro, soon became fast friends. few burros lead as happy a life as being the constant playmate of a merry child. bepo seemed to appreciate this fact and loved mary accordingly. many a prospecting trip did they take on their own account over the network of trails leading from camp to the numerous shafts and tunnels of the mine. you city children and even you country boys and girls would never dream of all the delightful and interesting things they found. i suppose you think of the desert as being a flat stretch of sand with nothing on it, like the maps of the desert of sahara, in africa? i know i used to. but indeed it is not so. many strange forms of life exist, both plant and animal, as we shall soon learn. this particular morning as they started out, mary noticed that the ground was covered with cactus burrs. did you ever see a cactus burr? they are similar to those you find in the country, but larger, with pointed daggers sticking out in all directions, and they grow on a crooked, prickly stalk or spine in the most comical way imaginable. as they ambled along they discovered more and yet more of them. mary, being an inquisitive child, jumped down from bepo's back for a closer inspection of the strange things. then she discovered a queer thing. she had seen lots of burrs before but these were different. all the sharp daggers had been removed, the burrs had been split open and the soft centers taken out. mary looked all around, who could have done it? no man could have opened all those burrs, it would have taken him weeks. he would have pricked his fingers many times and often besides. then she heard a faint rustling in the bushes near by. softly she tiptoed behind a clump of sagebrush and peeked over. there was a little rabbit nibbling away at a cactus burr. he handled it very carefully to guard against pricks and very daintily nibbled off, one by one, the tiny daggers. when all were gone he split open the burr, sucked out the juice, then nibbled up the soft center. so you see, even on this sandy desert, nature cares for all her children. mary was so pleased at the sight that she clapped her little hands in glee and cried, "you dear, cute little thing!" but mr. rabbit was not used to little girls. he looked up suddenly with fright in his tiny pink eyes, then sprang away into the bushes. mary led bepo around to a rock and clambered onto his back. as they slowly stubbed along over the rough trail they surprised many a family of rabbits and not a few were nibbling away at the prickly cactus burrs. you can ride for miles over the desert without finding water, no lakes, no rivers, no little stream even; and if it were not for the sweet juices in the center of these burrs many small animals would die of thirst. [illustration: _twilight on the desert_] [illustration] the dangerous pet mary, with her mother, was taking a short stroll just before sundown. as they were about to return they espied the largest and strangest lizard they ever saw. it was nearly two feet long, with a perfectly round body, a broad, flat head, short legs and a short, blunt tail. it was a chunky little animal, all covered with a rough skin like an alligator and dotted with square warts. it seemed very tame and followed mary into the tent where she made a warm nest for it in the corner near her bunk. it was very fond of being petted and would lie and rub its head against mary's hand. when father returned at night he was much pleased with the strange pet and encouraged mary to keep it, thinking, of course, that it was some strange overgrown lizard. the question was, what should they feed it? first they tried grubs and worms which were not touched; then bread, meat, insects and all sorts of things, but nothing would he taste. at last someone thought of eggs and that was apparently just what the little fellow wanted, and that is what he lived on during the month mary had him for her pet. at the end of that month big ben, the foreman, came into mary's tent to repair the floor. the first mary knew that anything was wrong was when he gave a scream, calling to her to keep away from the tent. her father, nearby, ran to see what was the trouble; ben pointed to the big lizard and cried, "a gila monster, let us kill him quickly!" mary and her parents looked at him in surprise. they had never heard of such an animal. ben, however, had spent years on the desert and knew well its dangers. but he had no gun and all he could do was to take a stick and push the thing out of doors. then a queer thing happened. when the hot sun shone down on the gila monster (pronounced heela) it was no longer tame and gentle, but would snap at anyone who came near and acted ugly, continuing to hiss with his mouth wide open, on the lookout for the first sign of an enemy. a squirrel came out of the brush and ran a bit too near, when the big lizard fastened its fangs in the poor little animal and turned over with it in its mouth. the poison is in its lower jaw and when he turns over it flows out. the squirrel died in a very few moments from the effects of the poison in spite of the fact that ben had meantime shot the gila monster through the head. mary's parents were horrified when they realized what a dangerous pet their little girl had been playing with for so many weeks. they determined to seek ben's advice hereafter before housing any more strange animals. but mary was not in great danger for generally the little reptiles are tame indoors, but out of doors in the sunshine they become cross and ugly and their bite is more dangerous than that of a rattlesnake. [illustration: _palm springs_] [illustration] a visit to palm springs mother was unused to the desert, so father, having arranged his business so he could leave it with big ben, the foreman, decided to take a vacation and all were going over to palm springs for a few days. now, palm springs is in california near the great mountain of san jacinto and it took a day and a half to get there. it was great fun for mary and jack to get into a sleeping car and go speeding along over the desert again. they recognized many of their old friends on the way, most of whom they knew nothing about the last time they rode on a train. then it grew dark and they could no longer see out of the window. the next morning after breakfast the conductor opened the door and called out, "palm springs." they hurriedly gathered together their bags and suitcases and left the train. my! but wasn't it cold, and didn't the wind blow? folks could hardly stand straight and the wind was blowing right off the snow-capped mountains that were all around the place, making it seem colder still. mary was hurried into the stage and before they had gone a mile their faces were covered with sand blowing off the desert and you could never have told that their clothes had ever been clean. palm springs itself was five miles from the station, but suddenly the wind stopped blowing and it was warm as summer, then pretty soon they heard dogs barking and rode right through an indian village. some of the squaws were making baskets, but most of them were out in the fields working just like men. imagine mamma doing work like that. it was interesting to see them, though, especially the little papooses being carried in a little box fastened to the mother's back. just beyond was palm springs settlement itself, with lots of tents, several houses, a store and a hotel. they stopped at the hotel, and after dinner looked around the funny little store where they sold a little of everything while a phonograph ground out wheezy music. they visited the funny little cottages with their roofs and sides all covered with big palm leaves instead of boards. then they went up to the hot springs. there was a stream of water shooting up in the air part of the time, but generally just bubbling up a little higher than the pond itself, which was about six feet wide and ten feet long. it didn't look deep, but the man at the springs told them the center shaft was sometimes as big as a well and no one knew how deep. father had been there before and he wanted to take mary into the spring, so with jack they hired bathing suits and went down. it was very funny. they thought, of course, it was going to be deep, but the bottom was hard sand, and the water just covered their ankles. father took mary in first, but the water did not become deeper, but all at once the sand gave way. father said it was quick sand which somewhat frightened her, but he didn't seem scared so she tried not to be. they went down and down into the sand which seemed to tighten around them, when all at once, when mary was up to her shoulders, the spring gave a gurgle and tossed them out into shallow water. mary was frightened, but the rest laughed at her, especially jack, who was fourteen and thought he was almost a man. he said he could walk around in it all right--the old water could not toss him up like that. it was just bubbling over a little then, so he marched boldly in. but when he felt the warm watery sand hugging him tighter and tighter and sucking him down, he thought surely he was lost and wished he had not bragged. but just then the spring gurgled louder and a high stream shot up and in it was cousin jack, who landed safe and sound beside them. i can tell you he was a happy boy. they soon became accustomed to the idea and spent an hour of fun wading in and being gently but firmly tossed out. then they went back to dr. murray's hotel where mother met them at the door. after a supper of fresh eggs, nice biscuits, strawberries and cream, they retired to their tent and when all were in bed father rolled up the sides so they could look out at the stars and breathe the fresh, warm air softly blown to them by the gentle mountain breezes. [illustration: _the road runner_] [illustration] the road-runner of all mary's pets she liked her road-runners best. did you ever see a road-runner? it makes its home on the desert where you would find it impossible to get food, yet this little bird finds plenty and leads a happy existence. he looks much like a pheasant with broad wings, a long, broad tail and a crest that stands up very stiff and straight. the tail is very flexible, and many people who have lived on the desert a long time, say they can almost tell what the road-runner's thoughts are by the way he holds his tail. if you can make friends with the little bird and get near enough to it you can see the beautiful colors in its feathery coat. the olive green wings are edged with white, and the crest is of dark, deep blue. the bird is about twenty inches long, including the tail. a pair had built a nest in a clump of cactus a short distance from camp. the first time mary espied them was the day after her arrival. one came up over a low ridge and stood looking at mary with curiosity expressed in its long, flexible tail. this, of course, aroused mary's interest and she hastened away to make friends. but it was not to be. very quickly the bird retreated to its cactus patch. but it came again the next day and the next. at first mary was afraid of frightening it away, but one day it came as she was eating a thick slice of bread and butter and she tossed it some crumbs. as before, he scampered away to a safe distance, but there he stopped. mary stepped back and waited and pretty soon the little fellow returned and rapidly ate up all the crumbs. he then gave a little toss of his tail as if to say "thank you," and went home. after this mary and the little road-runner soon became fast friends, and later mary taught him that cousin jack was his friend, too. he soon learned that the big horn that the cook blew three times a day meant something to eat; and was always on hand to get his share. he would always save a goodly part of this share and carry it home to his mate. mary and jack each had a burro and often they would take short rides to the nearby camps, for jack was a steady, reliable boy and mary's father knew he would take care to see that no harm came to her. the trail led by the road-runner's nest and whenever he saw the little girl and the big boy coming along on their burros he would dart out into the road and rush ahead at full speed. he could always keep ahead, too. try as they might mary and jack were unable to get ahead of him. when he grew weary of the sport he would turn suddenly and hurry into the brush until they had passed. in some ways, though, he was a nuisance. mary's uncle had sent them a box containing a dozen chickens so that they could have some fresh eggs as a change from the cold storage eggs commonly found in mining camps. now, the little road-runner would often try to slip into the chicken yard when no one was looking. he would wait indifferently, promenading up and down in a dignified manner until one of the hens cackled. he knew this meant a fresh egg and he would deliberately march up, peck a hole in the new laid egg and as deliberately swallow the contents. [illustration: _colorado desert_ (_ocatilla in foreground_)] [illustration] a strange capture one warm day in february a great lazy rattlesnake, over three feet long, glided out from under a broad, flat rock. it slowly wound its way through sagebrush and cactus until it found an open space where the hot rays of the noonday sun fell uninterrupted. here it stretched itself out at full length, and after enjoying the warmth of the sunshine for a little while, gradually grew drowsy and at last fell asleep. exactly one hour later, a faint rustling sound was heard. from behind the same rock peeped out an excited looking little creature. it was no other than our little friend the road-runner. but why so agitated and disturbed? its little tail was bobbing up and down, and its beautiful bluish-black crest was raised as high as possible. he had spied his lifelong enemy, the rattlesnake. suddenly, as quickly as he came, he disappeared from sight. he was soon back, carrying in his beak a cactus burr, which he placed on the ground near the sleeping snake. back and forth he went, each time returning with a prickly burr. before long he had a hedge entirely surrounding poor, unsuspecting mr. snake. then one more burr was brought and quietly dropped on the snake's head. now, the skin of a snake is very sensitive and he immediately woke up. of course his first motion rubbed the delicate skin against the prickly burr. he gave a vicious rattle and started to move away from the troublesome thing. he struck at one side of the hedge, then another. he grew more and more angry. he would try to poke his nose between the burrs, but on being pricked by the sharp points, he would draw back and try in another place. at last, overcome with anger and mortification, he drove his poisonous fangs into his own body and soon died. mr. road-runner, meanwhile, had retreated to a safe distance and was much interested in all that was happening. when sure the snake was dead, he cautiously darted up to the hedge and gave the dead snake a series of sharp pecks with his long beak as an additional safeguard. then he settled down and ate a portion, carrying the best part away to his nest to share with his mate. now, if that snake had kept his temper and not become excited, he might have realized that by poking his nose under the burrs he could lift them and get away with only a few scratches. however, there are times when even boys and girls let their anger get the best of them, so why should we expect more wisdom in a poor, foolish snake! sometimes the snake doesn't kill itself, but only becomes tired out and lies down motionless, when the little road-runner comes over and pecks him to death. there are only a few animals, birds or insects who can kill a rattlesnake, and the road-runner does this about as neatly as any. [illustration: _a desert may party_] [illustration] a desert may party "why, mamma, the very idea! who ever heard of a desert may party?" i hear some tiny girl exclaim, "a desert is all sand, if there were flowers there it would not be desert at all." ah, yes, my dear, i used to think so, too, but to mary it was no surprise. she had spent the winter on the desert, had seen the heavy rains, and afterwards had watched how rapidly the sturdy little green shoots would push their way up through the hard unsympathetic soil. generally once a year the desert puts on its party dress and is dotted with a gorgeous mass of blossoms. the rains come at intervals in the winter and early spring and the heavier and more frequent they are, the greater will be the flower growth. the march and april rains this year had been heavy. there had been days when cousin jack had come in with his raincoat dripping and declared that he knew mt. kenyon would be washed away. now and then a cloudburst would strike terror to mary's tender heart. she had gone out when the weather cleared and watched the warm earth rise up and break, while the little green things peeped through and took their first look at the sun. the ground was always warm and it was amazing to see how rapidly things would grow if you but gave them water. the thing that now troubled mary was the fact that she had no one to ask to share her party. of course there was jack, but jack was only a boy and a may party, above all else, means girls. it is strange what unexpected things happen at times, even in lonesome mining camps. the thought had barely entered her little curly head when she looked away over toward the mountains and saw a big, lumbering wagon, drawn by four strong horses, come creeping down the road. long before it reached camp she could see that there were several people on it and then she saw the children. there were four of them, three little blue eyed girls with flaxen hair and a slightly older brother with the same light hair but who looked at the world through a pair of big, laughing brown eyes. they were staying twenty miles up the valley with their parents who had charge of a small cattle ranch, and mother and children were having a holiday going to town with father. they stopped to water the horses and you may be sure that it did not take long for the children to become acquainted. not many little folks live on the desert and playmates are almost unknown. as it turned out, father and mother went on to town alone and left the children to enjoy one another until their return on the following day. mary's mother was always planning surprises, so when she appeared with two large lunch baskets heaped with goodies, mary realized that this would be a may day party unlike any she had ever before seen. six burros were kept ever ready in the corral and these were caught and saddled for the children. mother rode her indian pony, a christmas gift from father. as they passed the mill and wound up the trail by the main shaft of the mine, the men were changing shift and as the cage swung up to the surface the miners called a cheery good-bye, for they were very fond of mary. they ascended the next rise and what they saw was fairyland. they were at the entrance of a canyon. a tiny stream of water ran in the center and beside it wound a narrow trail. foothills rolled up on either side and the steep walls were a mass of flowers. wild heliotrope, thistle, poppies, white, pink and yellow gillias, long-leaved wild tobacco, with its rich yellow blossoms, all were massed together and far more beautifully arranged than the stiff gardens in central park. "aunt louise," called jack to mamma, who was riding behind with the little girls, "isn't that a campfire up on the next hill?" "no, jack," she replied, "not a fire, only a smoke tree. that is why it received its name. the branches are grayish with tiny sage-green leaves and at a distance it is often mistaken for a fire as it is all so delicate and filmy." by this time jack had ridden ahead for a closer inspection of the bush and startled us all by a little cry of pain. "be careful, jack, it is also called the porcupine tree by the miners," called mother, "the tiny leaves are nothing more than very sharp and prickly spines." "why is it that so many desert plants have stickers and thorns?" asked tom, the rancher's son. "why, can't you see for yourself, tom?" called back jack, "if they weren't sharp and prickly all these little desert animals would tear them up when they were young and tender and they would never grow to be full sized." "yes," said mother, "it is simply the way that nature protects her young so that it will not be destroyed in infancy. there are still other protections necessary on the desert for the hot sun would otherwise kill many plants. a large number are covered with a soft down which is really a mass of tiny air cells that keep the stems and leaves cool and protect them from the hot sun's rays." "and see, there is a creosote bush, its rich green leaves are covered with a kind of varnish which keeps them cool the same as the hairs would do. see how the recent rains have brought out a mass of blossoms at the tip of every branch, what a delicate flower, held in a pale green cup. and there is another smoke tree, nearer the water and so it has blossomed earlier, every point has a gorgeous purple flower." "see the funny bunch of sticks over here, mamma," called mary, "they look like a lot of candles sticking up." "and that is just what they are called, my dear, ocatilla, or candle cactus. they have no leaves for the greater part of the year, but after the rains they leave out and are soon covered with those beautiful scarlet bells." "yes," answered mary, "they look like some beautiful winged bird just about to fly away. and how tall the candles are, lots higher than our tents back in camp." it would take too long to tell you about all the desert beauties that the children saw, they all agreed that nothing as beautiful was ever seen "back east" where it rains half the time. at noon they sat down under a clump of mesquite and ate the splendid luncheon. the pure fresh air had made them ravenously hungry. the mesquite was a low, stocky tree which did not grow high but spread out in every direction, branches thick with foliage. "why don't the old tree grow up higher and not bother about having so many side branches?" asked jack. then mother told him. "why, can't you see?" she asked. "the sun is so hot that it kills the tiny buds on the end of the branch; but the tree is determined to grow, just the same, so it sends out side buds, where the sun's rays are not as hot and the short, stubby tree is the result." "at any rate it makes a fine shade and that is all we need just now," answered jack. they rested under the wide spreading branches until the sun shone a bit less fiercely, then they slowly rode homeward through the beautiful blossoms, arriving just at dusk, very hungry, a little tired, but happy in the thought that they had visited one of the strangest and most beautiful corners of the earth. * * * * * transcriber's notes: the original text did not contain a table of contents. one was created for this text. khaki is spelled kakhi in this text. none grace harlowe's overland riders on the great american desert by jessie graham flower, a. m. illustrated chapter i--when the cowboys laughed picking out the ponies for the desert journey. the overland girls meet hi lang. grace selects an "outlaw" pony. "don't reckon you'll be able to stick on him," warns the guide. grace harlowe flings herself into the saddle, braced for the shock. chapter ii--an "outlaw" meets his match grace fights a stubborn battle with the vicious bronco. "look out!" yells the guide. "wall, ef thet don't beat the dutch!" exclaims a cowboy. a fainting conqueror. cowboys voice their admiration of the overland girl, and bud offers his services in the event of trouble. chapter iii--a thrilling moment enthusiastic plainsmen give grace a mexican lasso. the start for the desert. a rousing good-bye that ends in disaster. elfreda and grace accomplish a difficult feat. "hang on! we'll stop him!" the runaway bronco is thrown. "they're caught!" chapter iv--ping wing makes a discovery elfreda confesses to being "all mussed up," and gives first aid to an injured cowboy. the lure of the desert. welcomed at their first camp by ping wing. the chinaman as a songbird. the overland eiders are aroused by cries and shots. chapter v--stalking a mountain mystery ping uses a frying pan and a can of tomatoes as his weapons. scooting for a mysterious foe. "put up your hands! i have you covered!" grace harlowe exchanges shots with her adversary, then suddenly sinks out of sight. chapter vi--into the great silence hi stalks an unseen enemy and wings him. the hole in the mountain. "the hound! he hit her! i'll kill him for that!" grace, unconscious, is carried into camp. "this is not a gunshot wound!" bullets are fired into the camp of the overlanders. chapter vii--the first desert camp hi lang shows his charges how to make a campfire on the desert. a water hole is found. "some one is trying to poison us!" groans hippy. the guide warns the campers against scorpions. emma dean wishes she had gone to the seashore. chapter viii--callers drop in amid scenes of desolation. "a party of horsemen coming this way!" the overland party prepares for trouble. hippy is doused by a wild desert rider. "get off my desert!" orders lieutenant wingate. the leader is kicked into a water hole. the battle at the water hole. chapter ix--pirates get a hot reception bullets fly fast in the desert camp. grace protests against hi lang's order to shoot the attackers' ponies. miss briggs dresses the wounds of the victims. the guide reads danger signals in the sky. chapter x--when the blow fell "it's here!" mutters hi lang. enveloped in a wild desert sandstorm. "down! everybody down!" overland girls nearly buried under drifting sands, and camp equipment is wrecked and blown away. "the water hole is lost!" announces the guide. chapter xi--facing a new peril ponies stray away in the storm. on the trail of the missing ones. the overland girl makes a capture. headed for death valley. grace harlowe is lost, but doesn't know it. hi lang goes to the rescue and follows her trail. chapter xii--a bitter disappointment "we must find water!" declares hi lang impressively. the search for a desert "tank" begun by the weary riders. directed to smell for water. a thrilling discovery. hopes dashed to earth. "get back to your positions!" orders the guide. chapter xiii--a startling alarm supper is eaten without water or tea. hi lang shows the girls how to extract food and moisture from a cactus plant. "this is heavenly!" gasps emma, and wonders why they did not bring an artesian well. shouts and screams suddenly disturb the camp. chapter xiv--the mysterious horseman hippy wingate falls into the desert. a happy accident. "water! i smell it!" cries grace. signal shots are fired. a desert wanderer rides in begging for water. a solitary horseman views the overlanders from afar. chapter xv--the guide reads a desert trail a stranger's warning interests hi lang. why the desert wanderer is always listening. more desert secrets revealed. emma dean dreams of snakes and things. grace harlowe is complimented. hi tells the overlanders what the mysterious horseman is. chapter xvi--the cross on the desert grace learns to throw the lasso. an unpleasant discovery. the mystery box at the foot of the cross. emma is eager to see their find opened. "it rattles like gold," declares hippy. lieutenant wingate raises the cover of the mystery box. chapter xvii--another mystery to solve what the overland riders found in the buried tin box. the map that aroused the curiosity of all. "i'll bury the old thing," declares hippy. hi lang empties his rifle at the mysterious horseman, and later makes discoveries. chapter xviii--an old indian trick the most trying day of all. hi lang utters a warning. a cloud that aroused suspicion. overlanders meet with a keen disappointment. "folks, the tank is dry! the water hole has been tampered with!" announces the overlanders' guide. chapter xix--the warning an all-night ride for forty-mile canyon. the red star is hi lang's beacon. hippy wingate mourns at missing a meal. emma comes a cropper in a mountain stream. "the last spot made when the world was built." in camp in the specter range. grace harlowe's discovery. chapter xx--conclusion grace harlowe wades into the mountain stream and suddenly disappears. a remarkable scene behind the waterfall. grace makes an important capture. mountain and desert mysteries unveiled. lindy becomes the daughter of five mothers. home! grace harlowe's overland riders on the great american desert chapter i when the cowboys laughed "grace harlowe, do you realize what an indulgent husband you have?" demanded elfreda briggs severely. "why, of course i do," replied grace, giving her companion a quick glance of inquiry. "why this sudden realization of the fact on your part!" "i was thinking of the really desperate journey we are about to undertake--the journey across the desert that lies just beyond the cactus range you can see over yonder," answered miss briggs, as she gazed out through the open window of their hotel at elk run, to the distant landscape to which she had referred. "what i am curious about is how tom ever came to consent to your attempting such an adventure." "i presume he really would have made serious objection had it not been for the fact that he had signed up for that forestry contract in oregon. tom knew that i would have a lonely summer at home, and, i believe, deep down in his heart, felt that were he to deny me the pleasure of this trip, i might break my neck driving my car. you see, since i drove an ambulance in france i do not exactly creep along the roads with my spirited little roadster." "he did not object to the trip then?" "well, he did threaten to balk when i told him that we overlanders had planned to ride horseback across the great american desert, starting from elk run, nevada. however, he listened to reason. tom is such a dear," reflected grace. "yes, reason in the form of grace harlowe gray," nodded elfreda understandingly. "should i ever have the misfortune to possess a husband i hope he may be as amenable to reason. where is tom, by the way?" "he has gone out with hippy wingate to look for one hiram lang, known hereabouts as hi lang, the man who is to act as our guide and protector across the desert. he is mr. fairweather's cousin, you will recall, and my one great hope is that he may prove to be as fine a character as the man who piloted us over the old apache trail last summer." "i sincerely hope, for our sake, that he knows his business," nodded elfreda briggs. "where did you leave the girls?" questioned grace. "i left emma dean, anne nesbit and nora wingate at the general store where they were selecting picture cards of wild west scenes to send to the folks back home. by the way, when does tom leave for oregon?" "to-night. i wish it were possible for him to go with us, knowing that it would prove an interesting experience for him, but now that he is out of the army he feels that he must get to work without loss of time. tom now has a large family to look after-- yvonne and my own little self." "i should say that, after fighting bolshevists in russia for the better part of a year, the desert would be a rather tame experience for him," observed miss briggs. "of course he cannot be blamed for desiring to get to work. i feel the same way about myself, but since my return from france my law practice has been about what it was while i was serving my country on the other side of the atlantic ocean--nothing at all--so i might as well be on the desert as in my office." "your practice will come back, elfreda. don't worry, but in the meantime try to have the best kind of a time and set what happens this fall. i hear tom's step." a knock followed the brisk step in the hallway, and grace's husband entered. elfreda rose, but grace held out a hand as a signal that her friend was not to leave. "well, tom dear, did you find him?" questioned grace. "oh, yes. this town isn't so large that one can well miss finding any one. your man, hi lang, is getting the ponies into the corral and you girls are to go out there and make your selections." "did mr. lang say why he had not called here to see us?" asked grace. "no, he didn't say much of anything. he is not of the saying kind. i suppose he expected you to look him up. besides, he is very busy getting ready for you, i could see that. if you are ready we will go over to the corral now." "where did you leave hippy?" asked miss briggs. "talking horse with the owner of the ponies," grace's husband informed her, whereat both girls smiled understandingly, knowing quite well that hippy wingate was posing as an expert on horses, whereas about all the knowledge he possessed in that direction had been gained from the ride over the apache trail during the previous summer. tom led the two girls to the corral at the extreme edge of the little western village. anne, emma and nora already had found their way there and were watching the wranglers, as the men who catch up the ponies are called, roping broncos and leading them out for the inspection of lieutenant wingate and the guide. "my, but they are a lively bunch," exclaimed miss briggs. the roped ponies were bucking and squealing and biting and kicking. a suffocating gray cloud of alkali dust hung over the corral, and, altogether, the scene was not only exciting, but it stirred feelings of alarm in some of grace harlowe's overland riders. "surely, grace, you girls aren't going to ride those wild animals!" protested tom gray. "judging from the performances i have just witnessed, i am inclined to think we are not," replied grace whimsically. "which is mr. lang?" "the man with his hat off leading the pony from the corral." tom beckoned to the man who was to guide the overlanders across the desert, and, as soon as he had turned the protesting bronco over to a cowboy, the guide responded to tom gray's summons. "lang, this is mrs. gray and miss briggs," said tom by way of introduction. "reckon i'm mighty glad to know you all," greeted the guide, mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. hi lang interested grace at once. of medium height, thin-featured, with a complexion that reminded her of wrinkled parchment, eyes that, though intelligent and alert, frequently took on a dreamy, far-away expression, hiram lang proved a new type of westerner to grace harlowe. "got your telegram that you reckoned on starting to-day," he told her. "yes. of course we do not wish to hurry you, but we are eager to get on our way. what about the supplies and equipment! have you ordered everything that i suggested?" the guide nodded. "the stuff already has gone on ahead in charge of ping wing--" "who?" laughed elfreda briggs. "ping wing, a chinaman, with four lazy burros. good man. can cook, too. been on the desert before. lively as a cricket. only trouble with ping is that he thinks he can sing. ride and shoot?" he demanded, abruptly changing the subject. "i am not much of a rider, but manage to stick to the saddle most of the time," answered grace. "i shoot a little. we are all novices, with the exception of lieutenant wingate who is an excellent shot. the lieutenant was a fighting aviator in the war." hi nodded and stroked his chin. "reckoned you could ride some. when we get out on the desert i'll see how you can shoot. when do you think you want to start?" "i will leave that to you," replied grace. "three o'clock this afternoon. we'll make the range where ping will be waiting for us, and have chow there, then go on in the cool of the evening. want to look over the broncos?" "if you please. i should like to try the ponies that we are to ride." "do--do they always kick and buck as we saw them do just now?" questioned miss briggs apprehensively. the guide shook his head and grinned. "they don't like to be roped, that's all. no bronco does. they'll be as all right as a bronc' can be, so long as you don't use the spur or get the critters stubborn." "if you say they are perfectly safe for my friends to ride, i am satisfied, though i should like to try them out. hippy, have you ridden any of these animals?" asked grace, turning to lieutenant wingate. "he tried to," observed tom gray dryly. "hippy mounted one on one side and promptly fell off on the other before getting his feet in the stirrups. it was not the pony's fault, however, but hippy's clumsiness that caused the disaster." "that's right, have all the fun at my expense you wish. i am the comedian of this outfit anyway," protested hippy. "let's see you ride one of them, brown eyes," he urged, speaking to grace. "please have them saddled one by one and i will try them, mr. lang," directed grace. "any pony that i can ride, the others surely can." the guide nodded and turned away. grace watched the saddling with keen interest, especially the saddling of the first pony selected for her, which squealed and pawed and danced as the cinch-girth was being tightened. "vicious!" objected elfreda briggs. "no," answered grace. "just playful. if the others are no worse, we shall have a good bunch of horses." the saddle being secured, grace stepped up and petted the little animal for a few moments, then mounted. the pony danced under her, then, at a word, galloped off. the overland girl rode but a short distance, and, turning back, trotted up to the group smilingly. "spirited but sweet," was her comment as she dismounted. "he will be all right if he is used right. try him, elfreda. i know you will like him." miss briggs took her test without falling off, and promptly claimed the little brown animal as her own private mount. "you made a most excellent selection, mr. lang," complimented grace, after she had tried the ponies for the rest of the girls and found them suitable. each girl also tried out and selected her own mount from those that grace had approved, the cowboys and half the village being interested spectators. grace was pleased, both with the ponies and with the riding of her girl friends. not the least of those who were pleased was hi lang, who, before the coming of the outfit, had felt considerable doubt as to the success of the proposed jaunt. now he knew that the overland riders were not rank greenhorns, as he expressed it to himself. "which animal did you think of selecting for me!" asked grace smilingly. "reckoned you'd do that for yourself," answered the guide. "thank you. please have that black roped and brought out. he is the one i think will please me," replied grace promptly. "what, that black bronc'? he's a lively one, mrs. gray. don't reckon you'll be able to stick on him at all," warned hi lang. "i have fallen off before, sir. have him roped and brought out. i'll try him out." the guide shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the head wrangler. "why take such unnecessary chances!" begged tom gray. "surely there are plenty of ponies in the bunch that are safe for you to ride." "tom, surely the black one can be no worse than that wild western pony that i bought last fall and rode. you know he was supposed to be the last word in viciousness and bucking ability, but i rode him successfully." "very well, go ahead. you won't be satisfied until you have tried him, but remember, i warned you," returned grace's husband with some heat. "now, tom," begged grace pleadingly. "please don't be a cross bear and spoil my trip. you have been so perfectly lovely about it right up to this moment, that it would be too bad if you were to get peevish now. if you say i must not, of course i will not try to ride the animal, but i do so want him." tom gray shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "go to it, little woman. you have my full permission to break your neck if you insist. i will see that little yvonne keeps your memory green." "oh, tom! you are such a dear, but i promise you that you won't have occasion to keep my memory green so far as that mischievous little black pony is concerned." grace harlowe's confidence in herself was not without good and sufficient reason. the western pony that she had ridden the previous winter had demonstrated nearly all the tricks known to the stubborn broncos of the great west. at first grace had had some bad spills, but eventually she learned to outwit her pony and ride him no matter how savagely he tried to unhorse her. not only had grace learned to ride, in anticipation of another summer in the saddle, but, under her husband's instruction, she had taken up revolver shooting, and by spring was capable of qualifying as an expert, especially in quick shooting at moving targets. thus fitted for the strenuous life in the wilder parts of her native land, grace looked forward with calm assurance to the experiences that she knew lay before her. "bring out the black," hi lang had directed. "cinch him so tight it will make him squeal." when a wrangler's rope caught him, the wiry little animal fought viciously for a few moments, then suddenly surrendered and was led out as docile as a lamb. "who said that black is vicious?" demanded hippy wingate. "want to ride him?" asked the guide good-naturedly. "no. i have a real pony for myself." "watch those ears, grace," warned tom gray. "i am," replied grace, and hi lang, overhearing, grunted his satisfaction. the black pony's ears were tilted back at an angle of forty-five degrees, and there he held them while the saddle was being set in place, and the girth cinched, both forefeet spread wide apart and head well down. he winced a little as the girth was drawn a hole tighter so that the saddle might not slip, but otherwise made no move, which, the cowboys said, was an unusual thing for him to do. the pony's sudden surrender was of itself suspicious to those who were familiar with the western bronco, and the laid-back ears were significant to them of trouble to come. "is he an outlaw!" asked grace, meaning an animal naturally so vicious that he never had been satisfactorily broken. hi lang, to whom the question had been addressed, gave grace a quick glance of inquiry. "some call him that. at least he's got the ginger in him, and mebby he is an outlaw. keep a tight rein on him; don't let him get his head down if you can help his doing so, and stick to your leather. watch him every second, for he's got a box full of tricks." "thank you for the suggestions. i shall not forget." "i ought not let you ride him. i reckon you'll get enough of the critter before you have ridden him many minutes, even if you stick on that long." "mr. lang, i intend to ride that 'critter,' as you call him, across the desert. will he bolt while i am mounting?" "mebby. all ready now." "have you any last requests to make, grace harlowe?" asked elfreda briggs frowningly. elfreda strongly disapproved of grace's "foolhardiness," as she called it. "yes, keep back and give me plenty of room. see that the other girls do the same. the black may do a little side-stepping." grace, as she had done with the other ponies before mounting, stepped up to the black and began petting and caressing him, now and then straightening up the animal's ears, chiding him as she might a child. this made the cowboys laugh. cowboys when subduing broncos do not ordinarily do so with anything resembling baby talk, and it was their firm conviction that this pretty young tenderfoot from the east was about to get the surprise of her life. instead of feeling sorry for her, however, the souls of the cowboys were filled with joy at the prospect of some real fun. it was not often that they were privileged to see an innocent easterner make an exhibition of himself on a vicious western pony, and this was the first time they had ever seen a woman from the east attempt to ride a bucking bronco, which made the occasion all the more interesting. "stand clear, please," warned grace, giving the pony's neck a final pat, and at the same time edging her way back from his head, measuring the distance to the stirrup with her eyes. "i'll give you the word when to hit the leather," directed hi in a low voice. "watch your step." grace acknowledged the warning with a brief nod, watching the black's head narrowly. the animal still stood with forefeet braced apart, head slightly lowered, ears, it seemed, flatter than ever. "if i miss it i'm lost," muttered grace, referring to the stirrup. "ready," warned the voice of the guide. the girl's left hand holding the bridle rein crept cautiously to the pommel of the saddle. "now!" grace's left foot caught the stirrup and, like a flash, the overland girl landed hard and firmly seated on the saddle, the right foot in the stirrup on that side, then, with the aid of stirrup and cantle, she braced herself to meet the shock that she knew was right at hand. chapter ii an "outlaw" meets his match the black did not move a muscle for a few seconds, then, with a sudden turn of the head, he made a grab for his rider's leg. grace, never having taken her eyes from the laid-back ears, gave a quick kick with her left foot, catching the pony fairly on the nose. as he hastily withdrew his head, she took advantage of the opportunity to tighten up on the reins, which brought the animal's head well up. all these preparatory activities were observed with intense interest by cowboys and overlanders. "watch him!" called hi lang in an urgent tone. grace was watching, her every faculty beat to the task of discovering what the next move of her mount was to be. the black, as she tightened the rein, reared high in the air until his rider seemed to be standing straight up. one moment she felt that they were both going to fall over backwards, and was about to clear the stirrups to jump. instead she brought her crop down on the black's head, with a resounding whack. "yeow!" howled the cowboys, but grace did not hear them, for the pony had dropped to all fours, and no sooner had his feet touched the ground than he leaped clear of it, coming down stiff-legged with a jolt that jarred grace harlowe throughout her body in spite of her effort to soften the shock by throwing most of her weight on the stirrups. "he's going to buck," warned the steady voice of hi lang. grace knew it in advance of the guide's warning, but, though she tugged with all her might, she was not strong enough to get the black bronco's head up so he could not carry out his intention. there followed a series of bucks and squeals, accompanied with flying hoofs, that sent the spectators fleeing for safety. as for the overland girl, her head was spinning, her hair was down and her sombrero long since had fallen off and been trampled in the alkali dust by the hoofs of her mount. the jolting she was getting was almost more than she could endure and sharp pains were shooting through her body. this bronco indeed was a master at the art of bucking, but vicious as were his movements the black had not succeeded in ridding himself of his rider. "look out!" yelled the guide. all four feet went from under the pony and he struck the ground on his side with a force that brought a grunt from him. in the cloud of dust the spectators thought that grace had been caught under the horse and crashed. emma dean uttered a cry of alarm, and nora wingate turned her head away that she might not see. "she's all right!" shouted hiram lang, who had sprung forward to give assistance if it were needed. the pony had thrown itself on its right side. mr. lang found grace sitting calmly on the side of the saddle, free of the body of the horse, but breathing heavily. her quickness had been the means of her disengaging herself as the bronco threw himself to the ground. after giving the black a few seconds on his side, the overland rider brought her crop down on his rump with a vicious whack. it stung. like a flash the pony was on his feet, with grace's feet now planted firmly in the stirrups. as grace had expected, the bucking was resumed the instant the pony felt the smart of the crop. how the dust did fly then, and how those cowboy wranglers did yell! "who's a tenderfoot!" howled hippy wingate. "just watch her smoke." grace harlowe's whole body was weary, but her grit was not diminishing in the least. however, she decided that the time had arrived when she must do a little fighting for herself, and not leave it all to the pony, so, having arrived at this decision, grace watched narrowly for a favorable opportunity to begin. the opportunity came a few seconds later when the horse threw up his head preparatory to pitching forward in another series of savage bucks. grace jerked the animal's head to one side, brought her quirt down sharply, and, at the same time, jabbed the little black fighter with her spurs. she continued to apply this treatment for several seconds until the bronco, goaded to a change of tactics, whirled and started away at a run, driving straight through the assembled crowd. the crowd fled for their lives with grace unable now to do more than stay on the saddle. the black had not gone far before he stopped as suddenly as he had started, stopped stiff-legged, braced himself and slid on his feet through the alkali for several yards. grace harlowe had been alert for this very thing, but just the same the suddenness of the move had nearly unhorsed her. as it was she fell forward on the neck of the bronco, but, recovering herself before the animal could begin bucking again, she regained her former position in the saddle and applied crop and spur vigorously. the bronco again tried to buck, but under grace's lively treatment he gave it up and started to run, and for the next few minutes pony and rider went like a black streak across the landscape, the overland girl giving the pony no time for anything but to travel as fast as his legs would carry him, until they were a full two miles from the village. grace finally turned him about, without resistance on the pony's part, and raced for the corral, driving and urging the pony with crop and word, bound to wear him down and convince him once and for all that she was his master. as the overland rider came up to the corral now at a jog trot, the bronco covered with white foam, the cowboys broke loose. shrill cowboy yells, whoops and cat calls and a rattling fire of revolver shots into the air greeted her achievement. "grab him, you duffers!" shouted hi lang, running toward the bronco as he saw grace wavering on her saddle. "can't you see that game kid's all in?" it was only by the exercise of sheer pluck that grace harlowe had held her seat on the saddle throughout that grilling ride. she had fought and won a battle with an "outlaw" pony that many a hard- muscled cowboy had fought only to lose. now that she had conquered, however, grace felt weak and dizzy, and the reaction, she found, was worse than the experience itself. at hi lang's command, half a dozen cowboys had sprung to her assistance, but it was hi who held up his arms to help her down. "fall over. i'll catch you," he urged. grace shook her head and tried to smile. "i--i think i can make it, tha--ank you," she gasped, freeing her feet from the stirrups and slipping limply until her feet touched the ground. for a moment she stood leaning against the bronco for support, one hand clinging to the pommel of the saddle. the guide sought to draw her away, fearful that the pony might spring to one side and let loose a volley of kicks. grace shook her head, her left hand grasped the mane of the pony and she pulled herself to his head. fumbling in her pocket, she drew forth a piece of candy and felt rather than, saw the bronco's lips close over the sweet morsel. "wall, ef thet don't beat the dutch!" exclaimed a cowboy. "a bronc' eatin' outer a lady's hand. what's the alkali flats a- comin' to!" "she's a reg'lar lion tamer, thet's the shorest thing i know," declared another. "hey! what's up now?" grace's fingers had slowly relaxed their grip on the black bronco's mane, a faint moan escaped her lips, and the overland girl slipped down under the pony's neck in a dead faint. the bronco, merely by lifting a forefoot and bringing it down on his conqueror, could have crushed the life out of grace harlowe. instead, the horse arched his neck, curled his head down and nosed her with the nearest approach to affection that any man there ever had seen a bronco exhibit. hi lang gathered the unconscious girl up cautiously and carried her to a safe spot where he laid her down. "get water. everybody stand back and give her air," he directed. "i will look after her," said elfreda brigg hurrying to grace's side. the water, fetched in a cowboy's hat, came hand just as grace regained consciousness elfreda bathed her face from the hat and fanned her with her own sombrero. "what a per--perfectly silly thing for me do," muttered grace, raising herself on elbow. "if you mean riding that wild animal, i agree with you," frowned miss briggs. "i mean the faint. what will these men think of me!" "i reckon if you'll give them a chance they'll tell you what they think," interjected hi lang. "bud, come here," he called, beckoning to one of the wranglers. "this little lady wants to know what you fellows think of a woman who rides a horse and then faints away. tell her." bud stepped up, flushing painfully under his tan, awkwardly fumbling his hat. "ah--ah reckon they think thet you're 'bout the gamest little sport thet ever hit the leather," declared bud. "any feller thet sez you ain't, is a liar and a hoss thief!" bud glared about him as if challenging some one to take up his defi. grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot that she was supposed to be in a fainting condition. getting up rather unsteadily, she offered her hand to the cowboy, who, in his embarrassment, instantly dropped his bravado and half held out a limp paw for grace to shake. "them's our sentiments. we double cinch what bud jest articulated, lady," called a cowboy voice. "thank you, bud. thank you all, fellows. it is much higher praise than i deserve," she replied, smiling and waving a hand to the group. "where do you all reckon on goin', miss?" questioned another of the men. grace told him that they had planned to cross the american desert. "and maybe we're going to look for a lost gold mine or a diamond mine or an iron mine down in the specter range, or something equally exciting," added hippy wingate. "reckon there ain't no such animal in these here parts," drawled bud. "if you all need help any old time, ah reckon you all know where to come for it, lady," he added. grace thanked him and said she would remember. "you are not thinking of riding that black bronco, are you!" questioned tom gray. "what's the next move?" "yes, to your first question. we expect to make our start this afternoon, unless mr. lang advises to the contrary. what do you say, mr. lang?" "i reckoned that, after what you've been through, you'd be wishing to lay up for the rest of the day," replied the guide. "that would be the sensible course to follow," agreed grace's husband. "no. no change of plans is necessary so far as i am concerned," she replied. "mr. lang, will you please ask one of the boys to groom blackie--that is what i shall call my pony--and not to be cross with him? i do not wish the little fellow stirred up. i have him temporarily under control, and am certain that after i have ridden him for a day he will be as manageable as the rest of them. where shall we meet you, mr. lang?" "eight here at the corral. three o'clock." hi turned his back on them and walked away to give grace's directions about the bronco to one of the wranglers. "i am going back to the hotel to lie down for an hour," announced grace. "tom, you may go out and do a little shopping for me while i am resting. girls," she said, turning to her companions, "i would suggest that all of you turn in for a beauty sleep. you will need it, for we shall have a hot, dusty ride between here and the mountains, which we shall not reach until some time this evening. if you have any further purchases to make at the general store, you had better make them now, or let tom do it for you. we must be on time at the corral. mr. lang probably has timed our departure to fit certain plans of his own." the girls said they had completed their purchases, and shortly after that all were sound asleep, fortifying themselves for the experiences before them, experiences that were destined to be the most strenuous that they had ever met with, outside of the battle front in france. chapter iii a thrilling moment "we are ready, mr. lang," greeted grace harlowe as she and her party came up to the corral where the guide was supervising the saddling of the ponies for the outfit. the girls now wore the overseas uniforms that they had worn in their ride over the old apache trail. in addition, a red bandana handkerchief was twisted about the neck of each overland rider, in true western style, to keep the alkali dust from sifting down their necks. all the equipment except mess kits and emergency rations, and a canteen of water for each, had been sent forward on the burros in charge of the chinaman, ping wing, whom the overland girls had not yet met. "how is blackie behaving at present, mr. lang?" questioned grace, stepping over towards the guide, who was readjusting the cinch- girth on the little animal. "quiet as a kitten after finding a nest of young mice. better put your revolver in the saddle holster where it will be handy. that's where i carry mine. the lieutenant is stowing his now. never know when the 'hardware' is going to come in handy on the desert." a lump of sugar found its way into the black bronco's mouth from grace harlowe's hand, as she petted and talked to the little fellow. this time his ears were tilted forward, and he stood motionless while his new master was caressing him. the instant grace stepped away, however, the black grew restless. he dragged the cowboy who was holding him and threatened to break away, nor was he quieted until grace herself intervened and, slipping the bridle rein over her arm and leading the pony, walked over to tom gray. "no wonder you are successful in managing a husband," observed tom. "even the dumb animals bow to your will." "now, tom," protested grace laughingly, the color mounting to her cheeks. "that wasn't a bit nice of you." "ready whenever you are, mrs. gray," interrupted the voice of hi lang. grace turned to her husband, the laughter gone from her face. "i shall miss you, tom dear. write to yvonne as often as you can, and to me, but yvonne needs our letters to keep her from getting lonely at school. good-bye and the best of luck, as we used to say when we were in france." grace patted the neck of the black bronco, and tom assisted her to the saddle. blackie began to prance, but, though he threatened to buck, he did not. grace finally subdued him and sat waiting for her companions to mount, all of whom managed the operation successfully, though emma dean was twice nearly unhorsed. the cowboys, as the overland girls observed, were saddled up as if they too were going along, but she supposed they were starting out on some duty connected with their work. all but two of them mounted, and there followed an exhibition of prancing and bucking that furnished amusement and interest to grace and her friends. bud and a companion finally rode up before grace and dismounted, the former removing his sombrero and approaching her awkwardly. glancing inquiringly at mr. lang, grace saw that he was smiling. "bud has something on his mind. i reckon he wants to unload, mrs. gray," announced the guide. "yes, bud?" smiled grace encouragingly. "what is it?" "it's yourself, miss. the bunch here reckoned as i, bein' gifted with the knack of gab, it fer me to speak for 'em. they're tongue- tied when there's a woman on the premises." "what is it the 'bunch' wishes you to say to me?" asked the overland girl. "they seen you bust the black bronc' this morning, and bein' as no female woman ever pulled off a stunt like it in these parts, they reckoned it might not make you mad if they told you you was all to the good." "thank you--thank you all." grace waved a hand and smiled at the eager faces of the cowboys who, lined up on their ponies, just to the rear of bud and a companion, were eagerly hanging on bud's words, but not taking their gaze from grace harlowe's face for an instant. "the bunch reckoned, too, that bein' a champeen mebby you'd take a little present from 'em. i ain't much on spreadin' the dough, even if i have some gab," added bud, floundering for the rest of his speech. "bud, i'm just as excited as you are, and, were i in your place, i should not know what to say next," comforted grace seriously. "what is it that the 'bunch' wished you to give to me?" bud reached a hand behind him, whereupon his companion placed something in it. emma dean whispered to nora that it looked like a blacksnake all coiled up and ready to jump. "this here," resumed the cowboy, holding up the coil that had been passed to him, "is a real mexican lariat, made by a greaser, but real horsehair, and warranted not to kink or to miss in the hands of a lady. the bunch reckons they'd like to give it to you to remember 'em by," concluded bud, stepping forward and handing the lariat to grace. "bud--boys, i don't need anything to make me remember you, but of course i will accept your thoughtful gift. i never threw a rope and could not hit the side of a barn with one, but now that you have given me this beautiful piece of rope i am going to learn to throw it. mr. lang, will you teach me how to rope--to throw the lasso?" the guide nodded. "if we come back this way, i hope i shall see all you boys here, and i will then throw the rope for you and you shall tell me whether or not i am a hopeless tenderfoot." "you ain't no tenderfoot already," called a cowboy. "thank you. good-bye, all." grace waved her sombrero, and, blowing a kiss to her husband, clucked to her pony and was off at a gallop, following in the wake of hi lang, who had already started on. the others of the overland party swung in and the party began its journey. they had gone but a short distance when, hearing shouts to the rear, they turned to discover the cowboys racing toward them in a cloud of dust. "what do they want, mr. lang!" called grace, urging her pony up to him. "i reckon they're coming out to give you a send off," answered the guide. as they approached, the cowboys spread out and began circling the galloping overlanders, yelling, whooping and firing their revolvers into the air. now and then one's sombrero would fly off, whereupon a following cowboy would swing down from his saddle and scoop up the hat. ropes began to wiggle through the air as the western riders sought to rope each other. they were giving grace harlowe a demonstration of what western roping was, and, as she rode, grace observed and enjoyed, as did her companions. suddenly a rope darted into the air behind her, and, had she not seen its shadow, grace surely would have been caught. interpreting that shadow for what it was the overland rider threw herself forward on her pony's neck just as the loop descended. it dropped lightly on her back, but she was out from under it in a flash, and, as she sped on, she turned a laughing face to the roper, who was being rewarded by the jeers of his companions who had chanced to see him make the cast and fail. howling and whooping like a wild indian, another rider shot directly across grace's path, his glee spinning his sombrero as high in the air as he could throw it, intending to ride under and catch it. grace's revolver, the same weapon that she had taken from belle bates, the wife of the bandit of the apache trail, whipped out of its holster in a second. her first shot at the spinning hat missed, but her second shot was a hit. she put a hole right through the crown of the hat. the whooping and yelling was renewed as the owner of the hat scooped it up from the ground and held it up for the others to see. there were two, however, who were taking no interest in the shooting--the cowboy who had tried to rope grace, and a companion who was chasing and trying to rope him in payment for his unsportsmanlike attempt to cast his lariat over grace harlowe's head. the two were darting in and out among the racing cowboys and overlanders at the imminent peril of running down some one; the dust was a suffocating, choking cloud except as they rode ahead, and then only those in the lead were out of the worst of it. the overlanders were coughing and perspiring, and the shouting and shooting at times made conversation well nigh impossible. "what is this, a wild west show?" cried elfreda briggs, riding toward grace harlowe, who was entering into the sport with a zest that set hi lang's head nodding in approval. "the real wild west, elfreda. it is not easy to find, but we have found it in earnest. oh! look at that!" the pursuing cowboy had now roped a hind foot of the pony ridden by the man who had attempted to lasso grace harlowe. the lariat being attached to the pommel of the thrower's saddle, the roped pony went down on its nose, violently hurling its rider to the ground, but the little horse was up in a flash, galloping away and dragging along the rope which it had jerked free from the owner's hands and from the saddle pommel. not only was it dragging the lasso, but also its cowboy rider, who, with one foot caught in a stirrup, was being bumped along on his back over the uneven ground. elfreda briggs, nearest to the fallen cowboy, instantly spurred her pony after the runaway. she was abreast of it in a moment. grasping the bridle of the runaway, elfreda tugged at it with all her might in her endeavor to stop the animal, shouting, "whoa! whoa!" in the meantime, grace on blackie was heading for the scene at top speed, seeking to head off the runaway. others also were trying to stop the animal and rescue the fallen cowboy, but it was elfreda's race, with grace following her. elfreda was clinging desperately to the bridle of the runaway with one hand, the other holding fast to the pommel of her saddle, but despite all her efforts she failed to check the speed of the runaway, leaning over toward it further and further as the space between the two ponies widened. this meant a fall for elfreda, as she suddenly realized. "let go!" cried grace, but elfreda was too busy to hear and still held on to the runaway. the runaway swerved sharply to the right. miss briggs had the presence of mind to kick back with both feet as she felt herself going to fall off. she did this to clear her feet from the stirrups so that when she fell she might not be dragged along on the ground by one foot. she was now leaning too far over to be able to recover her balance on her own saddle. miss briggs suddenly let go of the pommel of her saddle as she felt herself slipping, and threw both arms about the neck of the runaway, to which she clung with all her might. "whoa! whoa!" she gasped chokingly, her feet whipping the ground with every leap of the runaway as she was dragged along. elfreda was taking severe punishment, but she was enduring it pluckily, determined to hang on until either the runaway stopped or her arms came off. grace harlowe drew down rapidly on the runaway and its victims, having so timed her arrival that she succeeded in heading the pony off, with several yards between it and herself. "whoa! whoa!" commanded grace sharply, at the same time hurling her sombrero into the face of the runaway. instead of slowing down, he came on with a rush, and grace, who was now directly in his path, saw that she could not avoid a collision. the bronco ridden by grace braced himself, seeming to know instinctively what was coming. in the next moment the runaway plunged against blackie, and the impact bowled blackie over flat on his side. grace already had slipped her feet from the stirrups, and, when the collision came, she too threw herself on the neck of the runaway. "ha--ang on! we'll stop him!" she cried, her arms now tightly encircling the runaway's neck, her feet dragging on the ground just as elfreda's were. by this time the two girls on the running pony's neck were surrounded by mounted cowboys. "let go! jump clear so we kin rope him!" shouted bud, for the men dared not rope and throw the horse, fearing that he might fall on one of the girls and crush her. the cowboys did not seem to realize that neither girl would let go of her own free will until the runaway had been stopped. the end came suddenly. the heavy burden on his neck was too much for the bronco, and, his knees weakening, all at once he stumbled and went down on his nose, then toppled over on his side, enveloped in a cloud of dust. "they're caught!" shouted hi lang. chapter iv ping wing makes a discovery when the cowboys, with hi lang in the lead, reached the overland girls, they discovered grace harlowe calmly sitting on the runaway bronco's head to hold him down. "get miss briggs out from between the pony's legs. she can't help herself. drag the man out, too. the pony fell on him," urged grace. "are you hurt, mrs. gray!" begged hi anxiously. "no." "and miss briggs!" "i think not. she was a little stunned when we fell with the bronco. hold down his head so i can get to her." surrendering her seat on the bronco's head to a cowboy, grace got up and insisted in removing elfreda from her perilous position. they stood miss briggs on her feet, grace supporting her with an arm about her waist to give elfreda opportunity to collect herself. "how do you feel now!" asked grace. "all--all mussed up," was j. elfreda's characteristic reply. both girls showed the effects of their experience. their hair was hanging down their backs, their uniforms were covered with dust and their faces were grimy from the alkali dirt of the plain. "let me walk you about to see if all your joints function," suggested grace. "they never again will do so properly as long as i live," complained miss briggs. "did the ponies run away? i mean our ponies." "i have been too busy to notice. if you will sit down i will see what i can do for the poor fellow who was dragged." elfreda insisted on assisting, and a moment later both girls were kneeling beside the dazed, but conscious, cowboy whose clothing was in tatters and whose face was scarcely recognizable from the dust that was ground into it. grace moistened her handkerchief with water from her canteen and bathed the man's face, and elfreda, producing a bottle of smelling salts, held it to his nostrils. the cowboy quickly came out of his daze. one arm was doubled up under his body, and this elfreda briggs carefully drew out. the cowboy groaned as she did so. "can you lift your arm!" she asked. "no," gritted the cowboy, his face twisting with pain as he tried to raise the arm. "his left arm is broken," announced elfreda. "men, you must get this poor fellow to town as quickly as possible. i will make a sling to support the arm until you can get him to a surgeon." "do you folks reckon you want to go back to elk run, too?" questioned the guide. "i was about to ask that question of you," replied grace, turning to elfreda. "you should know better than to ask," returned miss briggs. "we will go on, mr. lang. perhaps it is as well that we have been broken in properly at the start. we shall be in better form to cope with real emergencies if such arise," declared grace. "real! huh!" grunted hi lang. "oh, you'll get used to having things happen," soothed hippy wingate. "wherever this outfit goes there is trouble and then some more." "yes, but this is the worst," complained emma dean. "alors! let's go," urged elfreda briggs as she got up after having arranged a sling to support the cowboy's injured arm. their ponies were led up by the cowboys and the girls mounted for a fresh start, grace and elfreda considerably rumpled and both very tired after their lively experience. the cowboys, having loaded their injured companion on a pony, now gave the overland girls a rousing farewell whoop and trotted slowly homeward. hi lang had uttered no comment on what had occurred, but he was keeping up a constant thinking, now and then scowling observingly at his charges. of grace and elfreda he had no doubts, for, in his estimation, they had graduated from the tenderfoot class. the others had yet to prove themselves. the ride was hot and dusty, and, in order to make up for lost time, the party was riding fast, but the ponies, though already flecked with foam, appeared to be as fresh as at the start. "what time do you think we will reach the mountains?" called anne, who was suffering tortures from the heat and dust. "sundown," briefly answered the guide. "it will be worse than this after we reach the desert." "worse!" groaned emma. "i shall expire, i know i shall." the mountains, for which they were heading, were looming larger now, and looked cool and inviting compared to the heat of their present position. "what is that smoke?" asked grace harlowe, as they neared the range, pointing to a thin spiral of vapor rising from the mountains. "i reckon it's in our camp. ping should have chow ready by the time we get there." "you intend to go on this evening, do you not?" asked grace. "yes. you said you were in a hurry to get to the desert." "i shouldn't put it that way, mr. lang, but i am rather eager to get into the real phase of our journey, and eager to know what the desert is like. i have a feeling that i shall love it." "some do--some hate it," replied the guide thoughtfully. "do you hate it?" questioned the overland rider. "i love it," murmured hi lang after a brief silence. "little woman, i love the white sands, the burning heat of the day, the deadly, sweet silence of the night when all the stars come down so close you can almost reach out and touch them. i love the dead odor, and then--" "yes?" urged grace. "i hate it, i fight it--and i win," added the guide in a tone that was almost triumphant. "yet, i'd rather be out there where the starving coyotes howl the night through, where the great, gaunt gray wolves loom up in the night seeking what they may kill and eat, or where a step in the dark may be your last should you tread on a desert rattler. i'd rather be there and face all of that, and the peril of dying from thirst, than be anywhere else in the world," he concluded, and then lapsed into silence. "i understand, mr. lang. it is the lure of the desert that appeals to you, though none knows better than you the perils that lurk there for the unwary traveler. i hope and believe that i may feel as you do about it." "you will, and so will miss briggs. i am not so certain about the others." "when you get to know us better, mr. lang, you will find that, though some of us complain and fret, all are true blue." "humph! beckon i know something about that myself. what i saw to- day shows me that i don't have to worry about you and miss briggs. did you know that ike fairweather wrote me a long letter about you folks!" grace looked her interest. "yes. ike said i'd have my hands full, and that you folks would trot a pace that would make my legs weary trying to keep up with you. said you weren't afraid of anything that walked, crept or crawled." grace laughed merrily. "mr. fairweather is mistaken. i am terribly shy of snakes and-- and--well, i don't know what else" she added lamely. hi lang chuckled under his breath. "yes, that's our camp where you see the smoke. i just caught a glimpse of ping. i reckon when we get closer we'll hear his voice." "we are almost there, girls," grace called back to her companions. "that is ping's smoke you see yonder." "is ping on fire?" answered emma so innocently that the overlanders shouted with laughter, and hi indulged in the hearty, soundless laugh that they had already discovered was characteristic of him. a few moments later a cooling breeze from the range was wafted down to them, heavy with, odors of mountain and foliage and suggestive of cooling mountain water as well. "what's that screeching?" demanded hippy wingate, as they fell into single file and began climbing a narrow mountain trail. "screeching?" answered anne nesbit. "why, that's our celestial being singing a lullaby to the coyotes lurking in their dens." as they drew nearer those in advance could make out some of the words of the song. the guide pointed to a rock, behind which ping was cooking supper, and held up a hand to indicate that the party was to stop and listen. "what on earth, is he saying?" wondered nora wingate. "i should call it a heathen version of 'little jack horner,'" suggested miss briggs. hi nodded. "listen!" urged grace. "i want to hear it. perhaps he will sing it again." the guide said that when ping got started on a song he ordinarily kept it up for some time unless interrupted. "sh--h--h!" warned grace as emma began to laugh. "he is singing again." ping, in a high falsetto voice that was almost a screech, sang: "littee jack horner makee sit inside corner, chow-chow he clismas pie; he put inside t'um, hab catchee one plum, hai yah! what one good chilo (child) my!" the overland girls, unable longer to contain their laughter, burst into a shout of merriment. the song ceased instantly, and a moment later ping appeared at the top of the rock, clad in a white linen suit, the blouse, with its wide-flowing sleeves, being cut in native chinese fashion the queue, which ping had declined to part was tucked into a side pocket, being all braided up and shiny, like a snake. the chinaman, in greeting, bowed and scraped and smiled and shook hands with himself cordially. "hulloa, ping pong! is supper ready?" called hippy jovially. "him come along, top-side piecee heaven pidgin man," answered the chinaman without an instant's hesitation, which, being freely translated, meant, "supper is ready, high heaven-born man." the retort brought a peal of laughter from the girls and a flush to the face of hippy. "all right, old top. you win," was the way hippy confessed his defeat. it was a happy, laughing group that rode around the rock and into the camp where odors of cooking food, and the smiling face of ping wing, met them. horses were quickly unsaddled and tethered, then the guide introduced his charges. ping shook hands with himself at each introduction, and smiled and bowed with a profound grace that would have done credit at a king's reception. "you belongee plenty smart inside," was his greeting to grace harlowe, which she interpreted correctly, ping having meant to convey that, in his opinion, she was an intelligent woman. "thank you. is mess ready?" "les. you belongee one time flance!" he questioned, touching the sleeve of her red cross uniform. "yes, we all were in france. i drove an ambulance there; mr. wingate was an aviator, and the other young ladies worked in hospitals and canteens. how do you know about france?" "me cook-man in melican army. no likee war. belongee too muchee number one blam, blam!" "you mean the shooting? you mean you did not like to have the big german shells come over?" smiled the overland girl. "no likee." hippy's appetite was getting the better him and at this juncture he voiced his desire for food. "come, come, ping. we are hungry. rustle some grub for us, for we may wish to on our way," urged hi lang. ping, thus reminded of his duty, hurriedly gathered the mess kits of the party and soon produced a really fine supper, which the overlanders ate sitting on the ground. "are you people pretty tired?" questioned grace. a chorus of yeses answered her. elfreda briggs said she was so lame that she would be glad never to look at a saddle again, and emma dean declared that her body felt as if it had been sandpapered. "i have been thinking that perhaps we had better make camp right here and go on to the desert some time to-morrow. will that interfere with your plans mr. lang?" asked grace. the guide said it would not, and the girls of the party eagerly urged that they be permitted to stay where they were and have a good night's rest, so it was decided to pitch their little tents on the spot and lay up for the night. "ping tells me that a man visited this camp late in the afternoon and asked a great many questions," hi lang then informed them. "the caller, according to ping, showed a heap of interest in what we were here for, where we were going and what we proposed to do, and said that the best thing for you ladies to do would be to turn about and go back to elk run. do you know of any one who might be interested in heading off your journey over the desert, mrs. gray?" he asked, bending a searching look on grace. "i do not, mr. lang. if i did it would make no difference in our plans. ping may be mistaken about the man's motive." the guide shook his head. "ping wing is not easily deceived. he the caller was a 'number one blad man,' only he expressed it with some further words to emphasize his point. there's something about this business that i don't like. i'll keep my eyes peeled." "don't worry, hi," soothed hippy. "this outfit can take care of any bad characters that get in its way. i--" "merciful heaven! what's that!" cried emma dean. "ping is in trouble!" cried elfreda. a shrill screeching, accompanied by the clatter of tinware, a struggle, then two quick shots brought the overlanders to their feet. there was a quick rush toward the scene of the disturbance, the guide, grace and hippy in the lead as they ran stumbling over the rough ground in the darkness. chapter v stalking a mountain mystery "ping! ping!" shouted the guide. "where are you, ping pong?" added lieutenant wingate. a groan revealed the chinaman's presence. they found him sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth holding the thumb of his right hand. a brief examination revealed that a bullet had clipped off the end of the thumb. "i observe that we have started in early," declared miss briggs. "who did it?" "that's what i want to know," growled hi lang. "let me dress the wound, then you can question him," suggested elfreda. this having been done, ping was led into camp and placed with his back against a rock where the light of the campfire lighted up his countenance. "tell me what happened!" demanded the guide. "big piecee man come 'long. him clawl like dog. him listen to what say." "to what we were saying!" interjected grace. "les. him bad piecee man." hi lang and grace exchanged glances of inquiry. each was wondering what the meaning of what ping had discovered, might be. "what then!" urged mr. lang. "him clawl like a dog." "so you said," piped emma dean. "me clawl like dog too. one timee me tlow can tlomatoes and hab hit piecee man on head." "you threw a can of tomatoes and hit him on the head?" nodded the guide, whereupon emma dean laughed, but no one paid the slightest heed to her. "what did the man do then!" "him jlump. me hit piecee man with flying pan; then me run. him shoot--blam, blam! and run away. hab hit thumb. hab makee me stop, and run away. why for big piecee man makee so fashion?" "we do not know why, ping. that is what we are trying to find out," answered grace harlowe. "can you tell us how the man looked!" the chinaman shook his head. "what would you advise, mr. lang!" she asked. "we must beat up about the camp to make certain that he is not hiding near, then i will stand the watch to-night so that he may not surprise us. i will get out the rifles, but be careful that you don't shoot each other. in case you discover some one prowling, make them stand and put up their hands, then call for assistance. ping, you will stay here. three of us will be sufficient to go out." "whom do you wish to accompany you?" asked grace. "you and the lieutenant will go, if agreeable to you." "it will be more agreeable to go than to stay. elfreda, you will please watch the camp," directed grace. "if disturbed, you know what to do." rifles were laid on the ground by the campfire, hi, hippy and grace having decided that the rifles would be cumbersome to carry, and that their revolvers would be much more serviceable. after hi lang had given final instructions as to how they were to operate, the three started out and soon were out of sight of their companions. a new moon, fast sinking into the west, shed a faint light over the mountains, bringing out the bare spots and deepening the shadows cast by rocks and trees. the stalkers laid their course by the moon so that they might keep going in one direction and not get in each other's way, though some little distance separated them, and only now and then did they come within speaking distance of one another. not a sound did the guide make as he moved forward. grace was almost equally quiet in her movement, but now and then hippy wingate would stumble, followed by a grunt or a growl of disgust that might have been heard several yards away. hippy, being between the guide and grace, knew that two pairs of ears were alert for any fumbling on his part, which irritated more than it helped him to be quiet. grace finally halted at the edge of an open space, faintly lighted by the moon's rays, and waited watchfully before attempting to cross the open spot. crouching low, she gazed and listened, every faculty on the alert. the overland rider's heart gave a jump when she saw something move out there behind a clump of bushes. with revolver at ready, she waited, then leveled the weapon as something moved out from behind the bushes. "a coyote," she whispered to herself. "he hasn't heard me." he heard her whisper, however. the alert ears tilted forward as the beast halted; then he bounded away and disappeared in a twinkling. grace was now well satisfied that she was proceeding with sufficient caution. if she could approach a keen-eared coyote without disturbing it, how much easier would it be to stalk a human being. having decided upon this, grace got up and stepped into the moonlit space, feeling more confidence in herself. she had barely reached the middle of the open space when, from the other side, and plainly at close range, a revolver banged. she heard the bullet, as it sped past her head too close for comfort. without an instant's hesitation, grace fired two shots from her revolver at the flash made by the other weapon, then throwing herself on the ground, wriggled away into a shadow and lay flat on the ground, screened by the short shrubbery and the unevenness of the ground. two shots were now fired from the other weapon, aimed, as nearly as she could see, at the place where she had thrown herself down. to the last two shots grace made no reply. she lay waiting, hoping that the person who had fired them, would come out and show himself. this he was too wary to do, and finally, becoming impatient, she groped for a stone, and, finding a small piece of rock, flipped it into the air, so that it might fall some little distance from her, hoping thereby to draw the other's fire. still there was no response from her adversary. "he must have slipped away, and here i have been waiting all this time, afraid of what proves to be nothing. i'm going to start on," decided the overland girl. instead of getting up where she was, grace crawled further to the right for some little distance, until she was in a heavier shadow. there she arose cautiously, weapon at ready, prepared to see a flash and hear the report of a weapon. not a sound nor a movement followed her revealing herself. grace now pushed on with still greater caution than before, but rather more rapidly, believing that her companions by this time had gained a considerable lead over her. the moon was getting lower, grace observed, and soon the range would be enveloped in darkness, though she was certain that she could find her way back by the stars, from which she already had taken her bearings. in the meantime, hi lang, having heard the exchange of shots, had started for the scene at a long, loping trot, now and then giving an agreed upon signal whistle to warn lieutenant wingate of his approach. hippy had heard the shots too, but his orders were to keep his position and continue on until directed to stop. as hi got within speaking distance of him, hippy challenged. "move forward and keep going until i fire three signal shots to call you in," directed the guide. "the man may run along the ridge. wing him if you see him. he may have shot mrs. gray. both of them fired. there they go again!" hi lang was off at top speed. grace, in the meantime, thinking that she had heard a twig snap, halted sharply. then, to her amazement, a man stepped out into the light a few yards to the rear of her. she saw him the instant he emerged from the shadows, and he was looking in the direction of the overland camp. "now i have you!" muttered grace harlowe, taking a cautious step toward the man who was standing with his back toward her. "put up your hands! i have you covered!" she commanded sharply. the man whirled like a flash and fired point blank at the overland girl. grace fired almost in the same instant. so close was he to her when he fired that she imagined she could feel the hot powder strike her face. each fired again. it was close quarters for grace. she sprang to the right hoping to disconcert her adversary and make a more difficult mark for him to hit. he pulled the trigger of his revolver, and, at that second, grace, uttering a little gasp, toppled over, half turning as she plunged forward with arms outstretched. black night instantly enveloped the overland rider, nor did she hear a rattling exchange of shots that followed almost instantly after her fall, for consciousness had left her. chapter vi into the great silence hi lang had reached the scene just as the last shots were being fired by grace and her adversary. the guide had seen neither of the combatants, but he had seen the flashes of their revolvers. at first he was not certain which was which, but in a moment the man who had been shooting at grace revealed himself for a second. it was then that the guide took a hand. hi lang was a quick and accurate hand with both revolver and rifle, and he feared no man, nor collection of men. at his second shot he heard his man utter an exclamation and knew that he had scored a hit. for the next several minutes the two indulged in snap-shooting, firing at the slightest sound or movement; then the mysterious stranger suddenly ceased firing. the guide was cautious. he did not take advantage of the lull in hostilities for some little time, and when he did he crawled to one side and crept noiselessly around to the position that the stranger had occupied when he had fired his last shot. the man had disappeared. mr. lang was anxious about grace harlowe, but it might be equivalent to suicide to search for her until he had satisfied himself that his adversary was either wounded or had gone away. finally, having searched all the surrounding bushes and rocks and finding no one, he returned to the scene of the shooting, softly calling to the overland girl. there was no response. hi stood still for a moment trying to recall where he had seen the flash of her weapon. "it must have been about where i am standing now. i--" hi lang suddenly disappeared from sight. the guide had fallen into a crevice in the rocks, a crevice that had been hidden by dwarf shrubs and mountain grass, and it seemed a long way to the bottom. hi bumped his way to the bottom at the expense of some bruises and a badly ruffled temper. "hulloa!" he exclaimed. "what's this?" he had touched something that was not rock--something that felt like a human form. the guide struck a match and peered down at grace harlowe, who lay face down at the bottom, and, as he turned her face up to the light, he saw flecks of blood on it. "the hound! he hit her! i'll kill him for that, whoever he may be!" placing a hand over grace's heart, hi lang found that she was alive. "thank god for that! give me the luck to meet the critter that did this thing," breathed the desert guide. hi lifted the unconscious overland girl in his arms and began scrambling toward the top of the big crevice. finding that he could not make it without freeing one hand, he slipped an arm about grace's waist, holding her with it while he used his free hand to assist him in climbing to the top. he reached it a little out of breath. without giving a thought now to the peril he was inviting by showing himself so boldly, hi stepped out into the open space, raised his revolver and fired three shots into the air, the signal of recall for lieutenant wingate. then, gathering grace in his arms, he started for the camp in long strides, raging silently at the ruffian who had tried to kill her. elfreda, who was on watch just outside of their camp, heard him coming and challenged. "it's hi. i've got mrs. gray." "is--is she hurt?" questioned elfreda more calmly than she felt. "she's been shot, but she's alive." miss briggs ran to meet the guide, and, walking along at his side, she placed a finger on grace's pulse and held it there until they reached the camp. nora, anne and emma paled as they caught sight of the limp figure in hi lang's arms. "who shot her!" asked elfreda. "the critter who tried to kill ping, i suppose." "oh, this is terrible!" wailed emma. "get water," directed miss briggs, after the guide had placed her where the light from the fire would shine in her face. nora fetched water from the spring near which the camp had been pitched, and elfreda bathed the wound that she found on grace's head. elfreda's hospital training during the war, in france, had already stood her in good stead on several occasions since her return from europe. "this is not a gunshot wound," she announced after a critical examination of the patient's head. "not--not a gunshot--" exclaimed hi. "no. it is a severe scalp wound, however." "what made it, then?" demanded the guide. "either she has been struck over the head or she has fallen and bumped her head against the sharp edge of a rock," answered miss briggs. the overland girls drew long breaths of relief. "i found her in a hole in the ground. fell into it myself. that's where she got hurt," said hi. "she and that critter were shooting at each other when i came up, then all at once the shooting stopped. i got in a few shots on him myself. reckon i winged him for he quit pretty soon after i got there. what do you think?" elfreda, still noting grace's pulse and peering into her face, nodded encouragingly, and placed her smelling salts under grace's nostrils. "i feared it might be a fracture, but i believe it is not that bad. concussion is the word. she must have struck hard, and it is a wonder she did not break her neck. you see how the neck is swollen. her pulse is getting stronger, and i think she will be out of her faint in a few moments." grace regained consciousness shortly after that, but she was still dizzy and weak from the severe shock of her fall and the loss of quite a little blood. "where--where was i hit!" was her first question, weakly asked. "you were not hit anywhere," replied elfreda. "you fell into a hole and landed on your head. mr. lang, will you carry her to her tent? she must be quiet for the rest of the night, and it won't do for us to start across the desert until she has had a good rest." "that suits me. i've got a little job on hand for the morning. here's the lieutenant," he added, as hippy came in, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "what's this! brown eyes knocked out again?" he demanded. "she fell down and hurt herself," answered elfreda. "what was the shooting, hi?" "mrs. gray and that critter out there were doing it. i reckon she pinked the pirate, for he was shooting with his left hand when he opened up on me. i reckon i touched him up too, and, getting enough of it, he cleared out. i'll get him for that," added hi, gathering grace up and carrying her to her tent. "to-morrow we'll go out and see if we can't round up that critter. can't do anything to-night except to see that he doesn't do any more damage to this outfit." "i think i'd like to get a shot at him myself," observed hippy. "there, mrs. gray! you keep quiet. if there's any more scouting to be done this evening, the lieutenant and i will do it," directed the guide, laying down his burden. hippy nodded. "lieutenant, what do you think of this business? are you certain that you folks haven't any enemies!" asked mr. lang when the two had walked out beyond the camp and sat down to talk over the affair. "not that i know of, in these parts, hi." "it's mighty queer. i can't figure it out," pondered the guide. "have you any?" asked hippy carelessly. "reckon i have plenty. they know better'n to cross my trail, though." "it strikes me, hi, old man, that one of them crossed your trail this evening," chuckled hippy wingate. the guide made no reply then, and for some moments thereafter occupied himself with his own thoughts. "you asked me just now if i had any enemies. i'll say this, lieu--" bang! bang! two quick shots were fired from behind hippy and the guide. one bullet passed between the two men, the other clipped the crown, of lieutenant wingate's sombrero. the answer came, it seemed, within a second after the two shots. hippy and the guide leaped to their feet, drawing their revolvers as they did so, and emptying them into the bushes, firing low and trying to cover all the ground where a man might be lurking. "as you were about to say," drawled hippy, slipping another clip of ammunition into his revolver. "that there is one man who might and would get me if he thought he could get away with it. but why should he wish to shoot a woman? crawl out to the left and then go in and let the folks know everything is all right now. i'm going to hang around a bit and try to tease that cayuse into shooting at me again." "they're at it again," complained grace harlowe in her tent. "go out, elfreda, am see if any one is hit." hippy was reassuring the girls when elfreda came out. "humph!" exclaimed miss briggs. "we surely are making a brilliant start. i think i shall be glad to get on the desert. one can see such a long way there. grace is anxious to know about those shots, so i will run in and tell her. are you going out again, hippy?" "not unless i get a word from hi. you see i do not know where he is, and it would not be safe for either of us were we both to be out there without either knowing where the other is." ping, wide-eyed, was an eager listener to what lieutenant wingate had to say, but he made no comment, and no song that fitted the situation found expression on his lips. an hour passed, and the guide had not returned. the girls were getting anxious, but hippy said that, no shots having been heard, it was safe to assume that no one could have been hit. no one had, and all this time hi lang, almost within sound of their voices, had been lying flat on top of a rock, listening with every faculty on the alert. for two hours the guide remained in one position, watching, waiting and eagerly hoping. "one shot--just one second when i can see my mark, is all i ask," he muttered. "i'll get that shot yet!" a few moments later hi crept down from his hiding place and returned to camp, on the alert every second of the way for the report of a revolver and the whistle of a bullet. "this beats me," he declared in answer to hippy's question as to whether or not he had discovered anything. "you folks turn in, how's mrs. gray?" "asleep," answered miss briggs. "i think she will be ready for a start some time to-morrow." the guide told lieutenant wingate to turn in also, saying that he would watch the camp through the night, so the overland riders went to bed for what sleep they could get, but they passed a restless night, starting up at every sound, listening for the report of rifle or revolver or a call for help. nothing disturbing occurred. shortly after daylight, grace got up and dressed and went out to breathe in the invigorating, sweet mountain air. she felt strong and able to meet whatever emergency she might be called upon to face. hi lang was nowhere in sight. ping, who was fussing with a cook fire preparatory to getting breakfast, shook his head when grace asked him where the guide was. "no can tell," he said, caressing his injured hand. breakfast was served at seven o'clock, but long before that grace had been out looking for trail signs and finding some, though she could not tell whether they had been left by a prowler or by one of her own party. it was eleven o'clock that forenoon when hi lang strode into camp, his rifle slung under one arm, a heavy revolver on either hip. the greeting of the girls brought a smile to the face of the guide. they were relieved and glad to see him, and he saw it. he also was glad to be with them once more, for, in the brief time he had known them, he had grown to feel a genuine affection for these bright-eyed, plucky young women who preferred to spend their vacation on his beloved desert rather than dance away the weeks of their vacation at some fashionable summer resort. "mr. lang, where have you been?" cried emma dean. "out looking for game," he answered briefly, laying aside his rifle. "did you find it?" asked grace smilingly. "no. ping, bring me some chow. how you feeling this morning, mrs. gray?" he asked after he had begun eating his breakfast. "fit and fine, sir. you found a trail, i take it," she added in a lower voice. "yes." hi gave her a quick look of appreciation for her keenness. "you hit your man all right. i found blood where he was standing when you two were shooting at each other. i also found the trail, further on, the trail of the same man and another. there were two of them." "i wonder which, one it was that put a hole through my perfectly new hat," grumbled hippy. "at least one of them has left the range," resumed the guide. "i found the trail of a pony and footprints of one man on the other side of the range, but what became of the other fellow, i don't know. i'm going out again after breakfast and look further. do you feel like making a start to-day?" "yes. i think we should be moving," replied grace. "we'll leave after chow this evening. better get what rest you can to-day. lieutenant, i wish you would stick around and see that the camp is not bothered." "if you need him, mr. lang, we can protect ourselves. do not worry about us," interjected grace. "don't need him. ping, put some grub in my pack, then i'm off." after the guide's departure time dragged rather heavily for the girls. later in the day grace took her pony out for a gallop and felt better for the change. at four o'clock mr. lang came in, and, though he had been up all night and had been hiking in the mountains all day long since early morning, he appeared fresh and alert. "pack up and get out!" he ordered, nodding to ping wing. "serve the grub on our mess kits first. follow the foothills and we will catch up with you. i give it up, folks. this mystery has got to solve itself. it's too much for me." "don't worry, mr. lang. if our friend the mystery man keeps at us long enough we shall catch him. i wish we knew why he is bothering us so," said grace. "i should prefer to stay here until we solve the mystery, but we must be on our way, and perhaps he may follow us." "that sounds interesting," observed miss briggs. ping and his lazy burros started about an hour before the rest of the party got under way, and when they did get under way they jogged along slowly through the foothills of the range, where the going was fairly easy. the guide said they should come up with ping before dark, and that they would, after having mess, then continue on at a slower pace until they reached a suitable camping place for the night. dusk was upon them when they finally overtook the chinaman, who was sitting on the rump of a burro chattering to his mount to get him to go faster, but without much success. the ponies of the party then took the lead, which, hi lang said, would induce the burros to move faster in an effort to keep up, but it was a much slower pace than the overland riders were in the habit of traveling, that they now dropped into. night enveloped the outfit suddenly, it seemed to them, and with the cool of the evening their spirits rose. even ping's spirits rose, until he forgot his aching thumb and broke into song. the ground began to slope away under the hoofs of the horses, for they were now moving down a sharp descent, and the air seemed to take on a strange new quality, a new odor. no longer could the girls hear the rustling of foliage. a great and impressive silence settled over them, in which even the footfalls of the ponies were soft and subdued. glancing up, they saw the stars shining with a brilliancy that none of the party had ever observed before. the chatter of the overland riders died away, and ping wing's song died away, also, in a throaty gurgle. "what is it?" cried emma dean. "i feel queer, and my pony is trembling. oh, grace, i'm afraid of something." grace knew what it was that was disturbing emma, for she felt something of the same sensation that emma was experiencing, but she made no reply. "it is the desert!" answered the guide solemnly. "it is the mystery of the desert, a mystery that no man can solve. perhaps it is the mystery of centuries; perhaps it is the spirits of the thousands who have perished here on this sweet, cruel sea of burning sand, that have come back to warn us living ones of the fate that may be in store for us who dare." "the mystery of the desert," murmured grace harlowe, but hi lang spoke no more. his lips seemed sealed, though could they have seen his face they would have observed a new and more tender expression there, and seen him inhale in deep breaths, heavy draughts of the faintly scented air of the desert that he both loved and hated. chapter vii the first desert camp "how far do we go to-night?" asked grace, after a long silence, during which the party moved steadily forward. "until we find a tank," was the brief reply uttered by hi lang. "what's that he says?" questioned hippy. "mr. lang says that we must keep on going until we reach a tank, whatever that may be," answered grace. "will you please explain, mr. lang?" "tank is a water hole covered by a thin crust of alkali. sometimes the crust is there but the water isn't," the guide informed her. "do you know where to find one?" questioned hippy. "i know where one ought to be, but you can't most always tell. ought to reach this one about midnight. if we get water there we will be all right. go easy with your canteens, for if we shouldn't find water you will need what you have." "mine is all gone now," spoke up emma dean. "may i have a drink of yours, grace? my throat is burning." "one little swallow," admonished grace, passing her canteen to emma. "you heard what the guide said." "yes, you'll wish you were a camel before you have done with this journey," added lieutenant wingate. too weary to talk, anne and nora were nodding on their saddles, but elfreda was wide awake and alert, filled with a wonder that was akin to awe at the vast mysteriousness of the desert night. it was shortly after midnight when hi lang halted and sat surveying his surroundings. "dismount and rest!" was his brief command. the overland girls slid from their saddles, and the guide, after handing his bridle-rein to ping, strode off into the darkness. "oh, this is terrible!" wailed emma. "i know i shall expire." "good! then we shall have a little peace," retorted hippy laughingly. "don't," begged grace. "the poor girl really is suffering, but when she gets used to the heat and discomforts out here i think she will really enjoy it." grace petted the wet neck of her pony and he nosed her cheek and nibbled at the brim of her sombrero. "how do you feel, elfreda?" "as if i had been wearing a mustard-plaster suit. i am burned from head to foot." "yes, that's the way i feel," cried emma. "what is good for it, grace?" "sand," interjected miss briggs, which sally caused a laugh and made the girls feel better. at this juncture hi lang came up to them, walking briskly. "stake down and make camp," he ordered. "you have water?" questioned hippy. "yes. ping! hustle your bones. get some firewood and make a blaze so we can see what we're doing. when that is ready, get supper ready, and then pitch the camp." "firewood!" scoffed hippy. "i should like to know where you are going to find it?" "sagebrush! plenty of that hereabouts." hippy could not understand how a fire could be made from green sagebrush, but he waited to be shown before making further comments. in a few moments the chinaman had a little fire blazing, the guide and hippy, in the meantime, having staked down the ponies and relieved the burros of their packs. the burros were left to roam where they would, hi assuring his charges that the pack animals were too lazy to run away. the girls, while ping was preparing a light supper for them, set to work to pitch the tents. carrying canvas buckets, hippy and the guide then hurried to the water hole. "it won't do to wait for the water, for it has a habit, in this country, of suddenly disappearing while you wait," explained hi. "yes, but where's the water?" wondered lieutenant wingate, as hi got down in a hole that he had opened by breaking down the crust with his boots. "give me that blanket and i'll show you," he said, reaching for a canvas square, which he spread out in the opening and pressed down with his hands. in a few moments water began seeping up through the blanket, which was so placed that it was lower in the middle than at the sides. "that beats me," marveled hippy. "how did you know there was water here?" "i didn't. i knew where i found it the last time i was this way, but that didn't mean it would be here this time. these desert underground streams shift their courses almost as often as the wind does. hand me a bucket." two buckets were finally filled and passed up to hippy. "water the ponies first. give them only a little at first. they're too warm to drink their fill. when you come back bring the red buckets for water for us to drink," directed the guide. hippy, marveling at the ways of the desert, took the buckets and began watering the ponies. the two bucketfuls answered for four of them, and by the time he returned to the water hole hi had two more bucketfuls ready for him. in this way all the ponies and the burros were supplied with water, and hi, working as fast as he could, filled all the buckets for the night's use of man and beast, then scrambled out of the water hole. "i hope we still find water here in the morning," he said. "what if we do not?" "then we go without it, lieutenant. one has to get used to thirst out here. you will see many a dry day before we finish our journey." "hm--m--m--m!" mused hippy reflectively. "him come along," cried ping wing in a shrill voice, meaning that supper was ready, as the two men with their water buckets entered the camp. "four meals a day, eh?" grinned hippy. "that is what i call the proper thing. i shall have to readjust myself so as to know how to live on four meals a day, but i am so hungry now that you can see right through me." "we always could," teased miss briggs. now that the supper was ready, ping piled more sagebrush on the fire and made a blaze that lighted up the little desert camp, its white tents standing out clearly defined in the light and appearing very small. just beyond them the "crunch, crunch" of the ponies' teeth as they tore at the sage, which was to be their only food for a long time to come, could be heard, and it really was a soothing sound in this sea of silence and mystery. there was bacon, biscuit with honey, and tea for their midnight luncheon. emma and hippy were first to try the bacon, but no sooner did they taste of it than they began to choke and sputter. "awful! what stuff are you feeding me?" cried emma. "yes, some one is trying to poison us," groaned hippy. "what's the matter?" grinned the guide. "it is the most awful stuff i ever put in my mouth, so bitter i simply can't eat it," complained emma. grace smiled. she had nibbled at a slice of bacon and knew instantly what caused its bitter taste. "alkali," the guide told them. "everything you eat and drink out here will taste bitter, but time you will not notice the bitter taste." emma uttered a suppressed wail. there were complaints from each of the other girls, except grace, who, though she disliked that bitter taste as much as did her companions, was too plucky to voice her dislike. "you must make certain that your tents are cleared of tarantulas before you take off your shoes, folks. if you get out of bed in the night be certain to put your shoes on first so you do not step on one of the pesky fellows," warned the guide. "any other cheerful little features about this camp that you can think of?" asked hippy solemnly. "plenty, but i'll tell you about them some other time, unless you discover them for yourselves before then." "i wish to goodness that i had gone to the seashore where the worst that can happen to one is to be pinched by a crab or to drown in the surf," complained emma. a laugh cleared the atmosphere, and the girls, immediately after supper, prepared for bed, which they welcomed eagerly; and soon after that the camp settled down for the night, enveloped in deep and profound silence. a gentle breeze, sweetly cool after the burning heat of the day, crept in and lulled the tired overlanders to sleep. now and then the silence was broken by the far off echoing scream of a prowling coyote or the distant hoot of an owl. but the overlanders did not hear. they were sleeping soundly, storing up energy for the coming day, a day that was destined to be filled with hardships and excitement and peril for them. chapter viii callers drop in heat waves were shimmering over the eastern horizon when the overland girls awakened next morning. the guide had been up since daybreak fetching "bitter water," as the girls called it, and serving it to the ponies and burros. "whew!" exclaimed elfreda. "this looks like a warm day." "regular russian bath day," agreed anne nesbit. "i fear we girls will not have any complexions left after this journey," added nora wingate. "i wonder if that husband of mine is still asleep?" "hippy is always sleeping--when he isn't awake or eating," declared emma ambiguously, causing a laugh at her expense. "you folks made a mistake that time," chuckled hippy from the adjoining tent. "everybody makes mistakes. that's why they put erasers on lead pencils," retorted emma quickly. "good night!" they heard hippy wingate mutter, after which he relapsed into silence, while a shout of laughter greeted emma's sally. "come, girls, turn out," urged grace. "we have a day ahead of us." breakfast was ready when they emerged from their tents, and this time they ate without complaining of the bitter taste of food and water. the sun came up while they were at breakfast, lighting up the cheerless landscape and whitening the sands. the mountain range where they first camped had disappeared in the distance and they were alone in the burning silence. ahead, here and there, ugly buttes lay baking in the morning heat, some showing a variety of dazzling colors, others a dull leaden gray. "how far do we go to-day, hi?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "until we find water," was the brief, but significant reply. after breakfast, and while ping, singing happily, was striking camp and packing the equipment on the burros, mr. lang and hippy brought in and saddled the ponies, turning each one over to its rider as it was made ready; then the start was made. hippy wingate, the girls observed, held a small package under one arm, which he guarded so carefully that it aroused the curiosity of his companions, but hippy merely grinned in response to their questioning. as the sun rose higher the heat became well nigh unbearable to some of the party, and especially to emma, if one were to judge by her bitter complaints. emma declared that she never could live through it, and grace began to have doubts herself with reference to her little friend. as they progressed, the landscape grew more and more desolate and forbidding. gaunt ravens soared staring over the wan plains, hairy tarantulas now and then hopped from the path of the ponies, and the "side-winder"--the deadly horned rattlesnake, which gets its name from its peculiar side-long motion as it crawls across the burning sands--squirmed out of the way, following snorts of fear from the ponies. they halted at noon, for a rest and a light luncheon, near one of the barren buttes. grace asked if it would not be possible to find a resting place on the butte where they might shade under a rock. hi lang shook his head. "too many snakes up there," he replied. "dangerous!" "br--r--r--r--r!" shivered emma. the water carried in canvas receptacles on the burros was apportioned among the horses and burros, but there was only a small quantity left for each animal, not more than a quart apiece. this, however, was enough to take the keen edge from their thirst. following the resumption of the journey, hippy carefully unwrapped his package, eager eyes observing the operation. the girls gasped when he threw the wrapping paper away and revealed a dainty blue silk parasol, which he raised and held over his head. "every man his own shade tree," chuckled hippy. "if any of you ladies find you are being overcome by the desert heat, you are at liberty to ride in the shadow cast by my christmas tree." "you are very considerate. we thank you," answered anne. "selfish!" rebuked emma. hi lang laughed silently, but made no comment. neither heat nor hardship appeared to affect him unpleasantly. hi, grace observed, appeared always to be in a listening attitude, as if he were expecting something or some one. grace asked him why he did so, but the guide merely smiled and rode on with head slightly tilted to one side, listening, listening! early in the afternoon the guide began looking for water, now and then dismounting to search about for a tank, breaking in crusts of alkali, putting an ear to the ground to listen for the murmur of an underground stream, or feeling with his hands over several yards of hot sand in search of a cool spot that might indicate water. "nothing doing yet," he announced. "there ought to be a tank about five miles further on." however, they had journeyed on ten miles more before a promising spot was reached, and the guide and hippy began to dig for the precious water that hi said surely was somewhere below them. they found it finally, but there was so little of it that he was not certain that they would get enough for their ponies. there was but little water left in the canteens, none at all in the bags, and it became necessary to find a supply sufficient for both ponies and riders. "every drop here is precious," warned the guide. "be careful that you do not spill any." water was first carried to the ponies, small quantities being given to them as before, the girls assisting in the operation, and the supply was getting alarmingly low when grace, returning from carrying a quart to blackie, suddenly halted and gazed off across the desert. a cloud of dust, that appeared to be approaching, had attracted her attention. the overland girl wondered if it was a wind-squall, such as she had heard was quite common on the desert. after watching it for a few moments she decided to speak to the guide and call his attention to it. "i see it. it's horses," said elfreda, stepping up beside grace. "do you think so?" "i know it is." "then your eyes are better than mine," answered grace. "i suppose it is some party headed for elk run. mr. lang!" she called. "what is it?" demanded hippy, who was standing over the hole in which the guide was working. "a party of horsemen coming this way, sir!" "you don't say! that's right, hi," said hippy, speaking to mr. lang. "quite a bunch of them, too, i should say." the guide's head appeared above the rim of the water hole and he gazed searchingly at the oncoming alkali cloud. "bunch of cowboys or wild horse hunters," he observed. "anyway, we've got first claim on the water." hi returned to his work and hippy resumed passing water to the girls, but kept the approaching horsemen under observation, as did also grace harlowe. "those fellows are kicking up an awful lot of dust, it seems to me," observed nora wingate. "yes, i hope they slow down before passing us," answered anne. "i have swallowed about all the dust to-day that i can digest." emma dean, not to be outdone, declared that she too had swallowed a lot of dust--so much of it that a good wind would blow her away and sift her over the desert. "you surely would be the plaything of the winds in that event," murmured anne. "they are heading directly for the camp," hippy was saying to hi lang, but the guide gave no heed. he wished to get all the water out of the tank that he possibly could before the party reached them, knowing very well that they, the newcomers, would also want water. a few moments later the desert riders galloped up on foaming ponies. they were not a prepossessing looking lot, and the eight men of the party carried rifles in their saddle boots and revolvers on their hips. "water!" shouted the one who appeared to be the leader. "here's water, old top, but pass it around. we haven't much, of the alkali beverage on hand this evening." hippy handed up a partially filled bucket to one man and another to the rest until each man had been supplied. "i'll take the buckets now," announced hippy. "hey, you! where you all headed for?" demanded hi, straightening up and surveying the newcomers narrowly. "reckon we might ask the same question of you. who's them gals?" questioned the leader. "that is none of your business who they or we are!" retorted hippy wingate sternly. "say, you fellow! looking for trouble?!" demanded hi in an even voice. "pass that bucket to me!" commanded hippy. "ye want thet bucket, hey?" leered the desert rider. then, quick as a flash he emptied the contents of it over lieutenant wingate's head. "get ready for trouble," ordered grace harlowe sharply to elfreda briggs, at the same time raising her right hand above her head, a signal that emma, anne and nora understood. it was the overland riders' signal of distress and meant that all hands should instantly prepare to defend themselves. all the girls expected to see hippy's revolver out of its holster after that insult. instead, the desert rider was violently yanked from his saddle and stood on his head in the sand. so quick had lieutenant wingate been in unhorsing the man that the ugly visitor had not even time to draw his weapon. up to this juncture, hi lang had remained in the water hole, industriously dipping up water, at the same time keeping a wary eye on the progress of affairs above. he did not think best to take a hand until hostilities actually began, knowing that were he to spring out and draw his weapon, the desert riders would shoot before his revolver was out of its holster. peering out cautiously he saw that every man of the desert riders was resting a careless hand on the butt of his revolver. at the same time hi observed something else in the opposite direction. grace harlowe and elfreda briggs had stepped up close to the water hole and each was standing with a hand on her hip. the situation was resting on a hair trigger, and, even in the tenseness of the moment, hi lang found himself keenly interested in what he saw--the overland riders in action. the leader of the newcomers sprang to his feet raging. hippy wingate, now close to the man, pushed the flat of his hand against the fellow's face. "get off my desert, you imitation rough-neck," invited hippy sweetly. in the same breath he added in a savage tone: "keep your hand away from that gun!" emphasizing his command by thrusting the muzzle of his own revolver against the desert rider's stomach. the visitor's back was toward his companions, so that they did not get the full import of what was taking place, but they looked their amazement when they saw their leader turn his back on hippy. they did not know that he was doing this in obedience to lieutenant wingate's order, nor that the leader's revolver at that moment was in hippy's hand, hippy having slipped it from its holster while still pressing his own weapon against the man who had ducked him. "i told you to get off my desert," said hippy, incisively. "i've changed my mind. i'm going to kick you off!" lieutenant wingate retreated a step, sprang clear of the ground, and with a kick that had sent many a ball over the goal, he kicked the desert leader into the water hole. hi lang was not so considerate. as the fellow scrambled to his feet, hi laid him flat on his back with a blow between the eyes that instantly put the fellow to sleep. the battle between the two parties of desert travelers was on in a second. chapter ix pirates get a hot reception the desert riders, who had been laughing over their leader's downfall after hippy jerked him from his pony, suddenly awakened to a realization that the scene they had witnessed had ceased to become a joke. the rider nearest to the water hole whipped out his revolver and fired, but the bullet went over hippy's head for the very good reason that, expecting this very thing, he had ducked. hippy fired in return, hit the pony, and the rider tumbled off as the pony went down. hi lang was out of the water hole in a twinkling. "keep your hands off your guns!" he shouted to the visitors, drawing his own weapon. a bullet went through his hat. another spun him around as it furrowed the fleshy part of his left arm, but the man who had fired the second shot got his reward in the next second. a bullet from grace harlowe's revolver went through his shoulder. "let them have it!" commanded hi lang. "they're out to do us!" two rifles, in the hands of anne and nora, banged from the tent in which they, with emma dean, were crouching, waiting for orders to take a hand in the battle. bullets were flying rather thickly, but the desert riders' ponies, under the touching up they were getting from the revolvers of the defenders, were making careful shooting impossible for their riders. the defenders had the advantage of a steady footing under them, and they were shooting with extreme care, trying their best not to kill any one, but endeavoring to punish the attackers, and to keep themselves from getting killed. the grilling fire was getting too hot for the desert ruffians, handy as they were with weapons and horses. several, too, had been hit or unhorsed, though the overland party did not really know how much damage they had done to the attackers. "shoot their ponies from under them!" commanded hi lang. "it's the only way." "no, no! please, not that," protested grace. "the ponies haven't harmed us." the guide shrugged his shoulders and, taking quick aim at a rider who was jerking his rifle from the saddle boot, shot the fellow out of his saddle. hi lang's next shot downed a pony, its rider being thrown heavily to the ground, where he lay stunned from the fall. four men were now down and a fifth, the leader of the party of ruffians, was still in the water tank where lieutenant wingate had kicked him and where the guide had then put him to sleep. the leader had long since recovered consciousness, but, being unarmed, he wisely decided to remain where he was, knowing very well that, were he to try to reach his companions or his mount, he would be shot down. there were now only three mounted men of the attacking party left and these suddenly began galloping away from the water hole. "rifles!" called hi. grace and elfreda sped to their tent and quickly returned carrying four rifles and ammunition. the guide had instantly divined the purpose of the attackers in drawing off. they wished to get out of revolver range of the overlanders and then use their rifles on them, but by the time the desert ruffians turned, facing the scene of their late battle, hi, hippy, grace and elfreda were shooting steadily with their rifles, pouring a hot fire into them. one ruffian was seen to sway in his saddle and pitch to the ground. one of his companions gathered him up, then, with the wounded man across a saddle, the two remaining bandits galloped away, leaving their fellows to whatever fate might be in store for them. "cowards!" growled hippy wingate. "no. common prudence," answered the guide. "help me get the fellows who are down. look out that they aren't playing possum. keep your gun in your hand and watch them. mrs. gray, will you follow a short distance behind us, so that you may have all the wounded men under observation?" "yes, mr. lang." "if you see a suspicious move from any of them, shoot!" "yes, sir. come along, elfreda, your services probably will be needed. mr. lang, you were hit. may we not do something for you first?" the guide shook his head and strode over to the water hole, into which he peered. "you stay where you are!" he commanded sternly, to which there was no reply from the leader of the ruffians, who sat scowling up at him. "mrs. nesbit! watch that fellow and if he tries to get out, drill him! he isn't fit to live anyway." the two men, with grace and elfreda following, went out to disarm and examine the men who had been downed. they found that two had merely been stunned by falls, two others having been wounded in shoulders and arms, with numerous bullet holes through their clothing. elfreda examined their wounds and announced that none was seriously hurt, but that the men ought to be taken where they could have proper attention. hi lang laughed. "fiddlesticks!" he scoffed. "the only way you can kill this sort of critter is to kill 'em. we'll fix 'em up and send 'em on. the ones who got away will be waiting for 'em, so don't worry about that." "i shall dress their wounds and give them whatever further attention i can before you send them away, mr. lang," replied elfreda firmly. grace nodded her approval. "lieutenant, help me carry them in. it is wise to keep them well bunched, you know," advised the guide. while he and hippy were doing this, grace watched the other men. elfreda returned to camp with the first ruffian, and there dressed his wounds, gave the man water and made him as comfortable as possible. she treated the second wounded man with similar consideration. "i do not see that there is anything at all the matter with these men," announced elfreda after examining those who had been stunned by falls. "they should be able to take their wounded companions back with them. are there enough ponies left to carry all?" "i reckon. they're out yonder browsing on the sage. i'll catch them up and stake them down here. when you say the word, we will start these critters off, and good riddance it will be." just before dark elfreda "discharged" her patients, as she expressed it, and they were led to their ponies, assisted to mount, and told to get out as fast as horseflesh would carry them. not a word of information had the guide been able to get from any of them, not even their names nor why they were on the desert. "i've seen that cayuse before," declared hi, referring to the leader, and regarding the rapidly disappearing horsemen with a deep frown on his face. "i can't remember where, but one of these days i'll think of it. too bad we can't turn them over to a sheriff, but we're too far out to go back now." "that gang was looking for trouble when they rode up," averred hippy. "yes, i reckon they were after us. somebody sent them after us, too. got any ideas on the subject, mrs. gray?" "no, sir. i am thinking of you at the moment. where were you hit?" "shoulder." "oh! why didn't you say so?" cried elfreda. "here we have been wasting time on those ruffians and neglecting you. i'll have a look, if you please. which shoulder?" "left. nothing much, i reckon." elfreda bared the guide's shoulder and peered at the wound. she saw that it was merely a superficial flesh wound, but that unless it had attention it might prove to be more serious. with skillful fingers miss briggs bathed the wound and dressed it, hi lang observing the professional manner in which she went about her work and nodding reflectively. "doctor?" he asked. "no, lawyer," replied elfreda with equal brevity. "huh!" grunted the guide. "were you hit anywhere else?" "a few scratches, that's all." miss briggs demanded that he show her, which he did. both lower limbs were, as he had told her, scratched by bullets that had grazed them, and these surface wounds she also dressed. "anyone else needing surgical attention?" she demanded, smiling at her companions, shook their heads. "grace harlowe, how is it that you were not shot? i am amazed. you must have been in the water hole too, hiding from those ruffians." "mrs. gray isn't of the hiding sort," spoke up hi. "reckon we better have supper and get set for the night," he said, turning abruptly toward the south and gazing off over the desert. "do--do you think those men will come back to-night?" questioned emma, half fearfully. the guide shook his head. "not to-night. we'll probably meet up with them again one of these days, and i hope we do," he replied, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. his survey took in all quarters of the compass, and when he turned to the overlanders again, grace thought he looked a little disturbed. "what is it, mr. lang?" she asked. "i reckon it's the desert this time," he replied. "a storm?" "yes." "rain?" questioned grace innocently. the guide grinned. "nothing like that in these parts. wind, mrs. gray. i reckon you'll meet one enemy that you can't drive off, before this night comes to an end. we better have chow now, then make the camp as secure as possible. shall you tell the others?" he asked, nodding toward the overland girls, who, after their exciting battle, were chattering and laughing as they assisted ping wing to prepare the supper. "yes. after we eat. they should know," replied grace. "you see they are not at all upset over what occurred." by the time they had finished supper, which had been eaten amid much teasing and laughter, some one discovered that the stars, before so near and brilliant, were now only faintly discernible, a veil of thin mist having intervened between them and the baking desert. elfreda briggs regarded the overcast sky for a moment, then turned inquiringly to the guide. "fog?" she asked. "no. bad storm. better go to bed with your clothes on to-night," advised the guide. "is it so serious as that, mr. lang?" "it may be. nobody can figure on anything on this desert--storms, water, everything here is as contrary as an outlaw bronco. better turn in soon and have the others do the same, for you may not have long to sleep to-night." "i would suggest that you do the same," advised elfreda. "you need sleep and rest even more than we do. i hear mrs. gray telling our friends to prepare for bad weather, so i will run along and listen. good-night, mr. lang." the overland girls, requested by grace to turn in, after being told that a storm was in prospect, did so, but hippy still remained up talking with ping, who was scouring the cooking equipment and carefully stowing it in the packs so that it might all be in one place in the event that the storm was a severe one. ping wing had had experience with desert wind storms; he had learned to respect their tremendous force, and he too had read the danger signs in the heavens that night. the guide being nowhere in sight, hippy finally crawled into his tent and lay down with his clothes on, first, however, placing his revolver where it might be quickly reached in an emergency, but there was to be no use for his weapon that night. the enemy that he was to face later on would be proof against bullets, an enemy that no human courage, skill or ingenuity could stay. out by the water hole, hi lang sat keeping silent vigil, narrowly watching those film-mists overhead, his nerves on the alert to catch the first cooling breath, which he knew from past experience would be the vanguard of what he fully expected was in store for them. chapter x when the blow fell a faint, cooling breath, wafted across the desert, fanned the cheek of hi lang. he inhaled deeply of it, not once, but several times. "it is here!" he muttered, "i hope it may be a light one." saying which the guide rose and walked briskly to the ponies' tethering ground. the animals were restive, they were stepping from side to side and an occasional snort was heard, but they quieted down when he went among them and spoke soothing words, petting an animal here, restaking another one there until he had spoken to each bronco in the outfit. the guide's next move was to step to hippy's tent and awaken him. "what is it? have the desert pirates returned?" questioned hippy, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "no! something worse is coming. do not awaken the young ladies just yet. come out i will show you a great sight." hippy sprang up and followed the guide. hi paused by the embers of the camp fire long enough to stamp them out. "so they do not blow about and set our equipment on fire," he explained. "where's the sight?" demanded the lieutenant. "look yonder!" directed hi, pointing toward the western horizon. the mist had disappeared from the sky like magic and the stars once more shone out with all their former brilliancy. off to the westward, however, there were no stars to be seen. in their place, stretched clear across the horizon, lay a cloud, black as ink. "watch the upper edge of the cloud," said the guide in a low tone. "it is rolling like the surf," exclaimed hippy. "yes, and in that cloud are tons upon tons of sand that the cloud is carrying along with it. we'll lose a stretch of our desert here in a few moments." "is there nothing that we can do to protect ourselves, hi?" "not a thing. the equipment has been securely packed. i had ping put the rifles in a sack and stand them upright in a hole in the ground so we may find them after the storm. without weapons we should be in a bad way, especially if our friends, the pirates, return, but i reckon that what's left of that crowd will be pretty well sanded. this storm is going to pile right up on the range that we left behind us." a distant, menacing roar now became audible to the two men, such a roar as one can hear by placing an ear to the opening of a conch shell, but magnified perhaps a million times. the cool breeze, that had shortly before warned hi lang, now became a chill blast, moderate, but plainly thrust ahead by a mighty force behind it. "good night!" exclaimed lieutenant wingate. "that breeze must have been born up in iceland. talk about your heat on the desert! perhaps we shall have some cool weather here after the storm passes." hi lang laughed. "don't fool yourself, lieutenant. it will be hotter than ever to- morrow, blistering, sizzling hot; and the water courses probably will dive deeper into the earth and give us no end of trouble to find them. i---" "it is coming, isn't it?" questioned graces who had been awakened by the breeze and had come up behind hippy and mr. lang without their hearing her. "it's well on the way, mrs. gray. perhaps it might be well to awaken the young ladies. knock down your tents and sit on them or you won't have any tents left. reckon we'd better do the same, lieutenant." it was plain that the storm soon would be upon them and all haste was made to prepare for the blow. the tents were laid flat, weighted with such equipment as might be expected to hold them there, and the overland riders stood or crouched a little fearful in this new mystery of the desert. "getting closer!" announced the guide. "what shall we do?" asked hippy. "lie down when you can no longer stand up, and take pot luck." "any orders, mr. lang?" called grace harlowe. "yes. lie down facing the storm and wind your blankets about you. be sure to keep your heads covered. if you find that the sand is piling up on your backs, shake it off." "if you get buried perhaps you may find a tank down there," suggested hippy, but no one laughed at his sally. "there goes that crazy chinaman again. i hope he chokes." "he will if he keeps his mouth open much longer." ping had broken out in song, which the wind was not yet strong enough to smother. "sometim' you look-see piece sand he walkee mountain high, jist t'hen wind knock top-side off an' blow 'um up to sky. jist so my heart walk up inside--befo' he sinkee down--" that was the last heard of ping wing for some time, the concluding words of his song having been lost in a burst of wind that drowned out every other sound. "down! everybody down!" yelled the guide just before the blast struck them. the sandstorm swooped down on them suddenly, bringing with it black night, a roaring, booming, hideous thing. sand rained on the blankets, covering the girls of the overland riders, and now and then some heavier object, they knew not what, struck one or more of them, adding to the terror of the moment. emma dean struggled and moaned in her fright. her blanket, loosened by her movements, was whisked into the air and out of sight in a twinkling. she screamed for help, but no one heard her, and emma threw herself down in the sand, or was blown over when she struggled to a sitting position. there she lay, her face buried in the sand, sobbing and moaning. not a sound had been uttered by any of the other girls. they were listening, listening, wondering how much longer they would be able to endure the terrific strain under which they were laboring. such wind no person there, except hi lang, had ever dreamed could be possible. grace found herself wondering if the arabian simoon, of which she had read, could possibly be deadlier. she doubted it. by now the girls were fighting to keep from being buried alive, and in their choking, suffocating condition they tried to sit up for air. all lost their blankets instantly. the sand beat on their faces and heads like sharp-pointed tiny hailstones. their eyes were blinded by it, and their bodies burned as if they had been rubbed with sandpaper, but there was nothing that could be done to relieve their suffering because no person could stand up against the mighty force of the wind. the storm, it seemed to them, lasted for hours, though as a matter of fact it had blown itself out within fifteen minutes from the time it struck them. "backbone of the storm is broken," yelled the guide in hippy's ear, both being under the same blanket. "so is mine," hippy howled back. "there's a ton of sand, if there is a pound on it, this very minute. hope the girls are safe. can we get out?" "no. the wind is too strong. it will die out in a few moments. i'll go out the minute i can crawl." the men waited several minutes, during which the gale was steadily decreasing. the guide finally poked his head from under the blanket, shading his eyes with a hand to keep the blowing sand out, before opening them. "cover your eyes and come on," he said, crawling out and starting to beat his way against the gale toward the spot where the overland girls were supposed to be. they were huddled together, with their arms about each other to keep from being blown away, every head resting on an arm as they lay face down on the ground. "stand up, but protect your eyes," shouted hi. "gale's almost over and done for." "so--o--o are we," gasped grace, staggering to her feet, and almost instantly landing on her back on the ground where the wind had hurled her. hi assisted her to her feet, grace laughing and choking at the same time. the others, in turn, were lifted up by hi and hippy, all leaning against the wind, clinging to each other, and, with handkerchiefs in their mouths, breathing what air they could get in this way without taking in any more sand than they could help. the wind stopped with a suddenness that left every one of the party unprepared. the result was that they fell forward on their faces, and for a few moments there was a mixup that, in ordinary circumstances, would have brought merry peals of laughter, but there was no laughter this time. the eyes of the overland riders were so filled with sand that they were too blinded to see the stars that once more were shining "just above them." "wet your handkerchiefs with water from your canteens and wipe your eyes," suggested grace. "go easy on the water," commanded the guide. "let's see where we are at before we use water." "you are right, sir. i had not thought of that," agreed grace. "our buckets are full, aren't they?" questioned anne. "yes--of sand," spoke up elfreda. "the first thing to do is to settle the water question. ping!" ping wing came running up, his white suit the color of the landscape, for ping had been rolled in the sand to his utter undoing. "go see how many horses we have left." "me savvy. tlee." "three? that is better than i hoped for," chuckled the guide. "with three we can reasonably look forward to finding the others somewhere on the desert, but we can't do much to improve our situation until daylight. no use to search for our equipment before then. i will look into the water question, however, right now." "this is the most violent landscape that it has ever been my misfortune to gaze upon," declared elfreda briggs, tossing her fallen hair up and down to shake the sand out of it, a proceeding that was followed by each of the girls. "at least we have one thing to be thankful for," observed anne. "i thank my stars that it is so dark that we cannot see how really tough we do look." "if i look as bad as i feel i must be a terrible sight," wailed emma. "here comes hi. have we water?" "not a drop except what you have in your canteens. the water hole is buried so deep that we have lost it. guard every drop. we are in a serious situation." chapter xi facing a new peril "aren't the water bags safe?" asked hippy. "they're gone," said the guide. "everything but the sand seems to be gone," observed miss briggs. "i suppose we should thank the kind fates that we still have plenty of sand." "plenty of some things is too much," declared nora wingate. "hippy, my darlin', you weren't hurt, were you?" "yes, i was killed, but i have come to life again. hi, what is the next thing to be done?" "kill time until daylight!" that was practically what the overland riders did, but with the first streaks of dawn the barren spot assumed an appearance of activity. "lieutenant, we'll go out and look for the horses," announced the guide. "is blackie still here?" questioned grace. "no, but there are three ponies left, as you know. wish to go along?" "yes." ping was directed what to do, and miss briggs was left to see that the orders of the guide were carried out during his absence. hi, hippy and grace then mounted the remaining ponies and started away, working back toward the range that they had left two days before. the wind had blown in that direction and it was reasonable to suppose that the lost animals had been driven before it. "spread out, but keep within sight of the lieutenant, who will be middle man," directed the guide. when they had finally taken up their positions, some three miles separated grace harlowe and the guide, with hippy a mile and a half from each of the two outside riders. the sun was not yet up, and the morning, while not uncomfortable, gave promise of what hi lang had said it would be--a sizzler. the three had ridden for a full hour, when off to her right grace discovered what she thought was one of their ponies. urging her mount forward, she galloped rapidly in that direction, but after riding for some time she was amazed to find that the animal seemed to be as far away as when she had started toward him. "i hope to goodness the pony i see isn't a desert mirage," muttered grace. "mirage or no mirage i am going to run it to earth." she galloped on at a more rapid pace, but it was a long time, it seemed to grace, before she saw that she really was nearing the little animal, who was browsing on desert sage, or what few scraps of it remained after the storm. hoping fervently that it was her own little spirited blackie, grace urged her mount forward at a lively clip and bore down on the bronco who began edging off when he saw her heading for him. "it's elfreda's pony!" cried grace. "here, boy; here, boy!" she called. the "lost" animal kicked up its heels and started away at a gallop, with grace harlowe in full pursuit. "how provoking!" cried grace as the bronco kept galloping from her with aggravating persistence. the overland girl rode and coaxed until she tired of it, then, touching her mount lightly with the crop, she dashed straight for the tantalizing roamer. it was a race for a little while, the runners steadily drawing away from hippy wingate and hi lang, but to this grace gave no thought. once she nearly got her hand on the bridle of elfreda's mount, but the little fellow dodged her at the critical moment. "oh, for a rope and the skill to throw it. i'll learn to throw a lasso at once. i see it is necessary out here. whoa, boy!" she commanded sharply. the runaway bronco stopped short, and, with feet spread apart, stood gazing at her as if daring the overland girl to come and catch him. grace decided to try new tactics. dismounting, and slipping her bridle rein over one arm, she walked slowly toward the animal, plucking a bunch of sage as she went, and holding it out toward him. the pony looked interested, his ears sloped forward and he took a step or two towards her. grace walked up to him confidently, gave him the handful of sage and, after petting him, grasped the lead rope and then the bridle. "all of which goes to prove the assertion that it is easier to catch flies with molasses than with vinegar. now be a good boy, and we will jog back home to elfreda," she soothed to the captured pony. mounting, and attaching the end of the lead rope to the pommel of her saddle, grace started for camp. at least she thought that was what she did. instead she was headed for the range of mountains on which they had first made camp. after a little the overland rider came to a realization that the guide and hippy were nowhere in sight. still, she was not greatly disturbed, but she was thirsty. a few drops of water from her canteen was all that she dared allow herself. grace had been traveling for the better part of an hour, from time to time glancing up at the glaring sun that was just rising, when she suddenly brought her pony up short. "do you think you can find the way back if i give you the rein?" she asked, petting her mount. the pony pawed the dirt and whinnied, but his rider knew that it was because he too was thirsty, instead of being an answer to her question. grace paused to reflect over her situation, to consider what was the wise thing to do, finally deciding that she would follow her trail back to the spot at which she captured the pony. "from there it should be easy for me to find my original trail; then all i shall have to do will be to follow it to the camp. we must go back," decided grace, turning about and starting away at a trot, finding no difficulty in making out the tracks of the two ponies. the spot at which she had found the lost bronco was reached at last. grace sat for some moments, staring at the landscape, turning in her saddle until she had looked all the way around the compass, then, clucking to the two animals, trotted away, following her original trail. as she progressed, the trail grew fainter, a desert breeze having almost obliterated the tracks her pony made on the way out with hi lang and hippy wingate. to make certain that she was on the right road, grace got down and compared her mount's footprints with those that she was following. "yes, i am positive that i am right," she decided and once more set out. "hark!" she exclaimed sharply. three faraway shots had been fired. grace waited, and in a few moments the shots were repeated. she raised her revolver and fired three signal shots in return. she did this twice, then reloaded and thrust the revolver into its holster. "it is doubtful if my shots can be heard, but i have the satisfaction of knowing that some one probably is out looking for me. we'll go in under our own power. they shan't say that we could not find our way home in broad daylight." the rifle signal shots were repeated shortly after grace got started again. she answered them, but was unable to tell from which direction the signals had come, though the shots sounded off to the right of her, but she decided to continue on in the direction she had chosen however, believing that she was headed towards the camp. it was nearly noon when grace discovered a horseman far to the right. he was too far away to be recognized, and, evidently, he had not seen her. the overland girl fired three shots into the air, which were answered by a similar signal, then the distant rider was seen to turn and gallop towards her. grace headed for him, riding more slowly than she had been doing, and finally discovering that the horseman was hi lang. despite the confidence that grace had felt in her ability to find her way in, she experienced a sense of relief. now he would compliment her on her ability to find her way on a trackless waste such as this. "where have you been?" shouted hi when near enough to make his voice heard. "i went after miss briggs' pony, then got on the wrong trail, if there be such a thing as a trail on this landscape," answered grace. "we've been worrying about you. did you get lost?" "well, not exactly. i was puzzled at first, but i was following my trail back towards the camp when you discovered me, or when i discovered you, to be exact." "hm--m--m--m!" mused the guide. "do you know where you were headed for when i first saw you?" "why, yes. i told you. for the camp, was i not?" hi shook his head. "if your canteen and rations had held out, and you'd kept on going the way you were headed, eventually you would have landed in death valley," the guide informed her. "but i followed the tracks left by the pony i was riding," she protested. "i reckon you followed some other pony's tracks, for i was on the trail of the bronc' you are riding." "mr. lang, as a plainswoman i fear i am a miserable failure," complained the overland girl. "on the contrary you are very much of a success. you did not get panic-stricken when you found you had lost us, but you used your head. you found and followed a trail that would have fooled me as it did you." "thank you! how many of the ponies did you find?" "all of 'em, lacking the one you have here; also found one that didn't belong to us. we sent him adrift." "oh, i am so glad. then you have blackie." "yes. let's be going. things at the camp are not very encouraging. much of the equipment has been blown away or buried, but that isn't the worst of the situation." "you mean water?" questioned grace, regarding him inquiringly. "yes. we haven't been able to locate a tank to-day, and there isn't more than a quart altogether left in the canteens." "what are we to do now?" asked grace. "we've got to pull up stakes and move. all hands must search for water--search until water is found, and keep moving forward at the same time. if we don't find it by night---" the guide shrugged his shoulders and clucked to his pony. grace, her face reflecting the concern she felt, followed at a gallop and they were soon raising a cloud of dust on the baking desert. chapter xii a bitter disappointment a wan and considerably mussed up party of girls met grace and the guide when the two rode into what was left of their camp. "well, here we are at last," cried grace cheerily. "we thought you were lost. how could you have missed such an opportunity?" wondered miss briggs. "i did not miss it, elfreda dear. i got beautifully lost and didn't know it. most persons when they get lost are very much alive to the fact, but i traveled on in blissful ignorance of the fact that i was headed straight for death valley." "i wish you wouldn't talk about it. death valley reminds me of the experience we had last night," complained emma. "oh, then you have been to death valley?" questioned anne. "no, i said--i mean i said--i mean i meant to have said that---" "let it go at that. you will get tongue-tied if you keep on," warned hippy wingate. "we have something more serious on hand than to listen to your--" "yes, girls," interrupted grace. "mr. lang tells me that we must move on immediately, that we must find water, and that, too, without delay. what shape are we in with regard to equipment?" "we have our tents," answered elfreda. "some cooking utensils, and our food, which ping had the foresight to take to bed with him," said anne nesbit whimsically. "were the rifles saved?" "all secure, and the ammunition too," replied lieutenant wingate. "i believe that a few blankets were blown away and lost, together with numerous odds and ends that weren't nailed down. what could you expect with a wind strong enough to blow our horses far out on the desert. got any water?" "i have some. do you mean to tell me, hippy wingate, that an old campaigner like yourself has drunk up all the water he had in his canteen, and in the face of a great drouth?" demanded grace, trying hard not to smile. "every last drop of it," admitted hippy. "but what's a fellow to do when he is thirsty and his throat is cracking open?" "use the precious stuff sparingly. here! take a sip from my canteen. only a sip, lieutenant." with the eyes of the entire party on him, hippy dared not take more than enough water to moisten his throat. grace then took the canteen from him, passing it to emma. "the same holds good for you, emma," she said, "take a sip and pass it along. what water is there may have to be our only supply all the rest of the afternoon." "that's right, mrs. gray," spoke up hi lang. "ping!" "les?" "are you all packed and ready?" "me belongee chop-chop," answered ping, meaning that he was ready to move. "follow along behind us, but make those lazy burros keep close up. we don't want to lose you and have to look all over the desert for you. now, folks, please listen carefully to what i have to say. while i do not wish to alarm you, it is well that you thoroughly understand what our situation is. we must find water. you will all spread out with an interval of a hundred yards, say, between ponies, and scrutinize every foot of ground on either side." "who goes where?" interrupted emma. "please be quiet," rebuked grace. "i am coming to that," resumed the guide. "two things i wish you to look for, alkali crusts that may cover a tank, and discolorations on the desert. that is, if you find a spot darker than the prevailing color of the ground, that discoloration may be the result of moisture. do you get me?" "yes," answered the overlanders in chorus. "in the event of such a discovery, shout, or if i am too far away to hear your voice, fire one shot into the air. about the crusts that i spoke of, when you find one, hop off and break it in. you probably will not see water, even though it is there, but, after you have broken open the crust, thrust your head into the opening and sniff the air." "what we need is a thirsty bird dog in this outfit," observed hippy, without the suggestion of a smile on his face. hi lang permitted himself a brief silent laugh. "what are we to sniff for?" questioned emma in all seriousness. "for a damp odor. the air under the crust, too, will be perhaps a degree cooler than the outer air. if it is a dry tank you will get a dry, earthy odor that you cannot mistake. the one who finds water will, as i have suggested, shout or shoot. the others will hold their positions until i have investigated. "another thing. ponies familiar with desert conditions, as most of ours are, sometimes can smell water when they can't see it. if one of your animals suddenly bolts in a direction that you think he should not go, give him his head for a little way. he may lead you to water." "why didn't i think to put a divining rod in my pocket?" chuckled hippy. "you brought a sweet little parasol, that blew away on the wings of the storm," reminded nora. "why didn't you bring something useful while you were about it?" "nora darling, didn't i bring you along? what, tell me, could be more useful to this outfit than your own beautiful little self?" "go on, go on with ye! if there were a blarney stone here i'd throw it at ye!" rebuked nora, laughing in spite of her effort to be stern, joined in her merriment by the other girls of the outfit. "take your positions!" ordered the guide. "the lieutenant will take the center. to the right, miss dean, miss briggs. left, mrs. nesbit, mrs. wingate and mrs. gray. i will take the extreme right. you, mrs. gray, will look after the extreme left. keep your formation as well as you can so that we do not straggle too much. all ready!" the overland riders swung themselves to their saddles and moved to the positions assigned to them, then started away, walking their ponies. their line looked like a troop of cavalry going into action, except that the horses moved listlessly. emma found the first alkali tank, and getting off, broke the crust and thrust her head in the opening. "what do you find?" called hippy. "ugh! it smells like a rummage sale," answered miss dean. "dry!" announced hippy. "move along." all along the line the girls were trying to make merry, trying to forget the terrible heat, a deadly burning heat, but their efforts in this direction were not very successful. heat waves shimmered over the white sands of the desert with not a breath of air stirring to relieve the deadly monotony. it did not seem possible to elfreda briggs that human beings long could endure such heat, and she wondered at the cheerfulness of her companions. hi lang rode around behind the line of riders to see what it was that emma dean had discovered, but he paused at the dry water hole for but a moment, then hurried back to his position. now and then one of the riders would dismount and examine a patch of ground, only to meet with disappointment. they had come up to a vast cup-like depression in the desert, white with the alkali crust that covered its bottom, when hi fired a signal shot to indicate that they were to halt for a rest. "what is that big hole?" called lieutenant wingate. "a prehistoric lake, in whose alkaline dust no plant, not even sage-brush, can grow, and upon which a puddle of rainwater becomes an almost deadly poison. this is one of the most thoroughly hated spots on the desert, hated and shunned by most of those who travel this way." "is there not water under the crust at the bottom?" asked miss dean. "not a drop. there probably has not been in centuries. no water is known to have been found within a few miles of this spot either, but, as i have said, one never knows, and the traveler must take nothing for granted." "fine place for a summer outing," observed hippy. "probably there is on all the globe no other spot more forbidding, more desolate, more deadly," added the guide. "we must be going. move on!" all that afternoon the overland riders plodded wearily along, now and then hopes suddenly raised being dashed to earth by dry water holes. at the next halt, hi passed along the line, giving each rider a sip of water from the slender supply in his canteen, grace smilingly declining to drink. "have you any left in your canteen?" he asked. "a few drops, but i am saving them until i am thirsty. i have been sucking the cork for the last hour." grace then asked about the dry lake, and the guide repeated what he had said to emma and hippy. "how are the girls standing the strain?" she questioned. "very well indeed. i hope they hold out as well until we find water." "now that there is no one but ourselves present, please tell me what the prospects are?" requested grace. "i can't, mrs. gray, for the very good reason that i don't know. of course water we must have or we shall perish, and so will the ponies. as a last resort we can head for the nearest mountain range, but it would take us nearly two days to make it with ponies and riders in good working condition." "then the situation really is serious!" asked grace. "no, not yet, but we are on the verge of a serious situation. yes, that about expresses it. however, i have hopes that we may find a tank about ten miles from here, one that i have never failed to find some water in, though at times it has been a mighty slow process to get it. i must get to the other end of the line now. good luck." several tanks were found during the next few hours, but not a drop of water in any of them. it fell to emma dean to make a discovery, however, that thrilled all within sound of her voice. "water!" she screamed. "water!" "i believe you are right. hooray!" shouted hippy wingate. "i know i am. it's a lake, a lake full of beautiful blue water!" cried emma. "quick! shoot to let the others know." instead of the agreed-upon single shot as the signal that water had been found, hippy wingate emptied his revolver into the air, then, urging on his weary pony, rode on ahead, with emma following, shouting and urging her pony to go faster that she and hippy might reach the precious water ahead of the others. even hippy was excited at the sight that had burst so unexpectedly on his smarting eyes, for there, a mile or so ahead, surely was a body of water that the guide himself had not known of or he surely would have told them. attracted by the shots, hi lang looked, first in the direction from which the shots had come, then off across the desert. what he saw led him to head towards hippy and emma, who themselves were traveling as fast as they could make their ponies go. some of the other overland riders had followed emma and hippy, they too having discovered the blue lake in the near distance. the guide fired into the air, to recall the excited riders, but they gave no heed to his signal. "stop!" he shouted when near enough to make himself heard. "stop, i say! you'll run your ponies to death." "water! don't you see it?" cried emma. "no! that isn't water. stop, i say!" "the heat has gone to hi's head," laughingly confided hippy to emma. "all right, old man, just trail along behind us and we'll show you," he flung back. "stop, lieutenant! listen to reason, won't you? what you see is a desert mirage. there isn't a lake within a hundred miles of us." hippy wingate brought his pony to a slow stop, and emma, who had heard, stopped about the same time. "mirage?" wondered hippy stupidly. "m--m--mister lang, do--do you me--ean that wha--at we see isn't wa--ater at all?" "it's a mirage, i tell you. get back to your positions!" chapter xiii a startling alarm elfreda briggs and grace harlowe did not give way to the panic that had seized their companions. both had seen the mirage, each knew instinctively what it was, but when they saw hi lang overhaul the two leaders, grace and elfreda hurried in from their positions and joined their companions. "grace! oh, grace," moaned emma as her friend rode up to them. "give me water or i shall die." "have courage, emma dear. we are all suffering from thirst. hand me your cup and i will give you a swallow. i don't dare trust you with the canteen." grace poured out about a tablespoonful of water, which emma drank in one choking gulp. each of the others got about the same quantity, but it was not much of a relief. "shall i return to my position now, sir?" questioned grace of the guide. "yes, please. i have told the others to do so at once. hereafter, in no circumstances are you people to run away as you did just now. we must go on as rapidly as is consistent, until dark. i wish to reach a certain point before we stop for the night. we may find some relief there unless the storm has buried everything so deep that we cannot find the place," said hi lang. "do you mean water?" asked elfreda. "i am in hopes that it may be so, miss briggs." "alors! let's go!" the party broke up at once and rode to their positions, emma dean, red of face, her hair down her back, tear drops still trickling down her cheeks, leaving little furrows behind them, summoning all her courage and doing her best to regain control of herself. the mirage had disappeared by the time the start was made, and did not appear again to tantalize the suffering overland riders. all the rest of the afternoon, eager eyes, reddened by the glare of the sun on the white desert, sought for water holes. none were found, not even dry tanks, but when darkness settled over the desert a faint breeze sprung up. they drank it in eagerly, taking long, deep breaths and uttering sighs of satisfaction. hi called the party together with a signal shot. "how long before we make camp?" called grace as she rode up. "about five miles if my reckoning is right," answered the guide. "no need to look for water holes now that it is dark. we shan't find any unless we accidentally fall into one." "you are about the most cheerful prophet i've ever known," declared lieutenant wingate. "glad you weren't with us in the war." "at least, mr. lang has made good all his forecasts. you must admit that," reminded miss briggs. "he has, bad luck to him!" growled hippy, which brought a grin to the thin, bronzed face of the desert guide. it was nearly ten o 'clock when hi finally ordered a halt. the riders, upon looking about them, observed that there was considerable vegetation there, sage, cactus, dwarfed trees and shrubbery, scattered, twisted, misshapen things, all of them. "turn the ponies loose immediately," directed the guide. "they will get a little moisture from the green stuff. never mind staking down. they will not run away. ping, start a fire and cook something. sorry, folks, but it will have to be a dry supper this time." "where is that relief you were promising us a century or so ago?" demanded nora wingate. "yes, mr. lang. we have been patient and borne our thirst uncomplainingly. now, we must have relief. i don't want a dry supper, i want water!" cried emma. anne said she feared that she too had about reached her limit. "be patient, girls. mr. lang is doing the best he can," urged grace. "yes, don't we know that?" agreed miss briggs. "he is splendid. i hope these unsolicited compliments do not turn your head, mr. lang," teased elfreda. the guide laughed silently. "come with me. we can pitch our tents later on," he directed, striding away. he led them through mesquite bushes, finally halting before a patch of odd, pumpkin-shaped cactus, that, with its grotesque shape, its spines and fishhooks, was far from being attractive-looking. hi's knife was out as he halted, and, with it, he laid open a cactus plant, revealing to the eager eyes of his charges a silver- white pulp glistening with water. "this will relieve your thirst," he said, handing the white, moist mass to emma. "oh--h--h--h!" gasped miss dean. "this is heavenly." to each of the others hi gave a handful of pulp. "nectar straight from heaven," murmured elfreda at her first taste. "who would think that so much heavenliness could come from such a hideous plant, so hideous that, were i alone, it would give me the shivers to look at?" uttering exclamations of satisfaction and delight, the overland girls ate and ate, soothing their throats and satisfying their thirst. "please tell us what this is, mr. lang," asked grace. "it is the bisnaga, sometimes called the 'niggerhead,' belonging to the cactus family, a plant that is ever hailed with joy by the thirsty traveler." "it's a life saver," agreed lieutenant wingate. "where is that chinaman? doesn't he ever get thirsty?" "don't worry about him. he is out there in the bushes now, swallowing 'niggerheads' as fast as he can gulp them down. this is one of the secrets of the desert. there are others--but a man must know them before he can take advantage of them." "tell us about them. i just dote on secrets," exclaimed emma, her good nature now fully restored. "they might answer for an emergency, but nothing short of real food would answer for me," declared hippy. "just the same a man might live on what we see before us here for a long time," replied the guide. "if you will examine those mesquite bushes you will find a bean pod on them. it is a rich and nourishing food. then there are the pears of the tuna and the fruit of the sahuaro or giant cactus." "we saw a forest of them on the apache trail," grace informed him. "yes, i know. you will find all of these nourishing foods about you here, hideous, some of them, but furnishing food and water that have saved the lives of many desert travelers. "besides these food plants of the desert, we have the cat's-claw, mesquite and cholla shrubs for fuel; the bear-grass and yuccas for camp-building. better than a mirage, is it not, miss dean?" emma flushed. "i don't know about that. the sight of that lake that wasn't a lake made me forget for the moment that i was thirsty," answered emma spiritedly. the chinaman's shrill call for supper sounded while they were still talking. the girls, now greatly refreshed, turned campward and sat down on the ground to eat "poisoned pig," as hippy wingate had named the bacon with its bitter alkaline taste. "i fear we are forgetting that we still are without water," reminded grace after they had finished their supper, feeling more like themselves than at any time in the last two days. "don't throw a monkey-wrench in the machinery," begged hippy. "let's live while the living is good, and die when we haven't anything else to do." "grace is quite right," agreed anne. "i am worrying about to- morrow myself." "i have been thinking it over," spoke up hi lang. "i believe i will go out early in the morning and ride until noon. i can cover a lot of ground in that time, and if i do not find water, the chances are against our getting any in the direction we are going. in that event we will head for the mountains and fight our way through. i never knew so many water holes to fail, but the storm is largely responsible for that condition." "why didn't we bring an artesian well with us? i have heard that one could have water anywhere with one of those. are they very heavy to carry?" asked emma innocently. a shout greeted her question, and the guide brushed a hand across his mouth to hide his silent laughter. "what's the matter? have i said something funny?" demanded emma, bristling. "that would be impossible," answered hippy. "no, emma dean, an artesian well would be no burden to carry at all if one were able to solve the problem of how to carry it. all the makin's are right here, too. hi, why didn't you bring a medium-sized artesian well with you! i am amazed that you would neglect to find a way to bring one along," rebuked hippy. "you are all making fun of me. i think you are real mean," pouted emma. "we're not," protested hippy. "yes, he is, dear. hippy, stop teasing emma. she is worn out and irritable. by the way, mr. lang, what is an artesian well?" asked nora, which brought down another shout of laughter, this time at her expense. "i'm not irritable," objected emma. "an artesian well is a hole in the ground, miss dean," the guide gravely informed her. "i'm going to bed!" announced emma, getting up. "am i to sleep in the open, or do we have tents to cover us to-night?" she asked with much dignity. "ping will pitch the tents. he is getting out the canvas now," replied grace. "before i turn in i am going out to eat some more 'niggerheads.' any one going with me?" all signified their desire to have more of the luscious white pulp, and in a few moments they were gorging themselves among the bisnagas. the moon was now well along in its first quarter, and in the cool of the evening the overland girls were in a frame of mind to appreciate and enjoy the scene. "the desert has a strange and beguiling beauty all its own," murmured grace. "yes," agreed elfreda. "such an evening as this makes one forget the awful heat, and lays hold of one's spirit. then the silence-- no whistling of wind, no rustling of leaves. why, i find myself holding my breath so as not to break the silence." "i had not observed it," retorted grace, presenting a smiling face to her companion. "the camp should be ready by now. i move we go back and turn in." "the mystery of it all, too," added elfreda, turning to walk to the camp. the guide told them not to be concerned at his absence if he did not get in until late on the following day, and the overland riders sought their blankets for a rest which all needed. the night passed without one of the girls moving, so far as any of them could remember, when they were rudely awakened next morning. shouts and yells from hippy wingate, and a scream from emma dean, brought grace, elfreda, anne and nora to their feet, hurriedly throwing on sufficient clothing to make themselves presentable. "girls! hurry, hurry!" shrieked emma. "coming! hold fast!" shouted elfreda briggs, running out ahead of the others. chapter xiv the mysterious horseman "for mercy sake, what is it?" cried elfreda. emma was dancing about in a high state of excitement. "hippy's gone down! hippy's gone down!" she cried. "gone down where?" demanded grace, appearing on the scene at that juncture. "he must have gone very suddenly, for i surely heard him yell less than five minutes ago," averred elfreda. "look, look!" urged emma, pointing to hippy's tent, only the top of which was visible above the ground. grace was already running towards the tent, believing she knew just what the trouble was. "hippy, are you there?" she called. "i am that, what's left of me," answered a voice that sounded some distance away. "are you hurt?" "no, brown eyes, i am not hurt. please clear away the wreckage, so we can see what we have here." grace and elfreda hauled the tent out of the hole in the alkali crust and peered in. hippy was sitting at the bottom, about five feet below the surface, and the instant grace thrust her head into the opening she uttered a cry. "water!" she exclaimed. "i smell it!" "i tasted it when i landed on my head in the wet sand," answered hippy. "it was good, but i'd a heap sight rather drink my water standing. one doesn't take in so much sand that way." "wa--ater!" gasped emma dean. "and it isn't another mirage?" "it is water, my dear, but how much of a supply there is remains to be seen. what were you doing out so early?" "i was going out to get some water food from that horrible looking pumpkin plant, or whatever it is." "ping! oh, ping! fetch the water buckets. hurry! mr. lang has gone, so we must do what is to be done before the water disappears. what happened, hippy?" asked grace. "this did, brown eyes. i turned over on my blanket, then the earth yawned and swallowed me down. i slid in head first." "here are the buckets and the canvas. i think i will get down there and assist you. girls, drink your fill, then water the ponies. no, you carry the water out and let ping do the watering." hippy assisted grace down. she dropped to her knees and immediately began digging in the sand, which was wet and sticky. with hippy's aid, she patted the canvas blanket down as she had seen hi lang do it, and in a moment the water began seeping through. grace observed that it seeped much more rapidly than when the guide had performed a similar operation. "buckets!" demanded hippy. they were lowered, and, in a few moments, half a dozen of them were filled and handed up to the outstretched hands waiting to receive them. "this is splendid! i wish mr. lang were here. too bad," said grace. "might it not be a good idea for us to fire signal shots to recall him? he may be within hearing. sound carries a long distance on the desert," suggested miss briggs. "fine, j. elfreda. will you fire the shots?" miss briggs said she would, and, in a few moments, three interval shots rang out. elfreda fired the signal six times, listening after each signal for a reply. none was heard, however, and grace suggested that she wait half an hour or so, then try it again. the baling went on, but the ponies and burros drank the water faster than grace and hippy could get it out of the tank and pass it up to those who were carrying water to ping who was giving it to the horses, singing as he worked. this was the happy refrain he sang: "look-see you bucket, 'fore you tly, got lopee (rope) 'nuf to pump 'um dly. one piecee mouse can dlink at liver, but let he mousey tly for ever, all he can do top-sidee shore is squinch (quench) he t'hirst an 'nuffin more." "every 'r' is an 'l' with a chinaman," laughed anne. "that is what makes their pidgin english so quaint," answered miss briggs. "ping says the horses don't care for any more water," announced nora, returning with two empty buckets. "pass them down," directed hippy. "we will fill everything in camp, including ourselves." when, they had finished with their work, the familiar, "him come along," in ping wing's shrill voice, brought hippy out of the water hole in a hurry. "are you going to leave me down here, hippy wingate, or are you going to assist me out?" reminded grace. "a thousand pardons! the thought of food drives every other thought from my mind." hippy reached down and gave grace a hand. "please fire another set of signal shots," suggested grace, shaking out her skirt to free it from the damp sand. "mr. lang will be surprised when he finds that we have a water tank right here in camp. i hope he hears our shots." elfreda, having shot into the air six times, put down her rifle and joined her companions. "oh, doesn't that coffee smell good?" she cried. "a warm drink is even more necessary out here than it is in the city. i hope we never have another such a dry time as we have just experienced." "listen!" warned grace, holding up a hand for silence. the reports of two rifle shots were faintly borne to their ears. "that's a signal. i heard the first a second before i spoke. answer them, elfreda." miss briggs sprang up and fired the rifle three times. an answer came in the form of three reports that plainly were from a long distance away. "that must be mr. lang. i am glad," said grace, her face lighting up in a pleased smile. "him come along," announced ping a few moments later, using the elastic expression that stood for the dinner call, as well as to indicate that some one was approaching. the overland girls stood up and, shading their eyes, gazed off over the desert. they saw a horseman approaching, but the pony he was riding appeared to be almost dragging himself along. "that isn't lang," exclaimed hippy. "i see it isn't," agreed grace. being a lone rider the overlanders knew they were safe from trouble so far as he was concerned, but they observed the rider narrowly as he neared the camp. "ping! fetch water!" ordered grace incisively. "that man and horse are exhausted." "water!" cried the man hoarsely as he rode up to them and would have fallen from his saddle had hippy not sprung forward and grabbed him. he placed the exhausted man on the ground, and raising the rider's head, held a canteen to his lips. "take it easy, old top. don't choke yourself. we have plenty, but you mustn't try to drink it all at once," admonished lieutenant wingate. "get food," directed grace. "coffee and whatever else you think he can eat." ping glided away to prepare the food, nora and anne, in the meantime, having brought water for the traveler's pony. in a few moments the man sat up, holding his head in his hands. "here, bathe your face. it will cool you off," urged elfreda. the traveler did so, and, by the time the coffee was ready, he was able to stand. ping had fried some bacon, and, with the coffee and biscuit, the traveler had a meal the like of which he had not eaten for many a long day. as yet, the man had spoken only one word--"water"--but he regarded the outfit with wide, inquiring eyes, as he ate greedily of the food placed before him. "where going?" he asked after finishing. "specter range, i believe. perhaps taking in the shoshones. i am not certain. our guide, hi lang, is not here just now." "bad gang there. drove me out. will drive you out." he would say no more, shaking his head when grace pressed him for an explanation. after an hour's rest, during which the caller drank water until they feared for its effect on him, he filled his water bags from the water hole and lashed them to his pony and mounted. elfreda handed him a chunk of bacon, which he acknowledged with a nod, and stuffed it into his kit. the traveler now threw back his shoulders and peered at each member of the outfit in turn as if to impress their faces on his mind, then swept off his sombrero. "thankee, folks," he said, and, putting spurs to his pony, galloped away. "there is one man to whom it would be perfectly safe to entrust a secret," declared miss briggs with emphasis. "what a strange character," murmured anne, as she gazed after the galloping pony. "i wonder who he can be." "i am curious to know what he meant by warning us against the mountains," interjected elfreda briggs. "and i am rather concerned about mr. lang," added grace. "he must be a long way from here, else he would have heard our signal shots. i have an idea that our late caller must have heard them and that it was he who answered. that must be it. if so i am glad, for the poor fellow was ready to drop and so was his horse. shall we fill the buckets?" they did. the ponies were thirsty again, and it required several bucketfuls to satiate thirst, after which everything fillable was filled with water. grace, to pass away the time, got out her lasso and tried to throw it, but she made a complete failure. in turn, each of the others tried their hand at throwing the rope, but with no better success. ping offered himself for a mark, chattering like a magpie as, each time, the loop of the lasso collapsed before reaching him. "what for you makee so fashion?" he cried between laughs, chuckles and grimaces. "never mind, ping. you will not talkee 'so fashion' one day. when i learn to throw the rope, which i shall, i will rope you when you are not looking," threatened grace. "no can do," grinned the chinaman. "hai yah! man b'longey top-side horse," he cried, pointing off over the desert. looking in the direction in which he was pointing, the overland girls saw in the far distance a horseman, sitting his mount so motionless that at first they were not positive whether it were a horseman or a distorted cactus plant. grace ran for her binoculars and for some minutes studied the stranger. "that's our caller," suggested hippy. maybe he has decided to hang around for another meal. i don't know that i blame him." "no, it is not the same man, at least not same pony," answered grace, snapping glasses shut. "the man yonder is riding a black pony. the one who called on us rode a nearly white animal. i can't imagine why he is so interested, but he is surely watching us. however, we won't worry so long as we have a water tank at hand." at four o'clock in the afternoon the mysterious stranger was still in practically the same place. he appeared to move only when his pony stepped forward a few paces for more sagebrush. "man b'longey top-side horse!" cried ping, again pointing in another direction. the overlanders saw a cloud of dust rolling toward them over the desert, ahead of the cloud being a horseman riding at a swift gallop. "this would seem to be our day at home, judging from the number of callers who are dropping in," observed elfreda. grace threw up her glasses and took a quick look. "i can't make him out," she said. "it can't be mr. lang, for this man is coming from a direction different from the one he took, if the footprints of his pony leading out of this camp are any indication." "man b'longey horse hab go chop-chop!" volunteered ping. looking quickly toward the west the overlanders were amazed to find that the silent horseman who had had them under observation for hours was no longer in view. though not more than two or three minutes had elapsed since grace harlowe last saw him, he had disappeared as suddenly as if the sands of the desert had opened and taken him in. "maybe he has fallen into a tank, just as i did," suggested hippy. "mr. lang is coming. it is he, after all," cried grace joyously, as she gazed at the swiftly moving cloud of dust that ping had called her attention to some moments before. chapter xv the guide reads a desert trail "did you shoot?" called the guide, pulling his pony down sharply. both pony and rider were gray from the desert dust, and the guide's face was lined with perspiration streaks. it was plain that he had ridden hard and long. "yes. did you find water?" cried emma. "i did, twenty miles or nigh that, from here. what's that?" he demanded, pointing to the water hole. "we have water, mr. lang," grace told him, "mr. wingate fell through a crust and discovered a tank. there is water in plenty. we are so sorry that you had all that journey for nothing. ping! water for mr. lang and a bucketful for his pony. how long since did you hear our signal shots?" "more'n an hour ago. i wasn't certain, but i thought i heard three shots. my journey was not for nothing, for i have found a tank and there we will make our next camping place." the guide paused to lift the bucket that ping had fetched, and to drink deeply from it. "who's been here?" "what makes you think anyone has?" teased emma. "plain as daylight. i followed a pony's trail in for more than two miles. there's the tracks where he went away," answered the guide quickly. "you surely have sharp eyes," nodded elfreda. "he was one of those sphinxes, like some other deserts have. this one was not stuck fast to the ground like a regular sphinx, but his tongue must have been stuck to the roof of his mouth, for he couldn't say any more words than a ten-month-old baby," declared hippy wingate. "tell me about him," urged hi, turning to grace. the guide nodded understandingly after grace had told him in detail of the arrival of the stranger, choking for a drink, and half famished from hunger. "that's like him." "like whom?" questioned hippy. "like the desert traveler. he is just one of those brainless fellows like myself, who would rather be out here, suffering, choking, dying by inches, than be at home surrounded by all the comforts that a home gives a man. didn't say what his name is, did he?" "no, sir. let me see," reflected grace. "he said, 'water!' then, later, after asking where we were going, and being informed that we expected to visit the specter range and perhaps the shoshones, he replied, 'bad gang there. drove me out. will drive you out.' as he left he said, 'thankee, folks.' to the best of my recollection he opened his mouth at no other time, except to eat and drink." "hm--m--m--m," mused the guide. "in the specters, eh?" "i don't know whether he referred to them or to the shoshones," answered grace. "didn't say where he was going?" "no, sir. can you tell us, mr. lang, why it is that desert lovers like yourself, and like the stranger who was here, as a more extreme case are so silent, so taciturn and ever listening for something? what is it they are listening for?" "i reckon they take after nature herself out here. when a man is alone on this big desert he feels very small, and speaking out or raising a fellow's voice seems as much of a sacrilege as speaking out loud in church when the preacher's praying. as for listening, i don't know, but maybe we listen for the sounds that we are so used to hearing at home, the rustle of leaves, the song of a bird, but all we ever hear out here in the daytime is now and then the buzz of a rattler's tail. we don't always shoot 'em because we sort of hate to make so much noise. i reckon that isn't much of an explanation, but---" "i call it very fine," nodded elfreda. "by the way, mr. lang, we had another caller, a distant caller to-day. he didn't come near the camp, but sat his pony for several hours apparently observing us. perhaps he was resting." hi lang's face showed his interest. he asked questions and frowned thoughtfully, requesting that they point out as closely as possible the spot at which the man had been seen. "you say he disappeared suddenly?" "yes, mr. lang," answered grace. "was that when i was coming up?" "you were." "he evidently saw me and ducked. there's a high ridge of sand over there where you saw him. he was on that ridge or you wouldn't have seen him, and when he discovered me he just naturally slid his pony down the other side and walked away under cover of the ridge or else got down and peeked over the top of it. i don't like that. you weren't thinking of going on to-night, were you?" "not unless you think best, mr. lang," replied grace. "then i reckon i'll ride over there in the morning and see what his tracks look like. to-morrow night we'll make camp by the water hole i found to-day, unless some other party comes along and dips the water all out or it disappears between now and then." "did you answer our signal shots that you say you thought you heard?" asked hippy. "of course i did, though i didn't think you would hear them, being as there was a gentle breeze from this direction against me. i staked the ponies down before i went away this morning, and that black bronco of yours gave me some trouble, mrs. gray. i had to lasso him. when are you going to learn to throw the rope?" "when are you going to teach me?" returned grace smilingly. "that's the talk. we'll begin right now. get your rope." grace was instructed first how to coil the rope, how to make the loop and to properly grasp it by its hondo, or knot, before throwing; then the real lesson began. it was sorry work for her at first, but by the time ping uttered his shrill call for supper, grace had learned to throw the rope and let the loop drop to the ground without destroying the form of the loop. hi announced that, on the morrow, she should be able to hit a mark on the ground but that considerable practice would be necessary before she would be able to rope an object that was in motion. supper was followed by an interesting evening, during which hi lang told the overland girls more of the desert secrets. "we are now in the skunk country," he said, as they were about to turn in. "the what?" demanded emma dean. "i do not mean the sort you probably are familiar with in the east. the desert skunk is an entirely different animal. he bites, and his bite is supposed to produce hydrophobia, which means death out here. he is, therefore, known as the hydrophobia skunk. go into any desert camp just before turning-in time and you will hear the desert wanderers speaking of rattlesnakes and skunks. every man who knows those two pests is actually afraid of them." "this is a fine time of day to tell us," complained nora. "that's what i say," wailed emma. "why didn't you tell us after breakfast instead of after supper?" "yes. i know i shall dream of snakes and skunks and other creeping, crawling things to-night," added anne. hi laughed silently, masking his mouth with a hand. "string a rope all the way around your tent on the ground. no snake will go over that, especially a horsehair rope. your lasso is the thing for that, mrs. gray. i will have ping keep the fire going and that will keep the skunks away. the insects and other creeping things we can't stop, so we shall have to take our chances with them. sorry, but it was necessary to tell you. if you are going to be desert travelers you must learn the desert." "you are perfectly right, mr. lang," nodded grace. "i am very glad you have told us so much to-night, especially about skunks and snakes. i will lay my lasso around the tent and sleep in perfect security. girls, let's turn in." emma dreamed of snakes that night and had nightmare, crying out in her sleep and getting a violent shaking from elfreda briggs as her reward. otherwise, the night was peacefully passed. early on the following morning, before any of the outfit was awake, except ping, who seemed never to sleep, hi lang had caught up his pony and ridden out on the desert and on to the spot at which the girls had seen the mysterious horseman the day before. hi readily found the hoof-prints of the pony ridden by the man, and examined them with keen interest. he observed other features of the trail that might easily have escaped even a desert wanderer's observation, and that told him much. "i reckon there's going to be some lively doings before we've got to the end of this journey," muttered the guide, assuming a listening attitude, with head tilted to one side, eyes fixed on the blue sky overhead. he stood motionless in that position for many minutes. finally arousing himself from his reverie, hi mounted his pony and galloped away towards the camp, reaching there some time before the riders were awake. grace harlowe appeared about an hour later, and walked out over the desert a short distance, inhaling the sweet morning air in long, delicious breaths. "what is it that smells so sweet?" she called to the guide, who was busying himself about the camp, for there was a new and strangely sweet fragrance in the air. "that's another of the desert mysteries. supposed to have been rain somewhere. it's like a breath straight from heaven. i love it!" hi straightened up, and, throwing back his shoulders, inhaled deeply. grace was thoughtful as she returned to camp, but it was not of the desert she was thinking. rather was it of the man who was guiding them. he was a poet by nature, but did not know it. he was intelligent and he possessed a mind and a power of reasoning far beyond what one might look for in a man of his calling. "was the morning perfume what induced you to take such an early ride, mr. lang?" asked grace sweetly. the guide gave her a quick glance. "what makes you think i took a gallop this morning, mrs. gray?" "in the first place your pony is not tethered where he was last night, and, secondly, your trail, going and returning, is plain out there," she said, with a gesture towards the desert. "you're sharp," observed hi briefly, and proceeded with his work without offering further information. grace believed, however, that he had ridden out to look at the trail left by the solitary horseman who had been watching their camp, but asked no further questions. hi would speak when ready to do so; that she knew. the overlanders moved at an early hour and made camp that night at the water hole found by the guide the day before. several pairs of keen eyes frequently swept the horizon during the day, and again on the following morning, for the mysterious horseman, but it was three days later before he was again seen in the distance. "what's the matter with my taking a shot at him?" demanded lieutenant wingate. "no!" answered the guide with emphasis. "give the calf enough rope and he'll hang himself. saddle up and we'll ride that way and have a look at the trail again." the watcher disappeared as the overlanders were saddling their ponies. as before, the guide made no comment after he had examined the hoof-prints left by the observer's pony, and the journey was resumed. the days drew on, and the overlanders, now more used to the hardships and heat of traveling on the desert, began to take a real pleasure in the work, to enjoy the free life and the excitement that came to them in one form or another nearly every day. now and then a day would pass without water, but they made the best of it, having confidence that hi lang would find it in time, no matter how dark the outlook. the mysterious horseman had appeared several times, always too far away to enable them to get a good look at him. occasionally hi would go out for a look at the pony's trail, but it was not until they were nearing the mountain ranges, after three weeks of journeying across the hot sands, that the guide gave a direct answer to a direct question as to whether or not he knew what the mysterious one was up to. hippy had asked the question when they were at supper one evening. "i don't know what he's up to, of course," replied hi lang. "i do know that he is the same fellow who left the range after we folks were shot at there, for the hoof-prints of his pony are the same. he is watching us, and we'll hear from him later," he declared impressively. chapter xvi the cross on the desert "you should have let me take a shot at him when i had the chance," grumbled hippy. "time enough to shoot when we are shot at," rebuked grace. "we are not starting trouble, but when it comes we know how to meet it. do we not, mr. lang?" hi lang nodded enthusiastically. grace had been practicing persistently with her mexican lasso, and was now beginning to learn to rope a pony. that is, she had succeeded, when riding alongside a trotting pony who objected to being caught, in casting the lasso over its head, but so far as catching the hind foot of a moving bronco with her loop, that was far beyond her. grace doubted if she ever would gain sufficient skill to do that. elfreda, too, was an apt pupil and not far behind her companion in casting the rope. she was glorying in the life of the west, which was becoming more and more alluring to her as the days passed. "two days more and we'll be in the foothills of the specters. maybe you will be able to rope a wildcat there," said the guide, smiling at the two girls. "four-or two-legged?" inquired hippy. "possibly both. after we get cooled off in the mountains, if you folks think you wish to go on down into the colorado desert, i will show you some real desert heat. by comparison, this desert is as cool as a summer resort." grace said they would discuss their future movements after they had rested up a bit in the mountains. all the girls were looking forward to the mountains where shade, spring water and cooling breezes awaited them. some of them were filled with curiosity as to what else awaited them there, having in mind the prophecy of the desert rider whom they had succored. it was with thoughts of the mountains, and with eager eyes searching the horizon ahead, that the overland riders set out for their day's journey on the following morning. a brief stop was made at noon for a cup of tea and biscuits, after which the daily search for a water hole was begun. as night approached, the search became more intensive, but it was not until after nightfall that a tank was found. a full moon hung in the heavens and the night was a beautiful one, a peaceful, restful desert night. camp was quickly made a short distance removed from the water hole, and, after water had been supplied to the ponies, and the water bags and pails filled, the party sat down to supper and to a discussion of the topic uppermost in their minds--the attack that had been made on them, and the mysterious horseman. "what is that i see out there?" suddenly demanded nora wingate, pointing to an object out on the desert, some fifty or sixty yards from where she was sitting. "it looks like a cross tilted on its side," said anne. "that's what it is," nodded the guide. "a cross? what for?" questioned emma. "some poor desert traveler who couldn't find a water hole," replied hi lang reflectively. "did you know that thing was there?" demanded emma. "yes, of course." "and yet you camped right here? i shan't sleep a wink to-night." "don't be foolish, emma. let it be a reminder to us to be prudent with our water supply," soothed grace. "i do not suppose this water hole existed at that time; did it, mr. lang?" "it may have. travelers have been known to give up and die of thirst when water was almost within reach of their hand. you will see more such as that as we get south," said hi, nodding in the direction of the leaning cross. "i suppose that, in most instances, they were persons who did not know the desert well," suggested grace. "just so," agreed the guide. "shall we go out and look at it?" "not to-night, thank you. the morning will do for that. it is not a pleasant thought to take to bed with one." hi got up and strode out to look at the cross, followed by hippy. the guide believed in investigating everything. it was a precaution that he had learned after many journeys across the great american desert. it might not mark the resting place of a lost traveler at all; the cross might be a guide to water, or it might mean nothing at all. in any event hi's curiosity must be satisfied. "what do you find?" questioned hippy, as he joined the guide by the leaning cross. "the stones that held it up have been moved, as you see. they are scattered, some half covered with sand. windstorm did that in all probability. queer thing, but i don't see any indications of anything but wind having disturbed the place." "hand me a stone and i'll prop it up," requested hippy. the guide did so, and lieutenant wingate dropped the stone beside it, after straightening up the crude cross. both men heard a metallic sound as the stone struck the ground. the quick ear of hi lang told him that something other than desert sand lay there at the foot of the crossed sticks. "see what it is," urged hi. grace had been observing the movements of the two men and her curiosity was rapidly getting the better of her. "come, elfreda, let us go out and see what those two men are so deeply interested in," she urged, rising and starting towards them, followed by miss briggs. "looks like a tin box," answered hippy. "there's only a corner of it sticking above the sand." hi got down on his knees and peered at the object, then, lighting a match, looked it over more closely. "reckon it's a cracker box. pull it out." "i wouldn't do that," protested grace, who now saw what had so interested hippy and the guide. "it seems like a sacrilege to disturb it." "on the desert, mrs. gray, one's life may depend upon the thoroughness with which he investigates everything that he was not before familiar with--anything unusual. this is unusual." "i know, but---" "out she comes," answered hippy. "oh!" exclaimed grace harlowe under her breath. "another match, please, hi." by the light of the flickering match the men and the two girls peered at the object that lieutenant wingate took from the sand and held up for their inspection. "it isn't a cracker box at all. it looks more like a safe deposit box," he declared. "what shall i do with it, hi?" "take it into camp and open it, of course." grace protested again, but not so insistently as before. the guide said he had a theory about the cross and the supposed grave, a theory which he proposed to prove or disprove before leaving that night's camping place. "i know what it is," volunteered miss briggs. "i have one like it to keep my private papers in, except that this one shows wear and has lost most of its enamel, i suppose from the action of sand and weather." "what is it? what is it?" cried emma, unable longer to restrain her curiosity. following her, as she came running to the scene, were anne and nora. "we don't know yet. it is a box, but we haven't opened it," grace informed her. "who found it?" demanded emma. "mr. lang and hippy." "do--do we get what is in it?" persisted miss dean. "this is an overland affair, emma," said hippy. "mr. lang is an overlander so far as this party is concerned, and, as a matter of fact, he discovered the box." "you mean you did, lieutenant," corrected the guide. "we discovered it. that, i think, is the best way to settle it. however, we are counting our chickens before they are hatched. let's go in by the fire where we can see." hippy carried the box under his arm, followed by the entire overland party, their curiosity being intensified by his delay in opening it. observing this, lieutenant wingate took his time, helped himself to a drink of water, discussed their find with hi, then shifted the box to the other arm and began, discussing the weather. "are you ever going to open that thing?" cried emma. "you are so aggravating." "oh, yes, the box," exclaimed hippy. "come over by the fire where we can see what we are about." hippy sat down, held the box up to his ear and shook it. "yep! something in it. sounds like gold rattling about in there, but the box is locked. get a hammer so i can break it open." "i do not like the idea at all," objected grace somewhat severely. "it is not our property and we have no right to---" "everything on the desert is any man's property," corrected the guide. "further, it is our duty to open the box. we do not know but it may contain the last request of some unfortunate desert traveler, and if that is so it may lay in our power to do him a great service. of course, if you say we must not open it, we will respect your wishes in the matter." "you may do as you wish," answered grace. the guide produced his heavy clasp-knife, provided with a can- opening attachment, and pried the cover loose. "do you wish to open it, brown eyes?" asked hippy, holding the box up to grace. she shook her head. "then here goes for better or for worse," announced lieutenant wingate, throwing open the cover and revealing the contents of the box to the eager gaze of the overlanders. chapter xvii another mystery to solve "fiddlesticks! nothing but paper," wailed emma dean, peering into the mystery box. "no. there is something more." hippy lifted out the paper, a folded paper, and placed it on the ground. "here is a gold watch and a handful of gold. let's see how much there is." he counted out a hundred dollars, which, with some silver and a plain gold ring, and the paper first removed, made up the contents of the box. "not much of a find, is it?" smiled anne. "no. it's a shame, too, after our expectations had been worked up to concert pitch," declared nora. "hippy wingate, this is your doings." "blame the fellow who put the things in the box. i only took them out," grumbled hippy. "guess that's about all, hi," he added, looking up sheepishly at the guide. "you haven't looked at the paper," reminded elfreda. "it's only a piece of wrapping paper," returned hippy. "what do i want to look at that for?" grace harlowe stooped over, picked up the paper and felt it gingerly. "there is something here!" she exclaimed. "the wrapping paper evidently has been folded over as a protection to what is inside." grace thereupon opened the wrapper, revealing a tightly folded package of heavier paper. the rubber band that held the inner package together fell apart as she placed a finger on it to remove it. the eyes of the party were instantly centered on grace harlowe, who carefully unfolded the paper and held it down so that the light from the campfire might shine on it. "it is a map," she said. "it is a map, drawn with pen and ink. this looks promising," she added, spreading the map out on the ground. "what a queer thing to bury, and who did it? surely not the man who lies there under the cross." "i should not take that for granted," observed hi lang quietly. "please let me see it," requested miss briggs. grace handed the map to her, and elfreda studied it frowningly. "it means nothing in particular, i should say. it might be a map of a scene in switzerland for all we know," declared nora. "hippy, you are a champion finder. i wonder if they give medals for persons who find things--who make great finds." "nora dear, if i had found one of the egyptian pyramids out here on the american desert, you would blame me for not handing out the sphinx at the same time," protested hippy. "it may mean a great deal," said grace. "i agree with you," nodded elfreda, who was still studying the map. "it is a mystery map, and it plainly meant something to its possessor or he would not have brought it out here and buried it. by the same token, i should say that it applied to something in this part of the country. i am inclined to believe that it does. there is a name here. mr. lang, do you know of any person of the name of steve carver?" "no, miss briggs. may i have a look?" "oh, pardon me," begged elfreda, handing the map to the guide. hi studied it for several minutes, then returned it. "it's not a picture of anything that i ever saw, i reckon," he said. "what shall we do with it?" asked miss briggs. "i would suggest that we make a copy of it, returning the map to the box and burying the box by the cross where we found it," replied grace. "yes, but what about this gold, brown eyes?" demanded hippy. "put that back, too. it doesn't belong to us, am i not right, mr. lang?" she asked. "i reckon you are," agreed the guide, nodding his approval of the suggestion. "what's the use in finding things?" grumbled hippy, permitting the gold to slip through his fingers into the metal box. elfreda, on a piece of wrapping paper, made a careful copy of the map, then returned it to lieutenant wingate, who placed it in the box and slammed down the cover. "i'll bury the old thing, of course, but some one else will dig it up. that's why i should advise keeping the whole business," said hippy, rising and walking over to the cross with the box under his arm. they heard him working out there and, in a few moments, he returned. "deed's done," he informed them. "what are you going to do with the copy of the map, j. elfreda?" "entertain myself in studying it. nothing may come of that, of course, but, like emma, a mystery does appeal to me." "so it does to me," agreed grace. "were it not for the fact that my intuition tells me that the map is going to play an important part in our journey, i should not have been in favor of making a copy of it, so take good care of the copy, elfreda dear." the rest of the evening was spent in discussing their mysterious find and all sorts of theories were advanced for the box being buried by the leaning cross. hi lang listened to all of this, but made no comment. he had his own ideas on the subject. next morning hi was out long before the others were awake, making an investigation on his own account. he had barely begun this when, upon glancing up, he saw the solitary horseman far out on the desert, sitting motionless, apparently observing the camp of the overland riders. the guide took his time at what he was doing, at the same time keeping a watchful eye on the distant horseman. "i thought so!" exclaimed hi lang. "i think i'll give that fellow a run," he decided after a moment's reflection, during which he observed the watcher narrowly. catching up his pony, the guide quickly saddled, and, mounting, started across the desert at a brisk gallop. five minutes later the solitary horseman turned his pony about and dashed away. hi threw up his rifle and sent a bullet after the man, continuing to fire until the magazine of his rifle was emptied. after reloading hi thrust the rifle into its saddle boot and rode on until he reached the point from which the horseman had been observing. hi lang got down and again examined the hoof-prints of the watcher's pony. "huh!" he grunted. "that cayuse will keep on until something hits him--hits him hard. i reckon i begin to smell a mouse, and i think mrs. gray does, too. hope she didn't hear me shooting back there. but none of that outfit is so sleepy or thick-headed that they don't see or hear pretty much everything that's going on about them." having freed his mind, hi remounted and rode slowly back towards the camp. the chinaman was getting breakfast when mr. lang rode in and tethered his pony. "pack up right after breakfast. we've got a long journey to-day," he directed. ping nodded his understanding and went on with his work, humming to himself. half an hour later the riders began to appear, each with a cheery good morning for their guide and adviser. grace and elfreda came out together. miss briggs paused to chat with the guide, grace walking on and strolling about to get an appetite, as she nearly always did in the early morning. hi lang observed her narrowly when grace halted by the cross and stood gazing down at it thoughtfully. "i wonder who you are, unhappy traveler?" she was murmuring. "i wonder, too, if there are any who are wondering where you are?" grace observed that the ground had been disturbed since last she saw it, but she made no comment when, a few moments later, she joined mr. lang and elfreda. "grace, i was just asking mr. lang who it was that was shooting this morning," greeted elfreda. "i presume he told you it was a mirage of your dreams, did he not?" smiled grace teasingly. "it was mr. lang who did the shooting," replied elfreda. "grace, our mysterious horseman was on the job again this morning." "did you hit him?" questioned grace. hi lang shook his head. "too far away. knew i couldn't get him. all i expected to do was to give him a polite hint that his attentions were displeasing to us. it was the same man that has been following us all along, mrs. gray. it was the same hoofprints, too, that i found up in the range where we first made camp. if that critter and i ever get close enough to see each other's eyes there's going to be a shooting match. when we get to the hills he will have the advantage of us, because he can get closer without being seen." "please don't worry, mr. lang. we will meet that emergency when we come face to face with it. perhaps by then i may have skill enough with the lasso to practice on a real live man," laughed grace. "i reckon you could get most anything you cast for already." "thank you! when do we start?" "right away. just as soon as we finish breakfast. ping is packing up and we will be off in no time." breakfast had been eaten, and in something less than twenty minutes from that time, the party was well on its way, and the sun, red and angry, was showing its upper rim above the sands of the desert. "a hot time on the old desert to-day," observed hippy. "emma, how would you like a dish of strawberry ice cream for luncheon?" he teased. "i think you are real mean," pouted emma. grace, at this juncture, galloped up beside the guide to ask him about the water hole that they were hoping to reach, that day, but from his shake of the head she knew that he was not particularly hopeful about finding water there. "it should be easy for you to nose out a water tank, mr. lang," she said, smiling over at him. "how so?" "you are so successful in unraveling the mysteries of nature that you surely should be able to discover water even where there isn't any." "what are you driving at, mrs. gray?" "i have an idea that you solved at least one mystery this morning." hi lang flushed a little under his tan and shook his head. "there's no use trying to keep anything from you, and there's no reason that i know of, why i should. no one is buried in that place where we found the box. the cross was set up to keep people away so they wouldn't find the box with the gold and the map. it was my idea that we should find it to be so. how did you know?" "i saw what you had been doing," answered grace. "what do you think is the most important contents of the box, the gold?" "no. i reckon the map might be a sight more valuable than the handful of gold if one knew where to find the place that the map pictures. there's a heap of bad actors down this way, mrs. gray. they are regular land pirates. we call them desert pirates. they'd murder a man for two bits, and i reckon that maybe they had something to do with that place back there, and that the fellow who owned the map, when he saw the pirates coming, buried it so they shouldn't find it." "then this is another mystery for us to solve, mr. lang--the mystery of the buried map. i suppose you have discovered that the girls of the overland riders are possessed of the usual curiosity of their sex, have you not?" hi laughed silently. "you've got a poser this time. 'fraid your curiosity won't be gratified, so far as that map is concerned, but i reckon you'll find so much doing before long that you will forget all about this particular mystery. we are not being watched out of mere curiosity, mrs. gray," declared the guide. "i am well aware of that, mr. lang," replied grace harlowe gravely. chapter xviii an old indian trick it was the most trying day of their journey that the overlanders were experiencing, because of the heat and the fact that they were getting further and further below sea level. the heat was a lifeless heat, and the members of the outfit found themselves nodding and swaying in their saddles, keeping awake only by much effort. "water only five miles away," called hippy wingate late in the afternoon in a cheerful voice. "wake up, overlanders! hi says we will be there before sundown." a little later the party broke into a gallop, leaving ping wing and his lazy burros far to the rear of them. they were now crossing that arid region known as the pahute mesa, and, just over the horizon, lay a series of broken mountain ranges, wild, cut off from civilization, and shunned by all save those whose duty, fancy or love of adventure called them there. on beyond these the desert again took up its monotonous reach, hotter, more deadly than before. just now, however, the thoughts of the overland riders were on the water hole for which they were heading, and, next in importance, the cool mountain ranges. hi lang beckoned to grace to ride up to him. "what is it, mr. lang?" she asked. "please caution the young ladies to be sparing of the water." "why, it isn't possible that we are short of water," protested grace. "we may be." "will you please explain? your words intimate that you may have discovered something." "i saw dust rising from the desert over yonder, a short time ago. it moved along in a little cloud to the westward and finally disappeared." "do you think it was our mysterious horseman?" asked grace. "maybe. there was more than one horse, as i could tell from the dust kicked up." grace asked what relation that had to the shortage of water. "just this, mrs. gray. that cloud rose--and i saw it the instant it appeared--from about where the tank that we are heading for should be. that's all. of course i don't know what those folks were doing there, but i am warning you to go easy on the water." grace thanked him and rode over to her companions to caution them to be sparing of the water, saying that it were possible that they might be short of it, though grace confessed to herself that she did not see how even a visit of the desert "pirates" to a water hole possibly could prevent her outfit from getting sufficient water for their use. of course, if there were but little water in the tank it might take a long time to get enough for the ponies. "something has occurred, has it not?" questioned elfreda in a tone barely loud enough for grace to hear. "mr. lang saw a cloud of dust that aroused his suspicion. the guide has something of an imagination," added grace, smiling at her perspiring companion. after a little hi lang ordered the party to drop into a slower pace, saying that he wished to save the ponies so far as possible. "dismount, but wait before you unpack," directed the guide, when the party arrived at the water hole. "girls, please stay where you are for the present," called grace. "what's the big idea?" demanded hippy wingate. "mr. lang wishes to see if any one has been here. he thought he saw a dust cloud in this direction this afternoon and desires to have a look around, so don't stamp about and destroy the trail, if there is such a thing," admonished grace. hi lang got down in the water hole, and for a few moments was out of their sight. he rose finally and clambered out, his face wearing a stern expression, and grace saw at once that the guide was trying desperately to control his temper. without so much as looking at the overlanders, hi lang began nosing about, now and then bending over to peer at the ground, stepping cautiously, following a crooked course, all of which excited hippy wingate's merriment. "he works just like a dog does when the rabbit season opens," declared the lieutenant. "what's he up to?" "looking for trouble," suggested emma. hi followed the trail he had picked up some little distance out on the desert, which the light of the full moon enabled him to do. he then stood up and gazed at the sky for a brief moment. "unsaddle and make camp," he directed tersely. "did you find what you expected?" asked grace. "yes. i'll tell you about it as soon as we make camp." "how's the water?" called hippy. "there isn't a drop in the tank, lieutenant. ping, you will give the ponies about a quart apiece from our supply, no more. we will stake down now." camp was quickly made and the bacon was frying over a small, flickering cook-fire a few moments afterward. efforts to be merry at supper that night were a failure, and hi lang was unusually taciturn. "may we hear the worst now, mr. lang?" asked grace as they finished the meal. "as i told you, there is no water in the tank, but the sand is still moist, showing that there was water there a short time since." "some one must have been rather dry," observed hippy, but no one laughed at his humor. "there probably was not much water left there after the party before us finished helping themselves, but there would have been sufficient for us if they had left the tank alone. they tampered with it, folks!" "how do you mean, hi?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "by digging in and poking about in the tank they have managed to start the water seeping deeper into the ground until it finally found a new course and disappeared. it's an old indian trick they've worked on us." "is it possible that men can be so desperate?" wondered anne nesbit. "men!" exploded the guide. "they're not men. they're low-down hounds!" "why should they wish to do these things to us?" demanded nora, flushing with resentment. "there were three men in the party this time, one being the same fellow that has followed us most of the way out here. i don't know who the others are. it isn't so much the water that's bothering me as it is that they don't come out and face us if they have a grudge to settle with us. i'm ready to meet them and i reckon you folks are too." "i think it would be a relief to have them do so," agreed elfreda briggs. "this constant tormenting gets on one's nerves after a time." "what is your plan? i know you have one, mr. lang," spoke up grace. "the clouds are making up in the south, and in a couple of hours they will hide the moon. it isn't advisable to do anything until the night gets good and dark, so i suggest that you folks lie down and get some rest, for we have a long, hard ride ahead of us." "to-night? ride to-night?" questioned emma. "yes. ride and ride hard. even the lazy burros have got to get a move on. we must ride all night to-night, and when day dawns we must be in or near forty-mile canyon. then let those pirates find us if they can. they will find us sooner or later, in all probability, but by that time we shall be doing some stalking on our own account. you see, they will be expecting to find us here in the morning, but we shall be far on our journey by then," said the guide. "what! ride all night?" demanded emma. "i'll die! i surely will." "and probably all day to-morrow," nodded the guide. "i will start the chinaman on his way the moment the sky becomes overcast, and we will follow an hour or so later. you folks will have that much longer to sleep. good-night, folks." hi got up abruptly and walked away to give his orders to ping wing. "this is where we link arms with trouble," observed miss briggs, with a shake of the head. "stick by me. i have a rope and i know how to throw it, j. elfreda dear," replied grace harlowe laughingly. chapter xix the warning "turn out!" it was hi lang's voice that summoned the girls from their tents, and a far from welcome summons it was, for they were sleeping soundly. "lieutenant, the ponies are saddled and ready," said the guide, halting at hippy's tent. "please give the riders the tent equipment to carry and assist them to lash the stuff on. everything else has gone forward." "all right, old ma-an. can't give me five minutes for a cat-nap, can you?" begged hippy. "turn out!" hippy yawned and got up. the night was now pitch dark, and lieutenant wingate fell over tent stakes and ropes and whatever else was handy for him to catch his toes on, as he staggered about aimlessly. bethinking himself of the guide's orders, hippy suddenly began pulling up the stakes from the girls' tent and let it down on their heads. emma dean cried out, which brought a stern command for silence from mr. lang. following that, there was not a sound in the camp during the next fifteen minutes. "packs lashed to ponies behind saddles," announced hippy. "party ready to move." "mount and follow me. no loud talking, please; light no matches. you understand why i am so strict?" said the guide in an apologetic tone. "we understand fully, mr. lang," replied grace in a low voice. "start!" he commanded. the start was made at a jog-trot, which, after a few minutes, was changed to a gallop. this pace was continued for some time, but finally the guide slowed down and began peering into the darkness, looking for ping and his burros. elfreda marveled at the almost uncanny instinct of their guide, and how ping could lay a course that could be followed in the dark was a mystery to her. she asked hi lang how it was done. "see that red star over on the horizon, miss briggs? ping is instructed to keep that star between the ears of his burro and not to wobble. by keeping the same star between the ears of my bronco i am bound to overhaul ping, provided he has held to his course. i am, however, allowing for some deviation and keeping a close lookout." it was not more than ten minutes after that when mr. lang discovered the chinaman and his burden bearers plodding along less than a hundred yards to the right of the course that the overland riders were following. ping, though he had heard the party coming up, held to his course until directed to fall in behind them. "a mariner following a compass course could do no better than that," declared grace harlowe. "it really is marvelous, though mr. lang doesn't think so," replied elfreda. from that point on the journey was slow and wearisome. no one complained, however, and the ponies with their riders moved through the night like specters of the desert. the first leaden streaks in the sky in the east next morning found the overland riders still a long distance from their objective, the clouds not having darkened the moon as early in the evening as hi lang had hoped they might do, thus delaying the start. "i see nothing to interest us," announced grace after a survey of the desert with her glasses. "neither do i. reckon that spy will be surprised when he makes his morning call and finds us gone," chuckled the guide. "yonder are the mountains where we turn in," he added, pointing. "i thought that was a cloud on the horizon," said miss briggs. "how far is it from here?" "about five miles. we'll be there in two hours. mrs. gray, will you use your glasses occasionally as we go ahead? stop now and then and take your time in making observations. you can catch up with us without straining the pony, i reckon," grinned the guide. "don't we stop for breakfast soon?" begged emma. "tighten your belt," answered the guide. "it may be some hours before we can settle down for rest and food." emma groaned dismally, and hippy looked serious. missing a meal meant taking a good part of the joy of living from his day. sweltering heat followed the rising of the sun, and, as it lighted up the desert with its glare, grace stopped and began her survey of the horizon as requested by the guide. she sat her pony until she had carefully examined it all the way around. "all clear, so far as i can see, mr. lang," she said, riding up to him. hi nodded, but made no comment, for he could read the desert better than could grace harlowe with her powerful binoculars. it was eight o'clock in the morning when finally they turned into forty-mile canyon and began picking their way over the rough ground. the desert heat followed them until the walls of the canyon rose sheer for several hundred feet, and they came to a cascade that, falling into the canyon, became a mountain brook. here there was a marked change in the temperature. "dismount and water the horses; then we will press on," directed the guide. "drink cautiously yourselves. this water is too cold to be gulped down and will chill your blood if you take too much of it. do not let the ponies have all they want, either." "you mean to say that we will go on after breakfast, do you not?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "no. we move in ten minutes." "humph! france in wartime was living. this is--well, i don't believe my vocabulary is quite equal to the occasion," declared hippy. "do we go the entire length of this canyon, mr. lang?" asked grace. "no. there are several trails leading out of it, but i shall not take the first one. i prefer to take the second or third trail, perhaps just before night. whoever is interested in us will surely find our trail leading into forty-mile canyon and will follow it, but by the time they reach, say the second turning-off path, the canyon will be as dark as a dungeon. they will then either make camp for the night or turn back, believing that we are going all the way through the canyon." elfreda nodded her appreciation of the guide's reasoning. "with the easier traveling on the desert, which they probably will follow, they will be able to take their time, knowing that they can head us off at the lower end of the canyon. you see, a straight line isn't always the shortest distance between two points so far as time is concerned," smiled hi lang. "but we won't come out at the lower end, eh?" nodded hippy. "you said it, lieutenant." "i always say something rather brilliant before mess," observed hippy airily. "yes, but after mess you are afflicted with what might be called a 'fat mind,'" interjected emma dean. hippy grinned and took up another hole in his belt. from that point on, the ponies traveled in the mountain stream. "there's no need to be quiet here. make all the noise you wish," suggested the guide. "may i scream?" called emma. hi lang nodded, and emma uttered a wild cowboy yell which so startled her pony that the little fellow jumped, and, losing his footing on a slippery rock, went down on his nose. emma landed in the stream, and for a few moments there was excitement among the overland riders, hippy and grace succeeding in rescuing emma and holding her pony before serious results could follow. emma, however, was soaked to the skin; her hair was wet and tumbled, and in a short time her face took on a bluish tinge from her ducking in the icy cold stream. "serves you right," declared hippy wingate. "anybody who can make a noise like that before breakfast ought to be ducked." "were it not that the water is so cold, i should be inclined to agree with you," laughed grace. after the girls had walked emma about to get her blood circulating, a fresh start was made. thereafter the journey was uninterrupted until darkness began to settle over the canyon. in passing, the guide had pointed out in turn three trails leading up the mountainside, but the overlanders were unable to see anything that resembled a trail in any one of them. when they reached the fourth trail hi ordered a halt while he investigated it. "we shall leave the canyon by this trail. you will have to climb the mountain and lead your ponies," directed the guide on his return. "it will be a hard climb, but it has to be made. i'll lead the way. dismount and follow me." night had fully fallen when, after a desperately hard climb, the top of the mountain was reached. the overlanders were tired and hungry, but they were not to have their supper yet. hi pushed deeper into the mountains before he found a place to his liking. then they had supper and soon after were sound asleep. before sunrise the next morning the journey was resumed. their objective was the specter range, still a four-days' journey distant. when they at last reached the range they pitched their camp on the western edge, overlooking an arid desert to the south, broken mountain ranges in all other directions. "did you see any trail marks at the point where we entered the specters, mrs. gray?" asked the guide of grace. "no. should i have seen something?" "several horsemen passed that way only a short time before we arrived, but, from the glance i got of the trail, i don't think the fellow who's been dogging us was among them." "who could they have been?" "wild horse hunters, maybe. there're plenty of them and they're usually a tough bunch. i'll scout about and see what else i can discover." mr. lang discovered nothing of importance, nor was the camp disturbed that night. early next morning grace went out to familiarize herself with their surroundings and also to try to shoot some game, for the party needed fresh meat. she had gone only a short distance when, her gaze focused on a yucca tree ahead. fastened to the tree was a sheet of paper, evidently recently put there, and on this was a crudely drawn heart with a bullet hole through it. beneath the heart were scrawled the words: take notice hi lang and your fresh kids! grace stared in amazement for a moment, then removed the paper from the tree and flattened it out on a rock. taking a pencil, she drew a smaller heart below the one already there and filled it in entirely in black. she put the paper back in place and, drawing her revolver, put a bullet hole through the center of the black heart. "i hope they'll take the hint," she muttered, and turned back toward the camp, knowing that the sound of her shot would cause anxiety. "what were you shooting at?" cried hippy, who had started to run toward the sound. "at a mark," replied grace truthfully. "oh, all right. breakfast's ready." grace went to the stream that flowed from the foot of the waterfall near by. the stream followed a shallow ravine for a short distance then disappeared in a crevice in the rocks. as she was washing her face, grace straightened up to throw her hair out of the way. she gasped in amazement: "gracious, i'm getting nervous! i thought i saw a face peer out from behind the waterfall!" hi came in, stating that he had shot a bear. "it's a small one, and after breakfast i'll have him over here and we'll have bear steak." "did you get anything else, mr. lang?" asked elfreda. "well, i learned that we were not trailed here, but were headed off. i think that's alkali pete's--otherwise known as snake mcglory--work. then, too," and he turned his eyes on grace, "i saw a black heart." "a black heart!" was the cry. after the story was told anne asked: "do you know what it means?" "no, mrs. nesbit. but keep away from the yucca tree. a gun may be trained on the spot. never be without your weapons in this country," he warned, "and keep eyes and ears open." then he left them, to go for the bear. grace walked to the waterfall with elfreda. "grace harlowe gray, i've been studying that map," elfreda said. "look here. i think this is the very place meant." "oh, elfreda, i believe you're right!" cried grace after studying the map, which elfreda put before her, for a moment. "there's the pyramid rock and the waterfall. yonder are the three rocks designated as 'the three bears,' and there's the trunk of what was a yucca tree, and the stream disappears just a few yards beyond us--'stream's end,' as it says on the map! elfreda---" "grace, look! a rag doll over there on that boulder!" interrupted elfreda. the two girls went over. the doll was soiled, but had evidently not lain out in the weather. "shall we take it in?" asked elfreda. "no; leave it where the child put it. but we'd better keep watch on the place. it's queer to find a child's toy here, and while it may mean little, it may mean much." when the two girls returned to camp they found that hi was just back with the bear. "oh, girls! hippy! mr. lang!" and the two in chorus fairly spilled out the story of the face seen by grace back of the waterfall and the doll and their belief that the map was of the place on which they now camped. hi lang took the map and studied it intently. "it surely is," he finally announced. "what does the map mean?" questioned anne. "oh, i guess there'd been rumors of gold or silver, and some one, believing the stories, made a map, maybe by hearsay, maybe at first hand. maybe he talked too much, and some other fellow knocked him on the head and took it." "don't you think there's anything in it?" inquired emma dean disappointedly. "oh, maybe so, maybe not. can't say." after lunch grace donned hip boots and went down toward the fall. seeing elfreda there intent on the map, she announced: "i'm going wading, elfreda. want to come?" "emphatically not. do your boots leak?" "i'll tell you in a moment," laughed grace, stepping into the water. "all right, so far," she called, wading toward the fall. grace thrust her bare arms through the sheet of water pouring from above, groping for the rocks behind. sharp screams, at first loud and piercing, an instant later muffled and seeming far away, brought elfreda to her feet. grace was nowhere to be seen. "help! grace has gone in!" shouted elfreda, plunging into the cold water. chapter xx conclusion hippy heard. hi, farther away, heard. both ran through the bushes. anne, nora, and emma sped to the stream. hippy and elfreda were searching the bottom of the stream, which was not more than three feet deep. hi stopped them and asked elfreda to tell what she knew. "both hands were thrust through the fall like this," and elfreda thrust her own hands through the sheet of water. "i was looking at the map when i heard her scream. looking up, she had disappeared." lang nodded and plunged through the waterfall. those on the outside heard a shot, followed almost instantly by a second one. at the sound elfreda and hippy plunged through the fall. near the base of the fall was no wall of rock behind the water. instead, a tunnel-like cave led into the mountain. elfreda gasped and hippy looked in amazement. grace lay on the floor of the cave and hi lang had a man flown and was beating him, while a little girl was trying to aid the man by striking hi over the head and shoulders with a stick. wingate snatched the stick from her. the child shrank back, and hi, realizing that he was going too far, ceased beating the man. "the fellow struck mrs. gray with the butt of a revolver, i reckon, then shot at me. i put a bullet through his shoulder and we clinched. how's mrs. gray, miss briggs?" "i'll have her around in a few minutes," answered elfreda confidently. "who's the man and what is he?" "some crazy loon. strong as a giant, too. here, you!" to the child reaching toward the man's revolver that lay on the floor. "i'll take that. is this man your father?" the child nodded. "what's your name, kid?" "lindy silver." "he grabbed my hands and jerked me into the cave. then he struck me," explained grace, who had opened her eyes and now sat up. "the scoundrel!" exclaimed hi, jerking the man to his feet. at hi lang's suggestion, hippy and the two girls went up to the camp. it was an hour later when the guide joined them. "the fellow's name is not silver. he's steve carver," hi informed his hearers. "he's loony. he didn't say so, but he thinks he has a claim that's valuable. he declared, too, that we're here to rob him and threatened to get us if we didn't move on at once." "was it he who put the paper on the yucca tree?" questioned elfreda. "no, he didn't do that." "then we have other foes," said grace slowly. "what a shame to let lindy live like a wild animal," broke in elfreda. "perhaps we can do something for her," responded grace. just then a revolver, fired close at hand, sent a bullet a few inches from nora's head. then came a rattling fire of rifle shots. the rifle bullets were going high, possibly due to the fact that they were being fired from a point higher than the camp. the men, armed only with revolvers, had gone from the camp at the revolver shot. "quick, elfreda!" cried grace. "rifles and ammunition for all. for hi and hippy, too. we're being attacked!" "him come along," chirped ping wing, trotting up to elfreda with a rifle in either hand and two belts of ammunition. "take them to the men," ordered elfreda. grace took command of her overland riders and placed them at advantageous points out of sight behind rocks and bushes. from her own position grace saw a head and a pair of shoulders above them on the ridge and a rifle aimed toward the spot where anne was stationed. before the fellow could fire there was a report near at hand. "got him!" exclaimed the guide. "now we'll get it!" muttered grace. they did. bullets from the ridge above them rained on the foliage and the rocks about the campers, but so far none was hurt, though they could tell that several of the attackers received bullet wounds when raising their own rifles in order to fire. creeping closer to hi lang, grace held a whispered consultation, suggesting to him that they try to flank their opponents and to drive them toward the camp where it would be possible to capture them. this was agreed to, but at elfreda's suggestion they decided to wait until darkness fell. when night came there was shooting from the ridge, but the return fire came only from one rifle, that of ping wing. even this ceased in about half an hour, but by that time the overlanders met in the rear of the party on the ridge. here they spread out and began to move cautiously toward the camp, hoping to come upon their attackers, either singly or together, and drive them before them. grace had gone a short distance when she saw a man rise suddenly about ten feet in front of her. without a sound she rose and, slipping her revolver to her left hand, grasped her lasso with her right. it was a true throw, and the rope fell over the man's shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. without a moment's hesitation, the girl snubbed the lasso about a tree and, holding it firmly, fired three signal shots into the air. the man was heavy, and the best grace could do was to keep the rope taut, taking up the slack when the fellow tried to roll toward her to loosen the strain. "i'll get you for this!" raged the ruffian. "keep quiet or i'll get you first." rifles began to bang toward the camp. three sides were engaged, so it seemed to grace, judging by the sound. what was the meaning of that? the sound of voices presently reached her ears. the prisoner heard, too, and began, to stir. "keep quiet!" ordered grace. "one sound from you and i will shoot. understand?" "yes," he muttered, and sank back. grace strained her ears. were the men of her party or of that of the roped villain? to her relief the men--apparently only two of them--passed by without discovering her and her prisoner, and he, intimidated, kept quiet. suddenly a loud, penetrating "coo-e-e-e-e!" woke the echoes of the mountains. it was the call of the cowboy, a friendly, thrilling sound. a moment of silence, then "overla-a-a-and!" "overla-a-a-and!" cried grace joyfully. "careful, man. i can yell and shoot at the same time," she told her prisoner, who had moved. two men came running over the rocks. "mrs. gray!" shouted the guide. "here! careful! i have a prisoner!" "hullo, kid," cried a familiar voice. "that's bud thomas's voice! the man who gave me this lasso," answered grace, laughing joyously, if a bit hysterically. "sure, it's me. and a lot of the other boys!" the two men came over to grace's side. "hello, kid. you're a smart one. that fellow's snake mcglory, the hombre we boys came out to get." the fighting was over, for the members of mcglory's gang, for such they were, were captured, some of them wounded. "steve carver got his," said lang, on the way back to camp, the two men seeing that mcglory went quietly. "he was the fellow who shot at us and some of this man's gang got him, probably thinking he was one of our outfit." "oh, poor little lindy!" murmured grace. back at the camp grace had to tell her story. "and i caught him because you boys gave me that lasso. wasn't i thankful that i had the rope and had learned to use it! but how did you boys happen to come along?" it seemed, according to bud's story, that belle bates, the wife of the bandit whom grace had wounded when he attacked the overland riders on the apache trail the summer before was the sister of snake mcglory. it was she, bent on vengeance, who had instigated the trailing of the party and the attack on them. snake and his gang were delighted with their task. through a girl of shoshone pete's whom belle liked and confided in, the cowboys had learned of the plan and set forth to prevent its accomplishment. the prisoners were taken to the county seat, and in time received prison sentences for their many crimes in the countryside. hi lang spent some hours in the cave, and when he came back told the girls that carver had not been "loony" after all, for in the cave he found silver, and, time proved, a considerable vein. lindy grieved over her father's death. but the overland riders took her in charge, first registering the mine in her name, inducing hi lang to see to it that it was later worked. the child was sent to school, the overland riders being appointed her guardians by the court. "but now we are to head for home," said grace, leaning over her camp outfit. "ping wing is pleased over that prospect. listen to his song," laughed elfreda. all stopped their work to watch the chinaman pack his stores, singing as he did so: "supposey you makee listen to my singee one piecee sing. me makee he first-chop fashion, about the glate ping wing; he blavest man in desert side, or any side about; me bettee you five dolla', hai! ha blavest party out." the end the scarecrow of oz by l. frank baum dedicated to "the uplifters" of los angeles, california, in grateful appreciation of the pleasure i have derived from association with them, and in recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. they are big men--all of them--and all with the generous hearts of little children. l. frank baum 'twixt you and me the army of children which besieged the postoffice, conquered the postmen and delivered to me its imperious commands, insisted that trot and cap'n bill be admitted to the land of oz, where trot could enjoy the society of dorothy, betsy bobbin and ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade of the tin woodman, the shaggy man, tik-tok and all the other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland. it was no easy task to obey this order and land trot and cap'n bill safely in oz, as you will discover by reading this book. indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the scarecrow, to save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them happily located in ozma's splendid palace and dorothy has promised me that button-bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future, some marvelous adventures in the land of oz, which i hope to be permitted to relate to you in the next oz book. meantime, i am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued enthusiasm over the oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me, all of which are lovingly cherished. it takes more and more oz books every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed many "oz reading societies," where the oz books owned by different members are read aloud. all this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more stories. when the children have had enough of them, i hope they will let me know, and then i'll try to write something different. l. frank baum "royal historian of oz." "ozcot" at hollywood in california, . list of chapters - the great whirlpool - the cavern under the sea - the ork - daylight at last - the little old man of the island - the flight of the midgets - the bumpy man - button-bright is lost, and found again - the kingdom of jinxland - pon, the gardener's boy - the wicked king and googly-goo - the wooden-legged grass-hopper - glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz - the frozen heart - trot meets the scarecrow - pon summons the king to surrender - the ork rescues button-bright - the scarecrow meets an enemy - the conquest of the witch - queen gloria - dorothy, betsy and ozma - the waterfall - the land of oz - the royal reception chapter one the great whirlpool "seems to me," said cap'n bill, as he sat beside trot under the big acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, trot, as how the more we know, the more we find we don't know." "i can't quite make that out, cap'n bill," answered the little girl in a serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "seems to me that all we learn is jus' so much gained." "i know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head; "but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble big world this is. it's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git more'n a few dips o' the oars of knowledge." trot didn't answer. she was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an earnest, simple manner. cap'n bill had been her faithful companion for years and had taught her almost everything she knew. he was a wonderful man, this cap'n bill. not so very old, although his hair was grizzled--what there was of it. most of his head was bald as an egg and as shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. his eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was rugged and bronzed. cap'n bill's left leg was missing, from the knee down, and that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. the wooden leg he wore was good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take trot out for a row or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to "runnin' up aloft" or performing active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. the loss of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting himself to the education and companionship of the little girl. the accident to cap'n bill's leg bad happened at about the time trot was born, and ever since that he had lived with trot's mother as "a star boarder," having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly "keep." he loved the baby and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on cap'n bill's shoulders, for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures together. it is said the fairies had been present at trot's birth and had marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to see and do many wonderful things. the acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a zigzag way to the water's edge, where cap'n bill's boat was moored to a rock by means of a stout cable. it had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air stirring, so cap'n bill and trot had been quietly sitting beneath the shade of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row. they had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. the caves were a source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to explore their awesome depths. "i b'lieve, cap'n," remarked trot, at last, "that it's time for us to start." the old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat. then he shook his head. "mebbe it's time, trot," he answered, "but i don't jes' like the looks o' things this afternoon." "what's wrong?" she asked wonderingly. "can't say as to that. things is too quiet to suit me, that's all. no breeze, not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottest day o' the year. i ain't no weather-prophet, trot, but any sailor would know the signs is ominous." "there's nothing wrong that i can see," said trot. "if there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about it; but--look, cap'n!--the sky is as clear as can be." he looked again and nodded. "p'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed, not wishing to disappoint her. "it's only a little way out, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, trot." together they descended the winding path to the beach. it was no trouble for the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but cap'n bill, because of his wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself from tumbling. on a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill or down required some care. they reached the boat safely and while trot was untying the rope cap'n bill reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his "sou'wester." this sou'wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all occasions--when he wore a coat at all--and the pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even trot wonder where they all came from and why cap'n bill should treasure them. the jackknives--a big one and a little one--the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. but bits of shell, and tin boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around. that was cap'n bill's business, however, and now that he added the candles and the matches to his collection trot made no comment, for she knew these last were to light their way through the caves. the sailor always rowed the boat, for he handled the oars with strength and skill. trot sat in the stern and steered. the place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were located, right at the water's edge. they were nearly a mile from shore and about halfway across the bay when trot suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: "what's that, cap'n?" he stopped rowing and turned half around to look. "that, trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty like a whirlpool." "what makes it, cap'n?" "a whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. i was afraid as we'd meet with trouble, trot. things didn't look right. the air was too still." "it's coming closer," said the girl. the old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with all his strength. "'tain't comin' closer to us, trot," he gasped; "it's we that are comin' closer to the whirlpool. the thing is drawin' us to it like a magnet!" trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she grasped the tiller firmly and tried to steer the boat away; but she said not a word to indicate fear. the swirl of the water as they came nearer made a roaring sound that was fearful to listen to. so fierce and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew the surface of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting downward toward the center, where a big hole had been made in the ocean--a hole with walls of water that were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air. the boat in which trot and cap'n bill were riding was just on the outer edge of this saucer-like slant, and the old sailor knew very well that unless he could quickly force the little craft away from the rushing current they would soon be drawn into the great black hole that yawned in the middle. so he exerted all his might and pulled as he had never pulled before. he pulled so hard that the left oar snapped in two and sent cap'n bill sprawling upon the bottom of the boat. he scrambled up quickly enough and glanced over the side. then he looked at trot, who sat quite still, with a serious, far-away look in her sweet eyes. the boat was now speeding swiftly of its own accord, following the line of the circular basin round and round and gradually drawing nearer to the great hole in the center. any further effort to escape the whirlpool was useless, and realizing this fact cap'n bill turned toward trot and put an arm around her, as if to shield her from the awful fate before them. he did not try to speak, because the roar of the waters would have drowned the sound of his voice. these two faithful comrades had faced dangers before, but nothing to equal that which now faced them. yet cap'n bill, noting the look in trot's eyes and remembering how often she had been protected by unseen powers, did not quite give way to despair. the great hole in the dark water--now growing nearer and nearer--looked very terrifying; but they were both brave enough to face it and await the result of the adventure. chapter two the cavern under the sea the circles were so much smaller at the bottom of the basin, and the boat moved so much more swiftly, that trot was beginning to get dizzy with the motion, when suddenly the boat made a leap and dived headlong into the murky depths of the hole. whirling like tops, but still clinging together, the sailor and the girl were separated from their boat and plunged down--down--down--into the farthermost recesses of the great ocean. at first their fall was swift as an arrow, but presently they seemed to be going more moderately and trot was almost sure that unseen arms were about her, supporting her and protecting her. she could see nothing, because the water filled her eyes and blurred her vision, but she clung fast to cap'n bill's sou'wester, while other arms clung fast to her, and so they gradually sank down and down until a full stop was made, when they began to ascend again. but it seemed to trot that they were not rising straight to the surface from where they had come. the water was no longer whirling them and they seemed to be drawn in a slanting direction through still, cool ocean depths. and then--in much quicker time than i have told it--up they popped to the surface and were cast at full length upon a sandy beach, where they lay choking and gasping for breath and wondering what had happened to them. trot was the first to recover. disengaging herself from cap'n bill's wet embrace and sitting up, she rubbed the water from her eyes and then looked around her. a soft, bluish-green glow lighted the place, which seemed to be a sort of cavern, for above and on either side of her were rugged rocks. they had been cast upon a beach of clear sand, which slanted upward from the pool of water at their feet--a pool which doubtless led into the big ocean that fed it. above the reach of the waves of the pool were more rocks, and still more and more, into the dim windings and recesses of which the glowing light from the water did not penetrate. the place looked grim and lonely, but trot was thankful that she was still alive and had suffered no severe injury during her trying adventure under water. at her side cap'n bill was sputtering and coughing, trying to get rid of the water he had swallowed. both of them were soaked through, yet the cavern was warm and comfortable and a wetting did not dismay the little girl in the least. she crawled up the slant of sand and gathered in her hand a bunch of dried seaweed, with which she mopped the face of cap'n bill and cleared the water from his eyes and ears. presently the old man sat up and stared at her intently. then he nodded his bald head three times and said in a gurgling voice: "mighty good, trot; mighty good! we didn't reach davy jones's locker that time, did we? though why we didn't, an' why we're here, is more'n i kin make out." "take it easy, cap'n," she replied. "we're safe enough, i guess, at least for the time being." he squeezed the water out of the bottoms of his loose trousers and felt of his wooden leg and arms and head, and finding he had brought all of his person with him he gathered courage to examine closely their surroundings. "where d'ye think we are, trot?" he presently asked. "can't say, cap'n. p'r'aps in one of our caves." he shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't think that, at all. the distance we came up didn't seem half as far as the distance we went down; an' you'll notice there ain't any outside entrance to this cavern whatever. it's a reg'lar dome over this pool o' water, and unless there's some passage at the back, up yonder, we're fast pris'ners." trot looked thoughtfully over her shoulder. "when we're rested," she said, "we will crawl up there and see if there's a way to get out." cap'n bill reached in the pocket of his oilskin coat and took out his pipe. it was still dry, for he kept it in an oilskin pouch with his tobacco. his matches were in a tight tin box, so in a few moments the old sailor was smoking contentedly. trot knew it helped him to think when he was in any difficulty. also, the pipe did much to restore the old sailor's composure, after his long ducking and his terrible fright--a fright that was more on trot's account than his own. the sand was dry where they sat, and soaked up the water that dripped from their clothing. when trot had squeezed the wet out of her hair she began to feel much like her old self again. by and by they got upon their feet and crept up the incline to the scattered boulders above. some of these were of huge size, but by passing between some and around others, they were able to reach the extreme rear of the cavern. "yes," said trot, with interest, "here's a round hole." "and it's black as night inside it," remarked cap'n bill. "just the same," answered the girl, "we ought to explore it, and see where it goes, 'cause it's the only poss'ble way we can get out of this place." cap'n bill eyed the hole doubtfully "it may be a way out o' here, trot," he said, "but it may be a way into a far worse place than this. i'm not sure but our best plan is to stay right here." trot wasn't sure, either, when she thought of it in that light. after awhile she made her way back to the sands again, and cap'n bill followed her. as they sat down, the child looked thoughtfully at the sailor's bulging pockets. "how much food have we got, cap'n?" she asked. "half a dozen ship's biscuits an' a hunk o' cheese," he replied. "want some now, trot?" she shook her head, saying: "that ought to keep us alive 'bout three days if we're careful of it." "longer'n that, trot," said cap'n bill, but his voice was a little troubled and unsteady. "but if we stay here we're bound to starve in time," continued the girl, "while if we go into the dark hole--" "some things are more hard to face than starvation," said the sailor-man, gravely. "we don't know what's inside that dark hole: trot, nor where it might lead us to." "there's a way to find that out," she persisted. instead of replying, cap'n bill began searching in his pockets. he soon drew out a little package of fish-hooks and a long line. trot watched him join them together. then he crept a little way up the slope and turned over a big rock. two or three small crabs began scurrying away over the sands and the old sailor caught them and put one on his hook and the others in his pocket. coming back to the pool he swung the hook over his shoulder and circled it around his head and cast it nearly into the center of the water, where he allowed it to sink gradually, paying out the line as far as it would go. when the end was reached, he began drawing it in again, until the crab bait was floating on the surface. trot watched him cast the line a second time, and a third. she decided that either there were no fishes in the pool or they would not bite the crab bait. but cap'n bill was an old fisherman and not easily discouraged. when the crab got away he put another on the hook. when the crabs were all gone he climbed up the rocks and found some more. meantime trot tired of watching him and lay down upon the sands, where she fell fast asleep. during the next two hours her clothing dried completely, as did that of the old sailor. they were both so used to salt water that there was no danger of taking cold. finally the little girl was wakened by a splash beside her and a grunt of satisfaction from cap'n bill. she opened her eyes to find that the cap'n had landed a silver-scaled fish weighing about two pounds. this cheered her considerably and she hurried to scrape together a heap of seaweed, while cap'n bill cut up the fish with his jackknife and got it ready for cooking. they had cooked fish with seaweed before. cap'n bill wrapped his fish in some of the weed and dipped it in the water to dampen it. then he lighted a match and set fire to trot's heap, which speedily burned down to a glowing bed of ashes. then they laid the wrapped fish on the ashes, covered it with more seaweed, and allowed this to catch fire and burn to embers. after feeding the fire with seaweed for some time, the sailor finally decided that their supper was ready, so he scattered the ashes and drew out the bits of fish, still encased in their smoking wrappings. when these wrappings were removed, the fish was found thoroughly cooked and both trot and cap'n bill ate of it freely. it had a slight flavor of seaweed and would have been better with a sprinkling of salt. the soft glow which until now had lighted the cavern, began to grow dim, but there was a great quantity of seaweed in the place, so after they had eaten their fish they kept the fire alive for a time by giving it a handful of fuel now and then. from an inner pocket the sailor drew a small flask of battered metal and unscrewing the cap handed it to trot. she took but one swallow of the water although she wanted more, and she noticed that cap'n bill merely wet his lips with it. "s'pose," said she, staring at the glowing seaweed fire and speaking slowly, "that we can catch all the fish we need; how 'bout the drinking-water, cap'n?" he moved uneasily but did not reply. both of them were thinking about the dark hole, but while trot had little fear of it the old man could not overcome his dislike to enter the place. he knew that trot was right, though. to remain in the cavern, where they now were, could only result in slow but sure death. it was nighttime up on the earth's surface, so the little girl became drowsy and soon fell asleep. after a time the old sailor slumbered on the sands beside her. it was very still and nothing disturbed them for hours. when at last they awoke the cavern was light again. they had divided one of the biscuits and were munching it for breakfast when they were startled by a sudden splash in the pool. looking toward it they saw emerging from the water the most curious creature either of them had ever beheld. it wasn't a fish, trot decided, nor was it a beast. it had wings, though, and queer wings they were: shaped like an inverted chopping-bowl and covered with tough skin instead of feathers. it had four legs--much like the legs of a stork, only double the number--and its head was shaped a good deal like that of a poll parrot, with a beak that curved downward in front and upward at the edges, and was half bill and half mouth. but to call it a bird was out of the question, because it had no feathers whatever except a crest of wavy plumes of a scarlet color on the very top of its head. the strange creature must have weighed as much as cap'n bill, and as it floundered and struggled to get out of the water to the sandy beach it was so big and unusual that both trot and her companion stared at it in wonder--in wonder that was not unmixed with fear. chapter three the ork the eyes that regarded them, as the creature stood dripping before them, were bright and mild in expression, and the queer addition to their party made no attempt to attack them and seemed quite as surprised by the meeting as they were. "i wonder," whispered trot, "what it is." "who, me?" exclaimed the creature in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "why, i'm an ork." "oh!" said the girl. "but what is an ork?" "i am," he repeated, a little proudly, as he shook the water from his funny wings; "and if ever an ork was glad to be out of the water and on dry land again, you can be mighty sure that i'm that especial, individual ork!" "have you been in the water long?" inquired cap'n bill, thinking it only polite to show an interest in the strange creature. "why, this last ducking was about ten minutes, i believe, and that's about nine minutes and sixty seconds too long for comfort," was the reply. "but last night i was in an awful pickle, i assure you. the whirlpool caught me, and--" "oh, were you in the whirlpool, too?" asked trot eagerly. he gave her a glance that was somewhat reproachful. "i believe i was mentioning the fact, young lady, when your desire to talk interrupted me," said the ork. "i am not usually careless in my actions, but that whirlpool was so busy yesterday that i thought i'd see what mischief it was up to. so i flew a little too near it and the suction of the air drew me down into the depths of the ocean. water and i are natural enemies, and it would have conquered me this time had not a bevy of pretty mermaids come to my assistance and dragged me away from the whirling water and far up into a cavern, where they deserted me." "why, that's about the same thing that happened to us," cried trot. "was your cavern like this one?" "i haven't examined this one yet," answered the ork; "but if they happen to be alike i shudder at our fate, for the other one was a prison, with no outlet except by means of the water. i stayed there all night, however, and this morning i plunged into the pool, as far down as i could go, and then swam as hard and as far as i could. the rocks scraped my back, now and then, and i barely escaped the clutches of an ugly sea-monster; but by and by i came to the surface to catch my breath, and found myself here. that's the whole story, and as i see you have something to eat i entreat you to give me a share of it. the truth is, i'm half starved." with these words the ork squatted down beside them. very reluctantly cap'n bill drew another biscuit from his pocket and held it out. the ork promptly seized it in one of its front claws and began to nibble the biscuit in much the same manner a parrot might have done. "we haven't much grub," said the sailor-man, "but we're willin' to share it with a comrade in distress." "that's right," returned the ork, cocking its head sidewise in a cheerful manner, and then for a few minutes there was silence while they all ate of the biscuits. after a while trot said: "i've never seen or heard of an ork before. are there many of you?" "we are rather few and exclusive, i believe," was the reply. "in the country where i was born we are the absolute rulers of all living things, from ants to elephants." "what country is that?" asked cap'n bill. "orkland." "where does it lie?" "i don't know, exactly. you see, i have a restless nature, for some reason, while all the rest of my race are quiet and contented orks and seldom stray far from home. from childhood days i loved to fly long distances away, although father often warned me that i would get into trouble by so doing. "'it's a big world, flipper, my son,' he would say, 'and i've heard that in parts of it live queer two-legged creatures called men, who war upon all other living things and would have little respect for even an ork.' "this naturally aroused my curiosity and after i had completed my education and left school i decided to fly out into the world and try to get a glimpse of the creatures called men. so i left home without saying good-bye, an act i shall always regret. adventures were many, i found. i sighted men several times, but have never before been so close to them as now. also i had to fight my way through the air, for i met gigantic birds, with fluffy feathers all over them, which attacked me fiercely. besides, it kept me busy escaping from floating airships. in my rambling i had lost all track of distance or direction, so that when i wanted to go home i had no idea where my country was located. i've now been trying to find it for several months and it was during one of my flights over the ocean that i met the whirlpool and became its victim." trot and cap'n bill listened to this recital with much interest, and from the friendly tone and harmless appearance of the ork they judged he was not likely to prove so disagreeable a companion as at first they had feared he might be. the ork sat upon its haunches much as a cat does, but used the finger-like claws of its front legs almost as cleverly as if they were hands. perhaps the most curious thing about the creature was its tail, or what ought to have been its tail. this queer arrangement of skin, bones and muscle was shaped like the propellers used on boats and airships, having fan-like surfaces and being pivoted to its body. cap'n bill knew something of mechanics, and observing the propeller-like tail of the ork he said: "i s'pose you're a pretty swift flyer?" "yes, indeed; the orks are admitted to be kings of the air." "your wings don't seem to amount to much," remarked trot. "well, they are not very big," admitted the ork, waving the four hollow skins gently to and fro, "but they serve to support my body in the air while i speed along by means of my tail. still, taken altogether, i'm very handsomely formed, don't you think?" trot did not like to reply, but cap'n bill nodded gravely. "for an ork," said he, "you're a wonder. i've never seen one afore, but i can imagine you're as good as any." that seemed to please the creature and it began walking around the cavern, making its way easily up the slope. while it was gone, trot and cap'n bill each took another sip from the water-flask, to wash down their breakfast. "why, here's a hole--an exit--an outlet!" exclaimed the ork from above. "we know," said trot. "we found it last night." "well, then, let's be off," continued the ork, after sticking its head into the black hole and sniffing once or twice. "the air seems fresh and sweet, and it can't lead us to any worse place than this." the girl and the sailor-man got up and climbed to the side of the ork. "we'd about decided to explore this hole before you came," explained cap'n bill; "but it's a dangerous place to navigate in the dark, so wait till i light a candle." "what is a candle?" inquired the ork. "you'll see in a minute," said trot. the old sailor drew one of the candles from his right-side pocket and the tin matchbox from his left-side pocket. when he lighted the match the ork gave a startled jump and eyed the flame suspiciously; but cap'n bill proceeded to light the candle and the action interested the ork very much. "light," it said, somewhat nervously, "is valuable in a hole of this sort. the candle is not dangerous, i hope?" "sometimes it burns your fingers," answered trot, "but that's about the worst it can do--'cept to blow out when you don't want it to." cap'n bill shielded the flame with his hand and crept into the hole. it wasn't any too big for a grown man, but after he had crawled a few feet it grew larger. trot came close behind him and then the ork followed. "seems like a reg'lar tunnel," muttered the sailor-man, who was creeping along awkwardly because of his wooden leg. the rocks, too, hurt his knees. for nearly half an hour the three moved slowly along the tunnel, which made many twists and turns and sometimes slanted downward and sometimes upward. finally cap'n bill stopped short, with an exclamation of disappointment, and held the flickering candle far ahead to light the scene. "what's wrong?" demanded trot, who could see nothing because the sailor's form completely filled the hole. "why, we've come to the end of our travels, i guess," he replied. "is the hole blocked?" inquired the ork. "no; it's wuss nor that," replied cap'n bill sadly. "i'm on the edge of a precipice. wait a minute an' i'll move along and let you see for yourselves. be careful, trot, not to fall." then he crept forward a little and moved to one side, holding the candle so that the girl could see to follow him. the ork came next and now all three knelt on a narrow ledge of rock which dropped straight away and left a huge black space which the tiny flame of the candle could not illuminate. "h-m!" said the ork, peering over the edge; "this doesn't look very promising, i'll admit. but let me take your candle, and i'll fly down and see what's below us." "aren't you afraid?" asked trot. "certainly i'm afraid," responded the ork. "but if we intend to escape we can't stay on this shelf forever. so, as i notice you poor creatures cannot fly, it is my duty to explore the place for you." cap'n bill handed the ork the candle, which had now burned to about half its length. the ork took it in one claw rather cautiously and then tipped its body forward and slipped over the edge. they heard a queer buzzing sound, as the tail revolved, and a brisk flapping of the peculiar wings, but they were more interested just then in following with their eyes the tiny speck of light which marked the location of the candle. this light first made a great circle, then dropped slowly downward and suddenly was extinguished, leaving everything before them black as ink. "hi, there! how did that happen?" cried the ork. "it blew out, i guess," shouted cap'n bill. "fetch it here." "i can't see where you are," said the ork. so cap'n bill got out another candle and lighted it, and its flame enabled the ork to fly back to them. it alighted on the edge and held out the bit of candle. "what made it stop burning?" asked the creature. "the wind," said trot. "you must be more careful, this time." "what's the place like?" inquired cap'n bill. "i don't know, yet; but there must be a bottom to it, so i'll try to find it." with this the ork started out again and this time sank downward more slowly. down, down, down it went, till the candle was a mere spark, and then it headed away to the left and trot and cap'n bill lost all sight of it. in a few minutes, however, they saw the spark of light again, and as the sailor still held the second lighted candle the ork made straight toward them. it was only a few yards distant when suddenly it dropped the candle with a cry of pain and next moment alighted, fluttering wildly, upon the rocky ledge. "what's the matter?" asked trot. "it bit me!" wailed the ork. "i don't like your candles. the thing began to disappear slowly as soon as i took it in my claw, and it grew smaller and smaller until just now it turned and bit me--a most unfriendly thing to do. oh--oh! ouch, what a bite!" "that's the nature of candles, i'm sorry to say," explained cap'n bill, with a grin. "you have to handle 'em mighty keerful. but tell us, what did you find down there?" "i found a way to continue our journey," said the ork, nursing tenderly the claw which had been burned. "just below us is a great lake of black water, which looked so cold and wicked that it made me shudder; but away at the left there's a big tunnel, which we can easily walk through. i don't know where it leads to, of course, but we must follow it and find out." "why, we can't get to it," protested the little girl. "we can't fly, as you do, you must remember." "no, that's true," replied the ork musingly. "your bodies are built very poorly, it seems to me, since all you can do is crawl upon the earth's surface. but you may ride upon my back, and in that way i can promise you a safe journey to the tunnel." "are you strong enough to carry us?" asked cap'n bill, doubtfully. "yes, indeed; i'm strong enough to carry a dozen of you, if you could find a place to sit," was the reply; "but there's only room between my wings for one at a time, so i'll have to make two trips." "all right; i'll go first," decided cap'n bill. he lit another candle for trot to hold while they were gone and to light the ork on his return to her, and then the old sailor got upon the ork's back, where he sat with his wooden leg sticking straight out sidewise. "if you start to fall, clasp your arms around my neck," advised the creature. "if i start to fall, it's good night an' pleasant dreams," said cap'n bill. "all ready?" asked the ork. "start the buzz-tail," said cap'n bill, with a tremble in his voice. but the ork flew away so gently that the old man never even tottered in his seat. trot watched the light of cap'n bill's candle till it disappeared in the far distance. she didn't like to be left alone on this dangerous ledge, with a lake of black water hundreds of feet below her; but she was a brave little girl and waited patiently for the return of the ork. it came even sooner than she had expected and the creature said to her: "your friend is safe in the tunnel. now, then, get aboard and i'll carry you to him in a jiffy." i'm sure not many little girls would have cared to take that awful ride through the huge black cavern on the back of a skinny ork. trot didn't care for it, herself, but it just had to be done and so she did it as courageously as possible. her heart beat fast and she was so nervous she could scarcely hold the candle in her fingers as the ork sped swiftly through the darkness. it seemed like a long ride to her, yet in reality the ork covered the distance in a wonderfully brief period of time and soon trot stood safely beside cap'n bill on the level floor of a big arched tunnel. the sailor-man was very glad to greet his little comrade again and both were grateful to the ork for his assistance. "i dunno where this tunnel leads to," remarked cap'n bill, "but it surely looks more promisin' than that other hole we crept through." "when the ork is rested," said trot, "we'll travel on and see what happens." "rested!" cried the ork, as scornfully as his shrill voice would allow. "that bit of flying didn't tire me at all. i'm used to flying days at a time, without ever once stopping." "then let's move on," proposed cap'n bill. he still held in his hand one lighted candle, so trot blew out the other flame and placed her candle in the sailor's big pocket. she knew it was not wise to burn two candles at once. the tunnel was straight and smooth and very easy to walk through, so they made good progress. trot thought that the tunnel began about two miles from the cavern where they had been cast by the whirlpool, but now it was impossible to guess the miles traveled, for they walked steadily for hours and hours without any change in their surroundings. finally cap'n bill stopped to rest. "there's somethin' queer about this 'ere tunnel, i'm certain," he declared, wagging his head dolefully. "here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. an' how long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows." "couldn't we walk without a light?" asked trot. "the way seems safe enough." "it does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous. in that case we'd be killed afore we knew it." "suppose i go ahead?" suggested the ork. "i don't fear a fall, you know, and if anything happens i'll call out and warn you." "that's a good idea," declared trot, and cap'n bill thought so, too. so the ork started off ahead, quite in the dark, and hand in band the two followed him. when they had walked in this way for a good long time the ork halted and demanded food. cap'n bill had not mentioned food because there was so little left--only three biscuits and a lump of cheese about as big as his two fingers--but he gave the ork half of a biscuit, sighing as he did so. the creature didn't care for the cheese, so the sailor divided it between himself and trot. they lighted a candle and sat down in the tunnel while they ate. "my feet hurt me," grumbled the ork. "i'm not used to walking and this rocky passage is so uneven and lumpy that it hurts me to walk upon it." "can't you fly along?" asked trot. "no; the roof is too low," said the ork. after the meal they resumed their journey, which trot began to fear would never end. when cap'n bill noticed how tired the little girl was, he paused and lighted a match and looked at his big silver watch. "why, it's night!" he exclaimed. "we've tramped all day, an' still we're in this awful passage, which mebbe goes straight through the middle of the world, an' mebbe is a circle--in which case we can keep walkin' till doomsday. not knowin' what's before us so well as we know what's behind us, i propose we make a stop, now, an' try to sleep till mornin'." "that will suit me," asserted the ork, with a groan. "my feet are hurting me dreadfully and for the last few miles i've been limping with pain." "my foot hurts, too," said the sailor, looking for a smooth place on the rocky floor to sit down. "your foot!" cried the ork. "why, you've only one to hurt you, while i have four. so i suffer four times as much as you possibly can. here; hold the candle while i look at the bottoms of my claws. i declare," he said, examining them by the flickering light, "there are bunches of pain all over them!" "p'r'aps," said trot, who was very glad to sit down beside her companions, "you've got corns." "corns? nonsense! orks never have corns," protested the creature, rubbing its sore feet tenderly. "then mebbe they're--they're-- what do you call 'em, cap'n bill? something 'bout the pilgrim's progress, you know." "bunions," said cap'n bill. "oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions." "it is possible," moaned the ork. "but whatever they are, another day of such walking on them would drive me crazy." "i'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said cap'n bill, encouragingly. "go to sleep an' try to forget your sore feet." the ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man, who didn't see it. then the creature asked plaintively: "do we eat now, or do we starve?" "there's only half a biscuit left for you," answered cap'n bill. "no one knows how long we'll have to stay in this dark tunnel, where there's nothing whatever to eat; so i advise you to save that morsel o' food till later." "give it me now!" demanded the ork. "if i'm going to starve, i'll do it all at once--not by degrees." cap'n bill produced the biscuit and the creature ate it in a trice. trot was rather hungry and whispered to cap'n bill that she'd take part of her share; but the old man secretly broke his own half-biscuit in two, saving trot's share for a time of greater need. he was beginning to be worried over the little girl's plight and long after she was asleep and the ork was snoring in a rather disagreeable manner, cap'n bill sat with his back to a rock and smoked his pipe and tried to think of some way to escape from this seemingly endless tunnel. but after a time he also slept, for hobbling on a wooden leg all day was tiresome, and there in the dark slumbered the three adventurers for many hours, until the ork roused itself and kicked the old sailor with one foot. "it must be another day," said he. chapter four daylight at last cap'n bill rubbed his eyes, lit a match and consulted his watch. "nine o'clock. yes, i guess it's another day, sure enough. shall we go on?" he asked. "of course," replied the ork. "unless this tunnel is different from everything else in the world, and has no end, we'll find a way out of it sooner or later." the sailor gently wakened trot. she felt much rested by her long sleep and sprang to her feet eagerly. "let's start, cap'n," was all she said. they resumed the journey and had only taken a few steps when the ork cried "wow!" and made a great fluttering of its wings and whirling of its tail. the others, who were following a short distance behind, stopped abruptly. "what's the matter?" asked cap'n bill. "give us a light," was the reply. "i think we've come to the end of the tunnel." then, while cap'n bill lighted a candle, the creature added: "if that is true, we needn't have wakened so soon, for we were almost at the end of this place when we went to sleep." the sailor-man and trot came forward with a light. a wall of rock really faced the tunnel, but now they saw that the opening made a sharp turn to the left. so they followed on, by a narrower passage, and then made another sharp turn this time to the right. "blow out the light, cap'n," said the ork, in a pleased voice. "we've struck daylight." daylight at last! a shaft of mellow light fell almost at their feet as trot and the sailor turned the corner of the passage, but it came from above, and raising their eyes they found they were at the bottom of a deep, rocky well, with the top far, far above their heads. and here the passage ended. for a while they gazed in silence, at least two of them being filled with dismay at the sight. but the ork merely whistled softly and said cheerfully: "that was the toughest journey i ever had the misfortune to undertake, and i'm glad it's over. yet, unless i can manage to fly to the top of this pit, we are entombed here forever." "do you think there is room enough for you to fly in?" asked the little girl anxiously; and cap'n bill added: "it's a straight-up shaft, so i don't see how you'll ever manage it." "were i an ordinary bird--one of those horrid feathered things--i wouldn't even make the attempt to fly out," said the ork. "but my mechanical propeller tail can accomplish wonders, and whenever you're ready i'll show you a trick that is worth while." "oh!" exclaimed trot; "do you intend to take us up, too?" "why not?" "i thought," said cap'n bill, "as you'd go first, an' then send somebody to help us by lettin' down a rope." "ropes are dangerous," replied the ork, "and i might not be able to find one to reach all this distance. besides, it stands to reason that if i can get out myself i can also carry you two with me." "well, i'm not afraid," said trot, who longed to be on the earth's surface again. "s'pose we fall?" suggested cap'n bill, doubtfully. "why, in that case we would all fall together," returned the ork. "get aboard, little girl; sit across my shoulders and put both your arms around my neck." trot obeyed and when she was seated on the ork, cap'n bill inquired: "how 'bout me, mr. ork?" "why, i think you'd best grab hold of my rear legs and let me carry you up in that manner," was the reply. cap'n bill looked way up at the top of the well, and then he looked at the ork's slender, skinny legs and heaved a deep sigh. "it's goin' to be some dangle, i guess; but if you don't waste too much time on the way up, i may be able to hang on," said he. "all ready, then!" cried the ork, and at once his whirling tail began to revolve. trot felt herself rising into the air; when the creature's legs left the ground cap'n bill grasped two of them firmly and held on for dear life. the ork's body was tipped straight upward, and trot had to embrace the neck very tightly to keep from sliding off. even in this position the ork had trouble in escaping the rough sides of the well. several times it exclaimed "wow!" as it bumped its back, or a wing hit against some jagged projection; but the tail kept whirling with remarkable swiftness and the daylight grew brighter and brighter. it was, indeed, a long journey from the bottom to the top, yet almost before trot realized they had come so far, they popped out of the hole into the clear air and sunshine and a moment later the ork alighted gently upon the ground. the release was so sudden that even with the creature's care for its passengers cap'n bill struck the earth with a shock that sent him rolling heel over head; but by the time trot had slid down from her seat the old sailor-man was sitting up and looking around him with much satisfaction. "it's sort o' pretty here," said he. "earth is a beautiful place!" cried trot. "i wonder where on earth we are?" pondered the ork, turning first one bright eye and then the other to this side and that. trees there were, in plenty, and shrubs and flowers and green turf. but there were no houses; there were no paths; there was no sign of civilization whatever. "just before i settled down on the ground i thought i caught a view of the ocean," said the ork. "let's see if i was right." then he flew to a little hill, near by, and trot and cap'n bill followed him more slowly. when they stood on the top of the hill they could see the blue waves of the ocean in front of them, to the right of them, and at the left of them. behind the hill was a forest that shut out the view. "i hope it ain't an island, trot," said cap'n bill gravely. "if it is, i s'pose we're prisoners," she replied. "ezzackly so, trot." "but, 'even so, it's better than those terr'ble underground tunnels and caverns," declared the girl. "you are right, little one," agreed the ork. "anything above ground is better than the best that lies under ground. so let's not quarrel with our fate but be thankful we've escaped." "we are, indeed!" she replied. "but i wonder if we can find something to eat in this place?" "let's explore an' find out," proposed cap'n bill. "those trees over at the left look like cherry-trees." on the way to them the explorers had to walk through a tangle of vines and cap'n bill, who went first, stumbled and pitched forward on his face. "why, it's a melon!" cried trot delightedly, as she saw what had caused the sailor to fall. cap'n bill rose to his foot, for he was not at all hurt, and examined the melon. then he took his big jackknife from his pocket and cut the melon open. it was quite ripe and looked delicious; but the old man tasted it before he permitted trot to eat any. deciding it was good he gave her a big slice and then offered the ork some. the creature looked at the fruit somewhat disdainfully, at first, but once he had tasted its flavor he ate of it as heartily as did the others. among the vines they discovered many other melons, and trot said gratefully: "well, there's no danger of our starving, even if this is an island." "melons," remarked cap'n bill, "are both food an' water. we couldn't have struck anything better." farther on they came to the cherry trees, where they obtained some of the fruit, and at the edge of the little forest were wild plums. the forest itself consisted entirely of nut trees--walnuts, filberts, almonds and chestnuts--so there would be plenty of wholesome food for them while they remained there. cap'n bill and trot decided to walk through the forest, to discover what was on the other side of it, but the ork's feet were still so sore and "lumpy" from walking on the rocks that the creature said he preferred to fly over the tree-tops and meet them on the other side. the forest was not large, so by walking briskly for fifteen minutes they reached its farthest edge and saw before them the shore of the ocean. "it's an island, all right," said trot, with a sigh. "yes, and a pretty island, too," said cap'n bill, trying to conceal his disappointment on trot's account. "i guess, partner, if the wuss comes to the wuss, i could build a raft--or even a boat--from those trees, so's we could sail away in it." the little girl brightened at this suggestion. "i don't see the ork anywhere," she remarked, looking around. then her eyes lighted upon something and she exclaimed: "oh, cap'n bill! isn't that a house, over there to the left?" cap'n bill, looking closely, saw a shed-like structure built at one edge of the forest. "seems like it, trot. not that i'd call it much of a house, but it's a buildin', all right. let's go over an' see if it's occypied." chapter five the little old man of the island a few steps brought them to the shed, which was merely a roof of boughs built over a square space, with some branches of trees fastened to the sides to keep off the wind. the front was quite open and faced the sea, and as our friends came nearer they observed a little man, with a long pointed beard, sitting motionless on a stool and staring thoughtfully out over the water. "get out of the way, please," he called in a fretful voice. "can't you see you are obstructing my view?" "good morning," said cap'n bill, politely. "it isn't a good morning!" snapped the little man. "i've seen plenty of mornings better than this. do you call it a good morning when i'm pestered with such a crowd as you?" trot was astonished to hear such words from a stranger whom they had greeted quite properly, and cap'n bill grew red at the little man's rudeness. but the sailor said, in a quiet tone of voice: "are you the only one as lives on this 'ere island?" "your grammar's bad," was the reply. "but this is my own exclusive island, and i'll thank you to get off it as soon as possible." "we'd like to do that," said trot, and then she and cap'n bill turned away and walked down to the shore, to see if any other land was in sight. the little man rose and followed them, although both were now too provoked to pay any attention to him. "nothin' in sight, partner," reported cap'n bill, shading his eyes with his hand; "so we'll have to stay here for a time, anyhow. it isn't a bad place, trot, by any means." "that's all you know about it!" broke in the little man. "the trees are altogether too green and the rocks are harder than they ought to be. i find the sand very grainy and the water dreadfully wet. every breeze makes a draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's no need of it, and disappears just as soon as it begins to get dark. if you remain here you'll find the island very unsatisfactory." trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was grave and curious. "i wonder who you are," she said. "my name is pessim," said he, with an air of pride. "i'm called the observer." "oh. what do you observe?" asked the little girl. "everything i see," was the reply, in a more surly tone. then pessim drew back with a startled exclamation and looked at some footprints in the sand. "why, good gracious me!" he cried in distress. "what's the matter now?" asked cap'n bill. "someone has pushed the earth in! don't you see it? "it isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said trot, examining the footprints. "everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man. "if the earth were pushed in a mile, it would be a great calamity, wouldn't it?" "i s'pose so," admitted the little girl. "well, here it is pushed in a full inch! that's a twelfth of a foot, or a little more than a millionth part of a mile. therefore it is one-millionth part of a calamity--oh, dear! how dreadful!" said pessim in a wailing voice. "try to forget it, sir," advised cap'n bill, soothingly. "it's beginning to rain. let's get under your shed and keep dry." "raining! is it really raining?" asked pessim, beginning to weep. "it is," answered cap'n bill, as the drops began to descend, "and i don't see any way to stop it--although i'm some observer myself." "no; we can't stop it, i fear," said the man. "are you very busy just now?" "i won't be after i get to the shed," replied the sailor-man. "then do me a favor, please," begged pessim, walking briskly along behind them, for they were hastening to the shed. "depends on what it is," said cap'n bill. "i wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor fishes till it stops raining. i'm afraid they'll get wet," said pessim. trot laughed, but cap'n bill thought the little man was poking fun at him and so he scowled upon pessim in a way that showed he was angry. they reached the shed before getting very wet, although the rain was now coming down in big drops. the roof of the shed protected them and while they stood watching the rainstorm something buzzed in and circled around pessim's head. at once the observer began beating it away with his hands, crying out: "a bumblebee! a bumblebee! the queerest bumblebee i ever saw!" cap'n bill and trot both looked at it and the little girl said in surprise: "dear me! it's a wee little ork!" "that's what it is, sure enough," exclaimed cap'n bill. really, it wasn't much bigger than a big bumblebee, and when it came toward trot she allowed it to alight on her shoulder. "it's me, all right," said a very small voice in her ear; "but i'm in an awful pickle, just the same!" "what, are you our ork, then?" demanded the girl, much amazed. "no, i'm my own ork. but i'm the only ork you know," replied the tiny creature. "what's happened to you?" asked the sailor, putting his head close to trot's shoulder in order to hear the reply better. pessim also put his head close, and the ork said: "you will remember that when i left you i started to fly over the trees, and just as i got to this side of the forest i saw a bush that was loaded down with the most luscious fruit you can imagine. the fruit was about the size of a gooseberry and of a lovely lavender color. so i swooped down and picked off one in my bill and ate it. at once i began to grow small. i could feel myself shrinking, shrinking away, and it frightened me terribly, so that i lighted on the ground to think over what was happening. in a few seconds i had shrunk to the size you now see me; but there i remained, getting no smaller, indeed, but no larger. it is certainly a dreadful affliction! after i had recovered somewhat from the shock i began to search for you. it is not so easy to find one's way when a creature is so small, but fortunately i spied you here in this shed and came to you at once." cap'n bill and trot were much astonished at this story and felt grieved for the poor ork, but the little man pessim seemed to think it a good joke. he began laughing when he heard the story and laughed until he choked, after which he lay down on the ground and rolled and laughed again, while the tears of merriment coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "this is too rich! it's almost too joyful to be true." "i don't see anything funny about it," remarked trot indignantly. "you would if you'd had my experience," said pessim, getting upon his feet and gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "the same thing happened to me." "oh, did it? and how did you happen to come to this island?" asked the girl. "i didn't come; the neighbors brought me," replied the little man, with a frown at the recollection. "they said i was quarrelsome and fault-finding and blamed me because i told them all the things that went wrong, or never were right, and because i told them how things ought to be. so they brought me here and left me all alone, saying that if i quarreled with myself, no one else would be made unhappy. absurd, wasn't it?" "seems to me," said cap'n bill, "those neighbors did the proper thing." "well," resumed pessim, "when i found myself king of this island i was obliged to live upon fruits, and i found many fruits growing here that i had never seen before. i tasted several and found them good and wholesome. but one day i ate a lavender berry--as the ork did--and immediately i grew so small that i was scarcely two inches high. it was a very unpleasant condition and like the ork i became frightened. i could not walk very well nor very far, for every lump of earth in my way seemed a mountain, every blade of grass a tree and every grain of sand a rocky boulder. for several days i stumbled around in an agony of fear. once a tree toad nearly gobbled me up, and if i ran out from the shelter of the bushes the gulls and cormorants swooped down upon me. finally i decided to eat another berry and become nothing at all, since life, to one as small as i was, had become a dreary nightmare. "at last i found a small tree that i thought bore the same fruit as that i had eaten. the berry was dark purple instead of light lavender, but otherwise it was quite similar. being unable to climb the tree, i was obliged to wait underneath it until a sharp breeze arose and shook the limbs so that a berry fell. instantly i seized it and taking a last view of the world--as i then thought--i ate the berry in a twinkling. then, to my surprise, i began to grow big again, until i became of my former stature, and so i have since remained. needless to say, i have never eaten again of the lavender fruit, nor do any of the beasts or birds that live upon this island eat it." they had all three listened eagerly to this amazing tale, and when it was finished the ork exclaimed: "do you think, then, that the deep purple berry is the antidote for the lavender one?" "i'm sure of it," answered pessim. "then lead me to the tree at once!" begged the ork, "for this tiny form i now have terrifies me greatly." pessim examined the ork closely "you are ugly enough as you are," said he. "were you any larger you might be dangerous." "oh, no," trot assured him; "the ork has been our good friend. please take us to the tree." then pessim consented, although rather reluctantly. he led them to the right, which was the east side of the island, and in a few minutes brought them near to the edge of the grove which faced the shore of the ocean. here stood a small tree bearing berries of a deep purple color. the fruit looked very enticing and cap'n bill reached up and selected one that seemed especially plump and ripe. the ork had remained perched upon trot's shoulder but now it flew down to the ground. it was so difficult for cap'n bill to kneel down, with his wooden leg, that the little girl took the berry from him and held it close to the ork's head. "it's too big to go into my mouth," said the little creature, looking at the fruit sidewise. "you'll have to make sev'ral mouthfuls of it, i guess," said trot; and that is what the ork did. he pecked at the soft, ripe fruit with his bill and ate it up very quickly, because it was good. even before he had finished the berry they could see the ork begin to grow. in a few minutes he had regained his natural size and was strutting before them, quite delighted with his transformation. "well, well! what do you think of me now?" he asked proudly. "you are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared pessim. "you are a poor judge of orks," was the reply. "anyone can see that i'm much handsomer than those dreadful things called birds, which are all fluff and feathers." "their feathers make soft beds," asserted pessim. "and my skin would make excellent drumheads," retorted the ork. "nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our usefulness after we are dead. but for the sake of argument, friend pessim, i'd like to know what good you would be, were you not alive?" "never mind that," said cap'n bill. "he isn't much good as he is." "i am king of this island, allow me to say, and you're intruding on my property," declared the little man, scowling upon them. "if you don't like me--and i'm sure you don't, for no one else does--why don't you go away and leave me to myself?" "well, the ork can fly, but we can't," explained trot, in answer. "we don't want to stay here a bit, but i don't see how we can get away." "you can go back into the hole you came from." cap'n bill shook his head; trot shuddered at the thought; the ork laughed aloud. "you may be king here," the creature said to pessim, "but we intend to run this island to suit ourselves, for we are three and you are one, and the balance of power lies with us." the little man made no reply to this, although as they walked back to the shed his face wore its fiercest scowl. cap'n bill gathered a lot of leaves and, assisted by trot, prepared two nice beds in opposite corners of the shed. pessim slept in a hammock which he swung between two trees. they required no dishes, as all their food consisted of fruits and nuts picked from the trees; they made no fire, for the weather was warm and there was nothing to cook; the shed had no furniture other than the rude stool which the little man was accustomed to sit upon. he called it his "throne" and they let him keep it. so they lived upon the island for three days, and rested and ate to their hearts' content. still, they were not at all happy in this life because of pessim. he continually found fault with them, and all that they did, and all their surroundings. he could see nothing good or admirable in all the world and trot soon came to understand why the little man's former neighbors had brought him to this island and left him there, all alone, so he could not annoy anyone. it was their misfortune that they had been led to this place by their adventures, for often they would have preferred the company of a wild beast to that of pessim. on the fourth day a happy thought came to the ork. they had all been racking their brains for a possible way to leave the island, and discussing this or that method, without finding a plan that was practical. cap'n bill had said he could make a raft of the trees, big enough to float them all, but he had no tools except those two pocketknives and it was not possible to chop down tree with such small blades. "and s'pose we got afloat on the ocean," said trot, "where would we drift to, and how long would it take us to get there?" cap'n bill was forced to admit he didn't know. the ork could fly away from the island any time it wished to, but the queer creature was loyal to his new friends and refused to leave them in such a lonely, forsaken place. it was when trot urged him to go, on this fourth morning, that the ork had his happy thought. "i will go," said he, "if you two will agree to ride upon my back." "we are too heavy; you might drop us," objected cap'n bill. "yes, you are rather heavy for a long journey," acknowledged the ork, "but you might eat of those lavender berries and become so small that i could carry you with ease." this quaint suggestion startled trot and she looked gravely at the speaker while she considered it, but cap'n bill gave a scornful snort and asked: "what would become of us afterward? we wouldn't be much good if we were some two or three inches high. no, mr. ork, i'd rather stay here, as i am, than be a hop-o'-my-thumb somewhere else." "why couldn't you take some of the dark purple berries along with you, to eat after we had reached our destination?" inquired the ork. "then you could grow big again whenever you pleased." trot clapped her hands with delight. "that's it!" she exclaimed. "let's do it, cap'n bill." the old sailor did not like the idea at first, but he thought it over carefully and the more he thought the better it seemed. "how could you manage to carry us, if we were so small?" he asked. "i could put you in a paper bag, and tie the bag around my neck." "but we haven't a paper bag," objected trot. the ork looked at her. "there's your sunbonnet," it said presently, "which is hollow in the middle and has two strings that you could tie around my neck." trot took off her sunbonnet and regarded it critically. yes, it might easily hold both her and cap'n bill, after they had eaten the lavender berries and been reduced in size. she tied the strings around the ork's neck and the sunbonnet made a bag in which two tiny people might ride without danger of falling out. so she said: "i b'lieve we'll do it that way, cap'n." cap'n bill groaned but could make no logical objection except that the plan seemed to him quite dangerous--and dangerous in more ways than one. "i think so, myself," said trot soberly. "but nobody can stay alive without getting into danger sometimes, and danger doesn't mean getting hurt, cap'n; it only means we might get hurt. so i guess we'll have to take the risk." "let's go and find the berries," said the ork. they said nothing to pessim, who was sitting on his stool and scowling dismally as he stared at the ocean, but started at once to seek the trees that bore the magic fruits. the ork remembered very well where the lavender berries grew and led his companions quickly to the spot. cap'n bill gathered two berries and placed them carefully in his pocket. then they went around to the east side of the island and found the tree that bore the dark purple berries. "i guess i'll take four of these," said the sailor-man, "so in case one doesn't make us grow big we can eat another." "better take six," advised the ork. "it's well to be on the safe side, and i'm sure these trees grow nowhere else in all the world." so cap'n bill gathered six of the purple berries and with their precious fruit they returned to the shed to big good-bye to pessim. perhaps they would not have granted the surly little man this courtesy had they not wished to use him to tie the sunbonnet around the ork's neck. when pessim learned they were about to leave him he at first looked greatly pleased, but he suddenly recollected that nothing ought to please him and so began to grumble about being left alone. "we knew it wouldn't suit you," remarked cap'n bill. "it didn't suit you to have us here, and it won't suit you to have us go away." "that is quite true," admitted pessim. "i haven't been suited since i can remember; so it doesn't matter to me in the least whether you go or stay." he was interested in their experiment, however, and willingly agreed to assist, although he prophesied they would fall out of the sunbonnet on their way and be either drowned in the ocean or crushed upon some rocky shore. this uncheerful prospect did not daunt trot, but it made cap'n bill quite nervous. "i will eat my berry first," said trot, as she placed her sunbonnet on the ground, in such manner that they could get into it. then she ate the lavender berry and in a few seconds became so small that cap'n bill picked her up gently with his thumb and one finger and placed her in the middle of the sunbonnet. then he placed beside her the six purple berries--each one being about as big as the tiny trot's head--and all preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became very small--wooden leg and all! cap'n bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet and pitched in beside trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy pessim to laugh with glee. then the king of the island picked up the sunbonnet--so rudely that he shook its occupants like peas in a pod--and tied it, by means of its strings, securely around the ork's neck. "i hope, trot, you sewed those strings on tight," said cap'n bill anxiously. "why, we are not very heavy, you know," she replied, "so i think the stitches will hold. but be careful and not crush the berries, cap'n." "one is jammed already," he said, looking at them. "all ready?" asked the ork. "yes!" they cried together, and pessim came close to the sunbonnet and called out to them: "you'll be smashed or drowned, i'm sure you will! but farewell, and good riddance to you." the ork was provoked by this unkind speech, so he turned his tail toward the little man and made it revolve so fast that the rush of air tumbled pessim over backward and he rolled several times upon the ground before he could stop himself and sit up. by that time the ork was high in the air and speeding swiftly over the ocean. chapter six the flight of the midgets cap'n bill and trot rode very comfortably in the sunbonnet. the motion was quite steady, for they weighed so little that the ork flew without effort. yet they were both somewhat nervous about their future fate and could not help wishing they were safe on land and their natural size again. "you're terr'ble small, trot," remarked cap'n bill, looking at his companion. "same to you, cap'n," she said with a laugh; "but as long as we have the purple berries we needn't worry about our size." "in a circus," mused the old man, "we'd be curiosities. but in a sunbonnet--high up in the air--sailin' over a big, unknown ocean--they ain't no word in any booktionary to describe us." "why, we're midgets, that's all," said the little girl. the ork flew silently for a long time. the slight swaying of the sunbonnet made cap'n bill drowsy, and he began to doze. trot, however, was wide awake, and after enduring the monotonous journey as long as she was able she called out: "don't you see land anywhere, mr. ork?" "not yet," he answered. "this is a big ocean and i've no idea in which direction the nearest land to that island lies; but if i keep flying in a straight line i'm sure to reach some place some time." that seemed reasonable, so the little people in the sunbonnet remained as patient as possible; that is, cap'n bill dozed and trot tried to remember her geography lessons so she could figure out what land they were likely to arrive at. for hours and hours the ork flew steadily, keeping to the straight line and searching with his eyes the horizon of the ocean for land. cap'n bill was fast asleep and snoring and trot had laid her head on his shoulder to rest it when suddenly the ork exclaimed: "there! i've caught a glimpse of land, at last." at this announcement they roused themselves. cap'n bill stood up and tried to peek over the edge of the sunbonnet. "what does it look like?" he inquired. "looks like another island," said the ork; "but i can judge it better in a minute or two." "i don't care much for islands, since we visited that other one," declared trot. soon the ork made another announcement. "it is surely an island, and a little one, too," said he. "but i won't stop, because i see a much bigger land straight ahead of it." "that's right," approved cap'n bill. "the bigger the land, the better it will suit us." "it's almost a continent," continued the ork after a brief silence, during which he did not decrease the speed of his flight. "i wonder if it can be orkland, the place i have been seeking so long?" "i hope not," whispered trot to cap'n bill--so softly that the ork could not hear her--"for i shouldn't like to be in a country where only orks live. this one ork isn't a bad companion, but a lot of him wouldn't be much fun." after a few more minutes of flying the ork called out in a sad voice: "no! this is not my country. it's a place i have never seen before, although i have wandered far and wide. it seems to be all mountains and deserts and green valleys and queer cities and lakes and rivers--mixed up in a very puzzling way." "most countries are like that," commented cap'n bill. "are you going to land?" "pretty soon," was the reply. "there is a mountain peak just ahead of me. what do you say to our landing on that?" "all right," agreed the sailor-man, for both he and trot were getting tired of riding in the sunbonnet and longed to set foot on solid ground again. so in a few minutes the ork slowed down his speed and then came to a stop so easily that they were scarcely jarred at all. then the creature squatted down until the sunbonnet rested on the ground, and began trying to unfasten with its claws the knotted strings. this proved a very clumsy task, because the strings were tied at the back of the ork's neck, just where his claws would not easily reach. after much fumbling he said: "i'm afraid i can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me." this was at first discouraging, but after a little thought cap'n bill said: "if you don't mind, trot, i can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife." "do," she replied. "the slit won't matter, 'cause i can sew it up again afterward, when i am big." so cap'n bill got out his knife, which was just as small, in proportion, as he was, and after considerable trouble managed to cut a long slit in the sunbonnet. first he squeezed through the opening himself and then helped trot to get out. when they stood on firm ground again their first act was to begin eating the dark purple berries which they had brought with them. two of these trot had guarded carefully during the long journey, by holding them in her lap, for their safety meant much to the tiny people. "i'm not very hungry," said the little girl as she handed a berry to cap'n bill, "but hunger doesn't count, in this case. it's like taking medicine to make you well, so we must manage to eat 'em, somehow or other." but the berries proved quite pleasant to taste and as cap'n bill and trot nibbled at their edges their forms began to grow in size--slowly but steadily. the bigger they grew the easier it was for them to eat the berries, which of course became smaller to them, and by the time the fruit was eaten our friends had regained their natural size. the little girl was greatly relieved when she found herself as large as she had ever been, and cap'n bill shared her satisfaction; for, although they had seen the effect of the berries on the ork, they had not been sure the magic fruit would have the same effect on human beings, or that the magic would work in any other country than that in which the berries grew. "what shall we do with the other four berries?" asked trot, as she picked up her sunbonnet, marveling that she had ever been small enough to ride in it. "they're no good to us now, are they, cap'n?" "i'm not sure as to that," he replied. "if they were eaten by one who had never eaten the lavender berries, they might have no effect at all; but then, contrarywise, they might. one of 'em has got badly jammed, so i'll throw it away, but the other three i b'lieve i'll carry with me. they're magic things, you know, and may come handy to us some time." he now searched in his big pockets and drew out a small wooden box with a sliding cover. the sailor had kept an assortment of nails, of various sizes, in this box, but those he now dumped loosely into his pocket and in the box placed the three sound purple berries. when this important matter was attended to they found time to look about them and see what sort of place the ork had landed them in. chapter seven the bumpy man the mountain on which they had alighted was not a barren waste, but had on its sides patches of green grass, some bushes, a few slender trees and here and there masses of tumbled rocks. the sides of the slope seemed rather steep, but with care one could climb up or down them with ease and safety. the view from where they now stood showed pleasant valleys and fertile hills lying below the heights. trot thought she saw some houses of queer shapes scattered about the lower landscape, and there were moving dots that might be people or animals, yet were too far away for her to see them clearly. not far from the place where they stood was the top of the mountain, which seemed to be flat, so the ork proposed to his companions that he would fly up and see what was there. "that's a good idea," said trot, "'cause it's getting toward evening and we'll have to find a place to sleep." the ork had not been gone more than a few minutes when they saw him appear on the edge of the top which was nearest them. "come on up!" he called. so trot and cap'n bill began to ascend the steep slope and it did not take them long to reach the place where the ork awaited them. their first view of the mountain top pleased them very much. it was a level space of wider extent than they had guessed and upon it grew grass of a brilliant green color. in the very center stood a house built of stone and very neatly constructed. no one was in sight, but smoke was coming from the chimney, so with one accord all three began walking toward the house. "i wonder," said trot, "in what country we are, and if it's very far from my home in california." "can't say as to that, partner," answered cap'n bill, "but i'm mighty certain we've come a long way since we struck that whirlpool." "yes," she agreed, with a sigh, "it must be miles and miles!" "distance means nothing," said the ork. "i have flown pretty much all over the world, trying to find my home, and it is astonishing how many little countries there are, hidden away in the cracks and corners of this big globe of earth. if one travels, he may find some new country at every turn, and a good many of them have never yet been put upon the maps." "p'raps this is one of them," suggested trot. they reached the house after a brisk walk and cap'n bill knocked upon the door. it was at once opened by a rugged looking man who had "bumps all over him," as trot afterward declared. there were bumps on his head, bumps on his body and bumps on his arms and legs and hands. even his fingers had bumps on the ends of them. for dress he wore an old gray suit of fantastic design, which fitted him very badly because of the bumps it covered but could not conceal. but the bumpy man's eyes were kind and twinkling in expression and as soon as he saw his visitors he bowed low and said in a rather bumpy voice: "happy day! come in and shut the door, for it grows cool when the sun goes down. winter is now upon us." "why, it isn't cold a bit, outside," said trot, "so it can't be winter yet." "you will change your mind about that in a little while," declared the bumpy man. "my bumps always tell me the state of the weather, and they feel just now as if a snowstorm was coming this way. but make yourselves at home, strangers. supper is nearly ready and there is food enough for all." inside the house there was but one large room, simply but comfortably furnished. it had benches, a table and a fireplace, all made of stone. on the hearth a pot was bubbling and steaming, and trot thought it had a rather nice smell. the visitors seated themselves upon the benches--except the ork. which squatted by the fireplace--and the bumpy man began stirring the kettle briskly. "may i ask what country this is, sir?" inquired cap'n bill. "goodness me--fruit-cake and apple-sauce!--don't you know where you are?" asked the bumpy man, as he stopped stirring and looked at the speaker in surprise. "no," admitted cap'n bill. "we've just arrived." "lost your way?" questioned the bumpy man. "not exactly," said cap'n bill. "we didn't have any way to lose." "ah!" said the bumpy man, nodding his bumpy head. "this," he announced, in a solemn, impressive voice, "is the famous land of mo." "oh!" exclaimed the sailor and the girl, both in one breath. but, never having heard of the land of mo, they were no wiser than before. "i thought that would startle you," remarked the bumpy man, well pleased, as he resumed his stirring. the ork watched him a while in silence and then asked: "who may you be?" "me?" answered the bumpy man. "haven't you heard of me? gingerbread and lemon-juice! i'm known, far and wide, as the mountain ear." they all received this information in silence at first, for they were trying to think what he could mean. finally trot mustered up courage to ask: "what is a mountain ear, please?" for answer the man turned around and faced them, waving the spoon with which he had been stirring the kettle, as he recited the following verses in a singsong tone of voice: "here's a mountain, hard of hearing, that's sad-hearted and needs cheering, so my duty is to listen to all sounds that nature makes, so the hill won't get uneasy-- get to coughing, or get sneezy-- for this monster bump, when frightened, is quite liable to quakes. "you can hear a bell that's ringing; i can feel some people's singing; but a mountain isn't sensible of what goes on, and so when i hear a blizzard blowing or it's raining hard, or snowing, i tell it to the mountain and the mountain seems to know. "thus i benefit all people while i'm living on this steeple, for i keep the mountain steady so my neighbors all may thrive. with my list'ning and my shouting i prevent this mount from spouting, and that makes me so important that i'm glad that i'm alive." when he had finished these lines of verse the bumpy man turned again to resume his stirring. the ork laughed softly and cap'n bill whistled to himself and trot made up her mind that the mountain ear must be a little crazy. but the bumpy man seemed satisfied that he had explained his position fully and presently he placed four stone plates upon the table and then lifted the kettle from the fire and poured some of its contents on each of the plates. cap'n bill and trot at once approached the table, for they were hungry, but when she examined her plate the little girl exclaimed: "why, it's molasses candy!" "to be sure," returned the bumpy man, with a pleasant smile. "eat it quick, while it's hot, for it cools very quickly this winter weather." with this he seized a stone spoon and began putting the hot molasses candy into his mouth, while the others watched him in astonishment. "doesn't it burn you?" asked the girl. "no indeed," said he. "why don't you eat? aren't you hungry?" "yes," she replied, "i am hungry. but we usually eat our candy when it is cold and hard. we always pull molasses candy before we eat it." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the mountain ear. "what a funny idea! where in the world did you come from?" "california," she said. "california! pooh! there isn't any such place. i've heard of every place in the land of mo, but i never before heard of california." "it isn't in the land of mo," she explained. "then it isn't worth talking about," declared the bumpy man, helping himself again from the steaming kettle, for he had been eating all the time he talked. "for my part," sighed cap'n bill, "i'd like a decent square meal, once more, just by way of variety. in the last place there was nothing but fruit to eat, and here it's worse, for there's nothing but candy." "molasses candy isn't so bad," said trot. "mine's nearly cool enough to pull, already. wait a bit, cap'n, and you can eat it." a little later she was able to gather the candy from the stone plate and begin to work it back and forth with her hands. the mountain ear was greatly amazed at this and watched her closely. it was really good candy and pulled beautifully, so that trot was soon ready to cut it into chunks for eating. cap'n bill condescended to eat one or two pieces and the ork ate several, but the bumpy man refused to try it. trot finished the plate of candy herself and then asked for a drink of water. "water?" said the mountain ear wonderingly. "what is that?" "something to drink. don't you have water in mo?" "none that ever i heard of," said he. "but i can give you some fresh lemonade. i caught it in a jar the last time it rained, which was only day before yesterday." "oh, does it rain lemonade here?" she inquired. "always; and it is very refreshing and healthful." with this he brought from a cupboard a stone jar and a dipper, and the girl found it very nice lemonade, indeed. cap'n bill liked it, too; but the ork would not touch it. "if there is no water in this country, i cannot stay here for long," the creature declared. "water means life to man and beast and bird." "there must be water in lemonade," said trot. "yes," answered the ork, "i suppose so; but there are other things in it, too, and they spoil the good water." the day's adventures had made our wanderers tired, so the bumpy man brought them some blankets in which they rolled themselves and then lay down before the fire, which their host kept alive with fuel all through the night. trot wakened several times and found the mountain ear always alert and listening intently for the slightest sound. but the little girl could hear no sound at all except the snores of cap'n bill. chapter eight button-bright is lost and found again "wake up--wake up!" called the voice of the bumpy man. "didn't i tell you winter was coming? i could hear it coming with my left ear, and the proof is that it is now snowing hard outside." "is it?" said trot, rubbing her eyes and creeping out of her blanket. "where i live, in california, i have never seen snow, except far away on the tops of high mountains." "well, this is the top of a high mountain," returned the bumpy one, "and for that reason we get our heaviest snowfalls right here." the little girl went to the window and looked out. the air was filled with falling white flakes, so large in size and so queer in form that she was puzzled. "are you certain this is snow?" she asked. "to be sure. i must get my snow-shovel and turn out to shovel a path. would you like to come with me?" "yes," she said, and followed the bumpy man out when he opened the door. then she exclaimed: "why, it isn't cold a bit!" "of course not," replied the man. "it was cold last night, before the snowstorm; but snow, when it falls, is always crisp and warm." trot gathered a handful of it. "why, it's popcorn?" she cried. "certainly; all snow is popcorn. what did you expect it to be?" "popcorn is not snow in my country." "well, it is the only snow we have in the land of mo, so you may as well make the best of it," said he, a little impatiently. "i'm not responsible for the absurd things that happen in your country, and when you're in mo you must do as the momen do. eat some of our snow, and you will find it is good. the only fault i find with our snow is that we get too much of it at times." with this the bumpy man set to work shoveling a path and he was so quick and industrious that he piled up the popcorn in great banks on either side of the trail that led to the mountain-top from the plains below. while he worked, trot ate popcorn and found it crisp and slightly warm, as well as nicely salted and buttered. presently cap'n bill came out of the house and joined her. "what's this?" he asked. "mo snow," said she. "but it isn't real snow, although it falls from the sky. it's popcorn." cap'n bill tasted it; then he sat down in the path and began to eat. the ork came out and pecked away with its bill as fast as it could. they all liked popcorn and they all were hungry this morning. meantime the flakes of "mo snow" came down so fast that the number of them almost darkened the air. the bumpy man was now shoveling quite a distance down the mountain-side, while the path behind him rapidly filled up with fresh-fallen popcorn. suddenly trot heard him call out: "goodness gracious--mince pie and pancakes!--here is some one buried in the snow." she ran toward him at once and the others followed, wading through the corn and crunching it underneath their feet. the mo snow was pretty deep where the bumpy man was shoveling and from beneath a great bank of it he had uncovered a pair of feet. "dear me! someone has been lost in the storm," said cap'n bill. "i hope he is still alive. let's pull him out and see." he took hold of one foot and the bumpy man took hold of the other. then they both pulled and out from the heap of popcorn came a little boy. he was dressed in a brown velvet jacket and knickerbockers, with brown stockings, buckled shoes and a blue shirt-waist that had frills down its front. when drawn from the heap the boy was chewing a mouthful of popcorn and both his hands were full of it. so at first he couldn't speak to his rescuers but lay quite still and eyed them calmly until he had swallowed his mouthful. then he said: "get my cap," and stuffed more popcorn into his mouth. while the bumpy man began shoveling into the corn-bank to find the boy's cap, trot was laughing joyfully and cap'n bill had a broad grin on his face. the ork looked from one to another and asked: "who is this stranger?" "why, it's button-bright, of course," answered trot. "if anyone ever finds a lost boy, he can make up his mind it's button-bright. but how he ever came to be lost in this far-away country is more'n i can make out." "where does he belong?" inquired the ork. "his home used to be in philadelphia, i think; but i'm quite sure button-bright doesn't belong anywhere." "that's right," said the boy, nodding his head as he swallowed the second mouthful. "everyone belongs somewhere," remarked the ork. "not me," insisted button-bright. "i'm half way round the world from philadelphia, and i've lost my magic umbrella, that used to carry me anywhere. stands to reason that if i can't get back i haven't any home. but i don't care much. this is a pretty good country, trot. i've had lots of fun here." by this time the mountain ear had secured the boy's cap and was listening to the conversation with much interest. "it seems you know this poor, snow-covered cast-away," he said. "yes, indeed," answered trot. "we made a journey together to sky island, once, and were good friends." "well, then i'm glad i saved his life," said the bumpy man. "much obliged, mr. knobs," said button-bright, sitting up and staring at him, "but i don't believe you've saved anything except some popcorn that i might have eaten had you not disturbed me. it was nice and warm in that bank of popcorn, and there was plenty to eat. what made you dig me out? and what makes you so bumpy everywhere?" "as for the bumps," replied the man, looking at himself with much pride, "i was born with them and i suspect they were a gift from the fairies. they make me look rugged and big, like the mountain i serve." "all right," said button-bright and began eating popcorn again. it had stopped snowing, now, and great flocks of birds were gathering around the mountain-side, eating the popcorn with much eagerness and scarcely noticing the people at all. there were birds of every size and color, most of them having gorgeous feathers and plumes. "just look at them!" exclaimed the ork scornfully. "aren't they dreadful creatures, all covered with feathers?" "i think they're beautiful," said trot, and this made the ork so indignant that he went back into the house and sulked. button-bright reached out his hand and caught a big bird by the leg. at once it rose into the air and it was so strong that it nearly carried the little boy with it. he let go the leg in a hurry and the bird flew down again and began to eat of the popcorn, not being frightened in the least. this gave cap'n bill an idea. he felt in his pocket and drew out several pieces of stout string. moving very quietly, so as to not alarm the birds, he crept up to several of the biggest ones and tied cords around their legs, thus making them prisoners. the birds were so intent on their eating that they did not notice what had happened to them, and when about twenty had been captured in this manner cap'n bill tied the ends of all the strings together and fastened them to a huge stone, so they could not escape. the bumpy man watched the old sailor's actions with much curiosity. "the birds will be quiet until they've eaten up all the snow," he said, "but then they will want to fly away to their homes. tell me, sir, what will the poor things do when they find they can't fly?" "it may worry 'em a little," replied cap'n bill, "but they're not going to be hurt if they take it easy and behave themselves." our friends had all made a good breakfast of the delicious popcorn and now they walked toward the house again. button-bright walked beside trot and held her hand in his, because they were old friends and he liked the little girl very much. the boy was not so old as trot, and small as she was he was half a head shorter in height. the most remarkable thing about button-bright was that he was always quiet and composed, whatever happened, and nothing was ever able to astonish him. trot liked him because he was not rude and never tried to plague her. cap'n bill liked him because he had found the boy cheerful and brave at all times, and willing to do anything he was asked to do. when they came to the house trot sniffed the air and asked "don't i smell perfume?" "i think you do," said the bumpy man. "you smell violets, and that proves there is a breeze springing up from the south. all our winds and breezes are perfumed and for that reason we are glad to have them blow in our direction. the south breeze always has a violet odor; the north breeze has the fragrance of wild roses; the east breeze is perfumed with lilies-of-the-valley and the west wind with lilac blossoms. so we need no weathervane to tell us which way the wind is blowing. we have only to smell the perfume and it informs us at once." inside the house they found the ork, and button-bright regarded the strange, birdlike creature with curious interest. after examining it closely for a time he asked: "which way does your tail whirl?" "either way," said the ork. button-bright put out his hand and tried to spin it. "don't do that!" exclaimed the ork. "why not?" inquired the boy. "because it happens to be my tail, and i reserve the right to whirl it myself," explained the ork. "let's go out and fly somewhere," proposed button-bright. "i want to see how the tail works." "not now," said the ork. "i appreciate your interest in me, which i fully deserve; but i only fly when i am going somewhere, and if i got started i might not stop." "that reminds me," remarked cap'n bill, "to ask you, friend ork, how we are going to get away from here?" "get away!" exclaimed the bumpy man. "why don't you stay here? you won't find any nicer place than mo." "have you been anywhere else, sir?" "no; i can't say that i have," admitted the mountain ear. "then permit me to say you're no judge," declared cap'n bill. "but you haven't answered my question, friend ork. how are we to get away from this mountain?" the ork reflected a while before he answered. "i might carry one of you--the boy or the girl--upon my back," said he, "but three big people are more than i can manage, although i have carried two of you for a short distance. you ought not to have eaten those purple berries so soon." "p'r'aps we did make a mistake," cap'n bill acknowledged. "or we might have brought some of those lavender berries with us, instead of so many purple ones," suggested trot regretfully. cap'n bill made no reply to this statement, which showed he did not fully agree with the little girl; but he fell into deep thought, with wrinkled brows, and finally he said: "if those purple berries would make anything grow bigger, whether it'd eaten the lavender ones or not, i could find a way out of our troubles." they did not understand this speech and looked at the old sailor as if expecting him to explain what he meant. but just then a chorus of shrill cries rose from outside. "here! let me go--let me go!" the voices seemed to say. "why are we insulted in this way? mountain ear, come and help us!" trot ran to the window and looked out. "it's the birds you caught, cap'n," she said. "i didn't know they could talk." "oh, yes; all the birds in mo are educated to talk," said the bumpy man. then he looked at cap'n bill uneasily and added: "won't you let the poor things go?" "i'll see," replied the sailor, and walked out to where the birds were fluttering and complaining because the strings would not allow them to fly away. "listen to me!" he cried, and at once they became still. "we three people who are strangers in your land want to go to some other country, and we want three of you birds to carry us there. we know we are asking a great favor, but it's the only way we can think of--excep' walkin', an' i'm not much good at that because i've a wooden leg. besides, trot an' button-bright are too small to undertake a long and tiresome journey. now, tell me: which three of you birds will consent to carry us?" the birds looked at one another as if greatly astonished. then one of them replied: "you must be crazy, old man. not one of us is big enough to fly with even the smallest of your party." "i'll fix the matter of size," promised cap'n bill. "if three of you will agree to carry us, i'll make you big an' strong enough to do it, so it won't worry you a bit." the birds considered this gravely. living in a magic country, they had no doubt but that the strange one-legged man could do what he said. after a little, one of them asked: "if you make us big, would we stay big always?" "i think so," replied cap'n bill. they chattered a while among themselves and then the bird that had first spoken said: "i'll go, for one." "so will i," said another; and after a pause a third said: "i'll go, too." perhaps more would have volunteered, for it seemed that for some reason they all longed to be bigger than they were; but three were enough for cap'n bill's purpose and so he promptly released all the others, who immediately flew away. the three that remained were cousins, and all were of the same brilliant plumage and in size about as large as eagles. when trot questioned them she found they were quite young, having only abandoned their nests a few weeks before. they were strong young birds, with clear, brave eyes, and the little girl decided they were the most beautiful of all the feathered creatures she had ever seen. cap'n bill now took from his pocket the wooden box with the sliding cover and removed the three purple berries, which were still in good condition. "eat these," he said, and gave one to each of the birds. they obeyed, finding the fruit very pleasant to taste. in a few seconds they began to grow in size and grew so fast that trot feared they would never stop. but they finally did stop growing, and then they were much larger than the ork, and nearly the size of full-grown ostriches. cap'n bill was much pleased by this result. "you can carry us now, all right," said he. the birds strutted around with pride, highly pleased with their immense size. "i don't see, though," said trot doubtfully, "how we're going to ride on their backs without falling off." "we're not going to ride on their backs," answered cap'n bill. "i'm going to make swings for us to ride in." he then asked the bumpy man for some rope, but the man had no rope. he had, however, an old suit of gray clothes which he gladly presented to cap'n bill, who cut the cloth into strips and twisted it so that it was almost as strong as rope. with this material he attached to each bird a swing that dangled below its feet, and button-bright made a trial flight in one of them to prove that it was safe and comfortable. when all this had been arranged one of the birds asked: "where do you wish us to take you?" "why, just follow the ork," said cap'n bill. "he will be our leader, and wherever the ork flies you are to fly, and wherever the ork lands you are to land. is that satisfactory?" the birds declared it was quite satisfactory, so cap'n bill took counsel with the ork. "on our way here," said that peculiar creature, "i noticed a broad, sandy desert at the left of me, on which was no living thing." "then we'd better keep away from it," replied the sailor. "not so," insisted the ork. "i have found, on my travels, that the most pleasant countries often lie in the midst of deserts; so i think it would be wise for us to fly over this desert and discover what lies beyond it. for in the direction we came from lies the ocean, as we well know, and beyond here is this strange land of mo, which we do not care to explore. on one side, as we can see from this mountain, is a broad expanse of plain, and on the other the desert. for my part, i vote for the desert." "what do you say, trot?" inquired cap'n bill. "it's all the same to me," she replied. no one thought of asking button-bright's opinion, so it was decided to fly over the desert. they bade good-bye to the bumpy man and thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. then they seated themselves in the swings--one for each bird--and told the ork to start away and they would follow. the whirl of the ork's tail astonished the birds at first, but after he had gone a short distance they rose in the air, carrying their passengers easily, and flew with strong, regular strokes of their great wings in the wake of their leader. chapter nine the kingdom of jinxland trot rode with more comfort than she had expected, although the swing swayed so much that she had to hold on tight with both hands. cap'n bill's bird followed the ork, and trot came next, with button-bright trailing behind her. it was quite an imposing procession, but unfortunately there was no one to see it, for the ork had headed straight for the great sandy desert and in a few minutes after starting they were flying high over the broad waste, where no living thing could exist. the little girl thought this would be a bad place for the birds to lose strength, or for the cloth ropes to give way; but although she could not help feeling a trifle nervous and fidgety she had confidence in the huge and brilliantly plumaged bird that bore her, as well as in cap'n bill's knowledge of how to twist and fasten a rope so it would hold. that was a remarkably big desert. there was nothing to relieve the monotony of view and every minute seemed an hour and every hour a day. disagreeable fumes and gases rose from the sands, which would have been deadly to the travelers had they not been so high in the air. as it was, trot was beginning to feel sick, when a breath of fresher air filled her nostrils and on looking ahead she saw a great cloud of pink-tinted mist. even while she wondered what it could be, the ork plunged boldly into the mist and the other birds followed. she could see nothing for a time, nor could the bird which carried her see where the ork had gone, but it kept flying as sturdily as ever and in a few moments the mist was passed and the girl saw a most beautiful landscape spread out below her, extending as far as her eye could reach. she saw bits of forest, verdure clothed hills, fields of waving grain, fountains, rivers and lakes; and throughout the scene were scattered groups of pretty houses and a few grand castles and palaces. over all this delightful landscape--which from trot's high perch seemed like a magnificent painted picture--was a rosy glow such as we sometimes see in the west at sunset. in this case, however, it was not in the west only, but everywhere. no wonder the ork paused to circle slowly over this lovely country. the other birds followed his action, all eyeing the place with equal delight. then, as with one accord, the four formed a group and slowly sailed downward. this brought them to that part of the newly-discovered land which bordered on the desert's edge; but it was just as pretty here as anywhere, so the ork and the birds alighted and the three passengers at once got out of their swings. "oh, cap'n bill, isn't this fine an' dandy?" exclaimed trot rapturously. "how lucky we were to discover this beautiful country!" "the country seems rather high class, i'll admit, trot," replied the old sailor-man, looking around him, "but we don't know, as yet, what its people are like." "no one could live in such a country without being happy and good--i'm sure of that," she said earnestly. "don't you think so, button-bright?" "i'm not thinking, just now," answered the little boy. "it tires me to think, and i never seem to gain anything by it. when we see the people who live here we will know what they are like, and no 'mount of thinking will make them any different." "that's true enough," said the ork. "but now i want to make a proposal. while you are getting acquainted with this new country, which looks as if it contains everything to make one happy, i would like to fly along--all by myself--and see if i can find my home on the other side of the great desert. if i do, i will stay there, of course. but if i fail to find orkland i will return to you in a week, to see if i can do anything more to assist you." they were sorry to lose their queer companion, but could offer no objection to the plan; so the ork bade them good-bye and rising swiftly in the air, he flew over the country and was soon lost to view in the distance. the three birds which had carried our friends now begged permission to return by the way they had come, to their own homes, saying they were anxious to show their families how big they had become. so cap'n bill and trot and button-bright all thanked them gratefully for their assistance and soon the birds began their long flight toward the land of mo. being now left to themselves in this strange land, the three comrades selected a pretty pathway and began walking along it. they believed this path would lead them to a splendid castle which they espied in the distance, the turrets of which towered far above the tops of the trees which surrounded it. it did not seem very far away, so they sauntered on slowly, admiring the beautiful ferns and flowers that lined the pathway and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft chirping of the grasshoppers. presently the path wound over a little hill. in a valley that lay beyond the hill was a tiny cottage surrounded by flower beds and fruit trees. on the shady porch of the cottage they saw, as they approached, a pleasant faced woman sitting amidst a group of children, to whom she was telling stories. the children quickly discovered the strangers and ran toward them with exclamations of astonishment, so that trot and her friends became the center of a curious group, all chattering excitedly. cap'n bill's wooden leg seemed to arouse the wonder of the children, as they could not understand why he had not two meat legs. this attention seemed to please the old sailor, who patted the heads of the children kindly and then, raising his hat to the woman, he inquired: "can you tell us, madam, just what country this is?" she stared hard at all three of the strangers as she replied briefly: "jinxland." "oh!" exclaimed cap'n bill, with a puzzled look. "and where is jinxland, please?" "in the quadling country," said she. "what!" cried trot, in sudden excitement. "do you mean to say this is the quadling country of the land of oz?" "to be sure i do," the woman answered. "every bit of land that is surrounded by the great desert is the land of oz, as you ought to know as well as i do; but i'm sorry to say that jinxland is separated from the rest of the quadling country by that row of high mountains you see yonder, which have such steep sides that no one can cross them. so we live here all by ourselves, and are ruled by our own king, instead of by ozma of oz." "i've been to the land of oz before," said button-bright, "but i've never been here." "did you ever hear of jinxland before?" asked trot. "no," said button-bright. "it is on the map of oz, though," asserted the woman, "and it's a fine country, i assure you. if only," she added, and then paused to look around her with a frightened expression. "if only--" here she stopped again, as if not daring to go on with her speech. "if only what, ma'am?" asked cap'n bill. the woman sent the children into the house. then she came closer to the strangers and whispered: "if only we had a different king, we would be very happy and contented." "what's the matter with your king?" asked trot, curiously. but the woman seemed frightened to have said so much. she retreated to her porch, merely saying: "the king punishes severely any treason on the part of his subjects." "what's treason?" asked button-bright. "in this case," replied cap'n bill, "treason seems to consist of knockin' the king; but i guess we know his disposition now as well as if the lady had said more." "i wonder," said trot, going up to the woman, "if you could spare us something to eat. we haven't had anything but popcorn and lemonade for a long time." "bless your heart! of course i can spare you some food," the woman answered, and entering her cottage she soon returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cakes and cheese. one of the children drew a bucket of clear, cold water from a spring and the three wanderers ate heartily and enjoyed the good things immensely. when button-bright could eat no more he filled the pockets of his jacket with cakes and cheese, and not even the children objected to this. indeed they all seemed pleased to see the strangers eat, so cap'n bill decided that no matter what the king of jinxland was like, the people would prove friendly and hospitable. "whose castle is that, yonder, ma'am?" he asked, waving his hand toward the towers that rose above the trees. "it belongs to his majesty, king krewl." she said. "oh, indeed; and does he live there?" "when he is not out hunting with his fierce courtiers and war captains," she replied. "is he hunting now?" trot inquired. "i do not know, my dear. the less we know about the king's actions the safer we are." it was evident the woman did not like to talk about king krewl and so, having finished their meal, they said good-bye and continued along the pathway. "don't you think we'd better keep away from that king's castle, cap'n?" asked trot. "well," said he, "king krewl would find out, sooner or later, that we are in his country, so we may as well face the music now. perhaps he isn't quite so bad as that woman thinks he is. kings aren't always popular with their people, you know, even if they do the best they know how." "ozma is pop'lar," said button-bright. "ozma is diff'rent from any other ruler, from all i've heard," remarked trot musingly, as she walked beside the boy. "and, after all, we are really in the land of oz, where ozma rules ev'ry king and ev'rybody else. i never heard of anybody getting hurt in her dominions, did you, button-bright?" "not when she knows about it," he replied. "but those birds landed us in just the wrong place, seems to me. they might have carried us right on, over that row of mountains, to the em'rald city." "true enough," said cap'n bill; "but they didn't, an' so we must make the best of jinxland. let's try not to be afraid." "oh, i'm not very scared," said button-bright, pausing to look at a pink rabbit that popped its head out of a hole in the field near by. "nor am i," added trot. "really, cap'n, i'm so glad to be anywhere at all in the wonderful fairyland of oz that i think i'm the luckiest girl in all the world. dorothy lives in the em'rald city, you know, and so does the scarecrow and the tin woodman and tik-tok and the shaggy man--and all the rest of 'em that we've heard so much about--not to mention ozma, who must be the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world!" "take your time, trot," advised button-bright. "you don't have to say it all in one breath, you know. and you haven't mentioned half of the curious people in the em'rald city." "that 'ere em'rald city," said cap'n bill impressively, "happens to be on the other side o' those mountains, that we're told no one is able to cross. i don't want to discourage of you, trot, but we're a'most as much separated from your ozma an' dorothy as we were when we lived in californy." there was so much truth in this statement that they all walked on in silence for some time. finally they reached the grove of stately trees that bordered the grounds of the king's castle. they had gone halfway through it when the sound of sobbing, as of someone in bitter distress, reached their ears and caused them to halt abruptly. chapter ten pon, the gardener's boy it was button-bright who first discovered, lying on his face beneath a broad spreading tree near the pathway, a young man whose body shook with the force of his sobs. he was dressed in a long brown smock and had sandals on his feet, betokening one in humble life. his head was bare and showed a shock of brown, curly hair. button-bright looked down on the young man and said: "who cares, anyhow?" "i do!" cried the young man, interrupting his sobs to roll over, face upward, that he might see who had spoken. "i care, for my heart is broken!" "can't you get another one?" asked the little boy. "i don't want another!" wailed the young man. by this time trot and cap'n bill arrived at the spot and the girl leaned over and said in a sympathetic voice: "tell us your troubles and perhaps we may help you." the youth sat up, then, and bowed politely. afterward he got upon his feet, but still kept wringing his hands as he tried to choke down his sobs. trot thought he was very brave to control such awful agony so well. "my name is pon," he began. "i'm the gardener's boy." "then the gardener of the king is your father, i suppose," said trot. "not my father, but my master," was the reply "i do the work and the gardener gives the orders. and it was not my fault, in the least, that the princess gloria fell in love with me." "did she, really?" asked the little girl. "i don't see why," remarked button-bright, staring at the youth. "and who may the princess gloria be?" inquired cap'n bill. "she is the niece of king krewl, who is her guardian. the princess lives in the castle and is the loveliest and sweetest maiden in all jinxland. she is fond of flowers and used to walk in the gardens with her attendants. at such times, if i was working at my tasks, i used to cast down my eyes as gloria passed me; but one day i glanced up and found her gazing at me with a very tender look in her eyes. the next day she dismissed her attendants and, coming to my side, began to talk with me. she said i had touched her heart as no other young man had ever done. i kissed her hand. just then the king came around a bend in the walk. he struck me with his fist and kicked me with his foot. then he seized the arm of the princess and rudely dragged her into the castle." "wasn't he awful!" gasped trot indignantly. "he is a very abrupt king," said pon, "so it was the least i could expect. up to that time i had not thought of loving princess gloria, but realizing it would be impolite not to return her love, i did so. we met at evening, now and then, and she told me the king wanted her to marry a rich courtier named googly-goo, who is old enough to be gloria's father. she has refused googly-goo thirty-nine times, but he still persists and has brought many rich presents to bribe the king. on that account king krewl has commanded his niece to marry the old man, but the princess has assured me, time and again, that she will wed only me. this morning we happened to meet in the grape arbor and as i was respectfully saluting the cheek of the princess, two of the king's guards seized me and beat me terribly before the very eyes of gloria, whom the king himself held back so she could not interfere." "why, this king must be a monster!" cried trot. "he is far worse than that," said pon, mournfully. "but, see here," interrupted cap'n bill, who had listened carefully to pon. "this king may not be so much to blame, after all. kings are proud folks, because they're so high an' mighty, an' it isn't reasonable for a royal princess to marry a common gardener's boy." "it isn't right," declared button-bright. "a princess should marry a prince." "i'm not a common gardener's boy," protested pon. "if i had my rights i would be the king instead of krewl. as it is, i'm a prince, and as royal as any man in jinxland." "how does that come?" asked cap'n bill. "my father used to be the king and krewl was his prime minister. but one day while out hunting, king phearse--that was my father's name--had a quarrel with krewl and tapped him gently on the nose with the knuckles of his closed hand. this so provoked the wicked krewl that he tripped my father backward, so that he fell into a deep pond. at once krewl threw in a mass of heavy stones, which so weighted down my poor father that his body could not rise again to the surface. it is impossible to kill anyone in this land, as perhaps you know, but when my father was pressed down into the mud at the bottom of the deep pool and the stones held him so he could never escape, he was of no more use to himself or the world than if he had died. knowing this, krewl proclaimed himself king, taking possession of the royal castle and driving all my father's people out. i was a small boy, then, but when i grew up i became a gardener. i have served king krewl without his knowing that i am the son of the same king phearse whom he so cruelly made away with." "my, but that's a terr'bly exciting story!" said trot, drawing a long breath. "but tell us, pon, who was gloria's father?" "oh, he was the king before my father," replied pon. "father was prime minister for king kynd, who was gloria's father. she was only a baby when king kynd fell into the great gulf that lies just this side of the mountains--the same mountains that separate jinxland from the rest of the land of oz. it is said the great gulf has no bottom; but, however that may be, king kynd has never been seen again and my father became king in his place." "seems to me," said trot, "that if gloria had her rights she would be queen of jinxland." "well, her father was a king," admitted pon, "and so was my father; so we are of equal rank, although she's a great lady and i'm a humble gardener's boy. i can't see why we should not marry if we want to except that king krewl won't let us." "it's a sort of mixed-up mess, taken altogether," remarked cap'n bill. "but we are on our way to visit king krewl, and if we get a chance, young man, we'll put in a good word for you." "do, please!" begged pon. "was it the flogging you got that broke your heart?" inquired button-bright. "why, it helped to break it, of course," said pon. "i'd get it fixed up, if i were you," advised the boy, tossing a pebble at a chipmunk in a tree. "you ought to give gloria just as good a heart as she gives you." "that's common sense," agreed cap'n bill. so they left the gardener's boy standing beside the path, and resumed their journey toward the castle. chapter eleven the wicked king and googly-goo when our friends approached the great doorway of the castle they found it guarded by several soldiers dressed in splendid uniforms. they were armed with swords and lances. cap'n bill walked straight up to them and asked: "does the king happen to be at home?" "his magnificent and glorious majesty, king krewl, is at present inhabiting his royal castle," was the stiff reply. "then i guess we'll go in an' say how-d'ye-do," continued cap'n bill, attempting to enter the doorway. but a soldier barred his way with a lance. "who are you, what are your names, and where do you come from?" demanded the soldier. "you wouldn't know if we told you," returned the sailor, "seein' as we're strangers in a strange land." "oh, if you are strangers you will be permitted to enter," said the soldier, lowering his lance. "his majesty is very fond of strangers." "do many strangers come here?" asked trot. "you are the first that ever came to our country," said the man. "but his majesty has often said that if strangers ever arrived in jinxland he would see that they had a very exciting time." cap'n bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. he wasn't very favorably impressed by this last remark. but he decided that as there was no way of escape from jinxland it would be wise to confront the king boldly and try to win his favor. so they entered the castle, escorted by one of the soldiers. it was certainly a fine castle, with many large rooms, all beautifully furnished. the passages were winding and handsomely decorated, and after following several of these the soldier led them into an open court that occupied the very center of the huge building. it was surrounded on every side by high turreted walls, and contained beds of flowers, fountains and walks of many colored marbles which were matched together in quaint designs. in an open space near the middle of the court they saw a group of courtiers and their ladies, who surrounded a lean man who wore upon his head a jeweled crown. his face was hard and sullen and through the slits of his half-closed eyelids the eyes glowed like coals of fire. he was dressed in brilliant satins and velvets and was seated in a golden throne-chair. this personage was king krewl, and as soon as cap'n bill saw him the old sailor knew at once that he was not going to like the king of jinxland. "hello! who's here?" said his majesty, with a deep scowl. "strangers, sire," answered the soldier, bowing so low that his forehead touched the marble tiles. "strangers, eh? well, well; what an unexpected visit! advance, strangers, and give an account of yourselves." the king's voice was as harsh as his features. trot shuddered a little but cap'n bill calmly replied: "there ain't much for us to say, 'cept as we've arrived to look over your country an' see how we like it. judgin' from the way you speak, you don't know who we are, or you'd be jumpin' up to shake hands an' offer us seats. kings usually treat us pretty well, in the great big outside world where we come from, but in this little kingdom--which don't amount to much, anyhow--folks don't seem to 'a' got much culchure." the king listened with amazement to this bold speech, first with a frown and then gazing at the two children and the old sailor with evident curiosity. the courtiers were dumb with fear, for no one had ever dared speak in such a manner to their self-willed, cruel king before. his majesty, however, was somewhat frightened, for cruel people are always cowards, and he feared these mysterious strangers might possess magic powers that would destroy him unless he treated them well. so he commanded his people to give the new arrivals seats, and they obeyed with trembling haste. after being seated, cap'n bill lighted his pipe and began puffing smoke from it, a sight so strange to them that it filled them all with wonder. presently the king asked: "how did you penetrate to this hidden country? did you cross the desert or the mountains?" "desert," answered cap'n bill, as if the task were too easy to be worth talking about. "indeed! no one has ever been able to do that before," said the king. "well, it's easy enough, if you know how," asserted cap'n bill, so carelessly that it greatly impressed his hearers. the king shifted in his throne uneasily. he was more afraid of these strangers than before. "do you intend to stay long in jinxland?" was his next anxious question. "depends on how we like it," said cap'n bill. "just now i might suggest to your majesty to order some rooms got ready for us in your dinky little castle here. and a royal banquet, with some fried onions an' pickled tripe, would set easy on our stomicks an' make us a bit happier than we are now." "your wishes shall be attended to," said king krewl, but his eyes flashed from between their slits in a wicked way that made trot hope the food wouldn't be poisoned. at the king's command several of his attendants hastened away to give the proper orders to the castle servants and no sooner were they gone than a skinny old man entered the courtyard and bowed before the king. this disagreeable person was dressed in rich velvets, with many furbelows and laces. he was covered with golden chains, finely wrought rings and jeweled ornaments. he walked with mincing steps and glared at all the courtiers as if he considered himself far superior to any or all of them. "well, well, your majesty; what news--what news?" he demanded, in a shrill, cracked voice. the king gave him a surly look. "no news, lord googly-goo, except that strangers have arrived," he said. googly-goo cast a contemptuous glance at cap'n bill and a disdainful one at trot and button-bright. then he said: "strangers do not interest me, your majesty. but the princess gloria is very interesting--very interesting, indeed! what does she say, sire? will she marry me?" "ask her," retorted the king. "i have, many times; and every time she has refused." "well?" said the king harshly. "well," said googly-goo in a jaunty tone, "a bird that can sing, and won't sing, must be made to sing." "huh!" sneered the king. "that's easy, with a bird; but a girl is harder to manage." "still," persisted googly-goo, "we must overcome difficulties. the chief trouble is that gloria fancies she loves that miserable gardener's boy, pon. suppose we throw pon into the great gulf, your majesty?" "it would do you no good," returned the king. "she would still love him." "too bad, too bad!" sighed googly-goo. "i have laid aside more than a bushel of precious gems--each worth a king's ransom--to present to your majesty on the day i wed gloria." the king's eyes sparkled, for he loved wealth above everything; but the next moment he frowned deeply again. "it won't help us to kill pon," he muttered. "what we must do is kill gloria's love for pon." "that is better, if you can find a way to do it," agreed googly-goo. "everything would come right if you could kill gloria's love for that gardener's boy. really, sire, now that i come to think of it, there must be fully a bushel and a half of those jewels!" just then a messenger entered the court to say that the banquet was prepared for the strangers. so cap'n bill, trot and button-bright entered the castle and were taken to a room where a fine feast was spread upon the table. "i don't like that lord googly-goo," remarked trot as she was busily eating. "nor i," said cap'n bill. "but from the talk we heard i guess the gardener's boy won't get the princess." "perhaps not," returned the girl; "but i hope old googly doesn't get her, either." "the king means to sell her for all those jewels," observed button-bright, his mouth half full of cake and jam. "poor princess!" sighed trot. "i'm sorry for her, although i've never seen her. but if she says no to googly-goo, and means it, what can they do?" "don't let us worry about a strange princess," advised cap'n bill. "i've a notion we're not too safe, ourselves, with this cruel king." the two children felt the same way and all three were rather solemn during the remainder of the meal. when they had eaten, the servants escorted them to their rooms. cap'n bill's room was way to one end of the castle, very high up, and trot's room was at the opposite end, rather low down. as for button-bright, they placed him in the middle, so that all were as far apart as they could possibly be. they didn't like this arrangement very well, but all the rooms were handsomely furnished and being guests of the king they dared not complain. after the strangers had left the courtyard the king and googly-goo had a long talk together, and the king said: "i cannot force gloria to marry you just now, because those strangers may interfere. i suspect that the wooden-legged man possesses great magical powers, or he would never have been able to carry himself and those children across the deadly desert." "i don't like him; he looks dangerous," answered googly-goo. "but perhaps you are mistaken about his being a wizard. why don't you test his powers?" "how?" asked the king. "send for the wicked witch. she will tell you in a moment whether that wooden-legged person is a common man or a magician." "ha! that's a good idea," cried the king. "why didn't i think of the wicked witch before? but the woman demands rich rewards for her services." "never mind; i will pay her," promised the wealthy googly-goo. so a servant was dispatched to summon the wicked witch, who lived but a few leagues from king krewl's castle. while they awaited her, the withered old courtier proposed that they pay a visit to princess gloria and see if she was not now in a more complaisant mood. so the two started away together and searched the castle over without finding gloria. at last googly-goo suggested she might be in the rear garden, which was a large park filled with bushes and trees and surrounded by a high wall. and what was their anger, when they turned a corner of the path, to find in a quiet nook the beautiful princess, and kneeling before her, pon, the gardener's boy! with a roar of rage the king dashed forward; but pon had scaled the wall by means of a ladder, which still stood in its place, and when he saw the king coming he ran up the ladder and made good his escape. but this left gloria confronted by her angry guardian, the king, and by old googly-goo, who was trembling with a fury he could not express in words. seizing the princess by her arm the king dragged her back to the castle. pushing her into a room on the lower floor he locked the door upon the unhappy girl. and at that moment the arrival of the wicked witch was announced. hearing this, the king smiled, as a tiger smiles, showing his teeth. and googly-goo smiled, as a serpent smiles, for he had no teeth except a couple of fangs. and having frightened each other with these smiles the two dreadful men went away to the royal council chamber to meet the wicked witch. chapter twelve the wooden-legged grass-hopper now it so happened that trot, from the window of her room, had witnessed the meeting of the lovers in the garden and had seen the king come and drag gloria away. the little girl's heart went out in sympathy for the poor princess, who seemed to her to be one of the sweetest and loveliest young ladies she had ever seen, so she crept along the passages and from a hidden niche saw gloria locked in her room. the key was still in the lock, so when the king had gone away, followed by googly-goo, trot stole up to the door, turned the key and entered. the princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. trot went up to her and smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. "don't cry," she said. "i've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time you want to." "it isn't that," sobbed the princess. "i am unhappy because they will not let me love pon, the gardener's boy!" "well, never mind; pon isn't any great shakes, anyhow, seems to me," said trot soothingly. "there are lots of other people you can love." gloria rolled over on the couch and looked at the little girl reproachfully. "pon has won my heart, and i can't help loving him," she explained. then with sudden indignation she added: "but i'll never love googly-goo--never, as long as i live!" "i should say not!" replied trot. "pon may not be much good, but old googly is very, very bad. hunt around, and i'm sure you'll find someone worth your love. you're very pretty, you know, and almost anyone ought to love you." "you don't understand, my dear," said gloria, as she wiped the tears from her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief bordered with pearls. "when you are older you will realize that a young lady cannot decide whom she will love, or choose the most worthy. her heart alone decides for her, and whomsoever her heart selects, she must love, whether he amounts to much or not." trot was a little puzzled by this speech, which seemed to her unreasonable; but she made no reply and presently gloria's grief softened and she began to question the little girl about herself and her adventures. trot told her how they had happened to come to jinxland, and all about cap'n bill and the ork and pessim and the bumpy man. while they were thus conversing together, getting more and more friendly as they became better acquainted, in the council chamber the king and googly-goo were talking with the wicked witch. this evil creature was old and ugly. she had lost one eye and wore a black patch over it, so the people of jinxland had named her "blinkie." of course witches are forbidden to exist in the land of oz, but jinxland was so far removed from the center of ozma's dominions, and so absolutely cut off from it by the steep mountains and the bottomless gulf, that the laws of oz were not obeyed very well in that country. so there were several witches in jinxland who were the terror of the people, but king krewl favored them and permitted them to exercise their evil sorcery. blinkie was the leader of all the other witches and therefore the most hated and feared. the king used her witchcraft at times to assist him in carrying out his cruelties and revenge, but he was always obliged to pay blinkie large sums of money or heaps of precious jewels before she would undertake an enchantment. this made him hate the old woman almost as much as his subjects did, but to-day lord googly-goo had agreed to pay the witch's price, so the king greeted her with gracious favor. "can you destroy the love of princess gloria for the gardener's boy?" inquired his majesty. the wicked witch thought about it before she replied: "that's a hard question to answer. i can do lots of clever magic, but love is a stubborn thing to conquer. when you think you've killed it, it's liable to bob up again as strong as ever. i believe love and cats have nine lives. in other words, killing love is a hard job, even for a skillful witch, but i believe i can do something that will answer your purpose just as well." "what is that?" asked the king. "i can freeze the girl's heart. i've got a special incantation for that, and when gloria's heart is thoroughly frozen she can no longer love pon." "just the thing!" exclaimed googly-goo, and the king was likewise much pleased. they bargained a long time as to the price, but finally the old courtier agreed to pay the wicked witch's demands. it was arranged that they should take gloria to blinkie's house the next day, to have her heart frozen. then king krewl mentioned to the old hag the strangers who had that day arrived in jinxland, and said to her: "i think the two children--the boy and the girl--are unable to harm me, but i have a suspicion that the wooden-legged man is a powerful wizard." the witch's face wore a troubled look when she heard this. "if you are right," she said, "this wizard might spoil my incantation and interfere with me in other ways. so it will be best for me to meet this stranger at once and match my magic against his, to decide which is the stronger." "all right," said the king. "come with me and i will lead you to the man's room." googly-goo did not accompany them, as he was obliged to go home to get the money and jewels he had promised to pay old blinkie, so the other two climbed several flights of stairs and went through many passages until they came to the room occupied by cap'n bill. the sailor-man, finding his bed soft and inviting, and being tired with the adventures he had experienced, had decided to take a nap. when the wicked witch and the king softly opened his door and entered, cap'n bill was snoring with such vigor that he did not hear them at all. blinkie approached the bed and with her one eye anxiously stared at the sleeping stranger. "ah," she said in a soft whisper, "i believe you are right, king krewl. the man looks to me like a very powerful wizard. but by good luck i have caught him asleep, so i shall transform him before he wakes up, giving him such a form that he will be unable to oppose me." "careful!" cautioned the king, also speaking low. "if he discovers what you are doing he may destroy you, and that would annoy me because i need you to attend to gloria." but the wicked witch realized as well as he did that she must be careful. she carried over her arm a black bag, from which she now drew several packets carefully wrapped in paper. three of these she selected, replacing the others in the bag. two of the packets she mixed together, and then she cautiously opened the third. "better stand back, your majesty," she advised, "for if this powder falls on you you might be transformed yourself." the king hastily retreated to the end of the room. as blinkie mixed the third powder with the others she waved her hands over it, mumbled a few words, and then backed away as quickly as she could. cap'n bill was slumbering peacefully, all unconscious of what was going on. puff! a great cloud of smoke rolled over the bed and completely hid him from view. when the smoke rolled away, both blinkie and the king saw that the body of the stranger had quite disappeared, while in his place, crouching in the middle of the bed, was a little gray grasshopper. one curious thing about this grasshopper was that the last joint of its left leg was made of wood. another curious thing--considering it was a grasshopper--was that it began talking, crying out in a tiny but sharp voice: "here--you people! what do you mean by treating me so? put me back where i belong, at once, or you'll be sorry!" the cruel king turned pale at hearing the grasshopper's threats, but the wicked witch merely laughed in derision. then she raised her stick and aimed a vicious blow at the grasshopper, but before the stick struck the bed the tiny hopper made a marvelous jump--marvelous, indeed, when we consider that it had a wooden leg. it rose in the air and sailed across the room and passed right through the open window, where it disappeared from their view. "good!" shouted the king. "we are well rid of this desperate wizard." and then they both laughed heartily at the success of the incantation, and went away to complete their horrid plans. after trot had visited a time with princess gloria, the little girl went to button-bright's room but did not find him there. then she went to cap'n bill's room, but he was not there because the witch and the king had been there before her. so she made her way downstairs and questioned the servants. they said they had seen the little boy go out into the garden, some time ago, but the old man with the wooden leg they had not seen at all. therefore trot, not knowing what else to do, rambled through the great gardens, seeking for button-bright or cap'n bill and not finding either of them. this part of the garden, which lay before the castle, was not walled in, but extended to the roadway, and the paths were open to the edge of the forest; so, after two hours of vain search for her friends, the little girl returned to the castle. but at the doorway a soldier stopped her. "i live here," said trot, "so it's all right to let me in. the king has given me a room." "well, he has taken it back again," was the soldier's reply. "his majesty's orders are to turn you away if you attempt to enter. i am also ordered to forbid the boy, your companion, to again enter the king's castle." "how 'bout cap'n bill?" she inquired. "why, it seems he has mysteriously disappeared," replied the soldier, shaking his head ominously. "where he has gone to, i can't make out, but i can assure you he is no longer in this castle. i'm sorry, little girl, to disappoint you. don't blame me; i must obey my master's orders." now, all her life trot had been accustomed to depend on cap'n bill, so when this good friend was suddenly taken from her she felt very miserable and forlorn indeed. she was brave enough not to cry before the soldier, or even to let him see her grief and anxiety, but after she was turned away from the castle she sought a quiet bench in the garden and for a time sobbed as if her heart would break. it was button-bright who found her, at last, just as the sun had set and the shades of evening were falling. he also had been turned away from the king's castle, when he tried to enter it, and in the park he came across trot. "never mind," said the boy. "we can find a place to sleep." "i want cap'n bill," wailed the girl. "well, so do i," was the reply. "but we haven't got him. where do you s'pose he is, trot? "i don't s'pose anything. he's gone, an' that's all i know 'bout it." button-bright sat on the bench beside her and thrust his hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers. then he reflected somewhat gravely for him. "cap'n bill isn't around here," he said, letting his eyes wander over the dim garden, "so we must go somewhere else if we want to find him. besides, it's fast getting dark, and if we want to find a place to sleep we must get busy while we can see where to go." he rose from the bench as he said this and trot also jumped up, drying her eyes on her apron. then she walked beside him out of the grounds of the king's castle. they did not go by the main path, but passed through an opening in a hedge and found themselves in a small but well-worn roadway. following this for some distance, along a winding way, they came upon no house or building that would afford them refuge for the night. it became so dark that they could scarcely see their way, and finally trot stopped and suggested that they camp under a tree. "all right," said button-bright, "i've often found that leaves make a good warm blanket. but--look there, trot!--isn't that a light flashing over yonder?" "it certainly is, button-bright. let's go over and see if it's a house. whoever lives there couldn't treat us worse than the king did." to reach the light they had to leave the road, so they stumbled over hillocks and brushwood, hand in hand, keeping the tiny speck of light always in sight. they were rather forlorn little waifs, outcasts in a strange country and forsaken by their only friend and guardian, cap'n bill. so they were very glad when finally they reached a small cottage and, looking in through its one window, saw pon, the gardener's boy, sitting by a fire of twigs. as trot opened the door and walked boldly in, pon sprang up to greet them. they told him of cap'n bill's disappearance and how they had been turned out of the king's castle. as they finished the story pon shook his head sadly. "king krewl is plotting mischief, i fear," said he, "for to-day he sent for old blinkie, the wicked witch, and with my own eyes i saw her come from the castle and hobble away toward her hut. she had been with the king and googly-goo, and i was afraid they were going to work some enchantment on gloria so she would no longer love me. but perhaps the witch was only called to the castle to enchant your friend, cap'n bill." "could she do that?" asked trot, horrified by the suggestion. "i suppose so, for old blinkie can do a lot of wicked magical things." "what sort of an enchantment could she put on cap'n bill?" "i don't know. but he has disappeared, so i'm pretty certain she has done something dreadful to him. but don't worry. if it has happened, it can't be helped, and if it hasn't happened we may be able to find him in the morning." with this pon went to the cupboard and brought food for them. trot was far too worried to eat, but button-bright made a good supper from the simple food and then lay down before the fire and went to sleep. the little girl and the gardener's boy, however, sat for a long time staring into the fire, busy with their thoughts. but at last trot, too, became sleepy and pon gently covered her with the one blanket he possessed. then he threw more wood on the fire and laid himself down before it, next to button-bright. soon all three were fast asleep. they were in a good deal of trouble; but they were young, and sleep was good to them because for a time it made them forget. chapter thirteen glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz that country south of the emerald city, in the land of oz, is known as the quadling country, and in the very southernmost part of it stands a splendid palace in which lives glinda the good. glinda is the royal sorceress of oz. she has wonderful magical powers and uses them only to benefit the subjects of ozma's kingdom. even the famous wizard of oz pays tribute to her, for glinda taught him all the real magic he knows, and she is his superior in all sorts of sorcery everyone loves glinda, from the dainty and exquisite ruler, ozma, down to the humblest inhabitant of oz, for she is always kindly and helpful and willing to listen to their troubles, however busy she may be. no one knows her age, but all can see how beautiful and stately she is. her hair is like red gold and finer than the finest silken strands. her eyes are blue as the sky and always frank and smiling. her cheeks are the envy of peach-blows and her mouth is enticing as a rosebud. glinda is tall and wears splendid gowns that trail behind her as she walks. she wears no jewels, for her beauty would shame them. for attendants glinda has half a hundred of the loveliest girls in oz. they are gathered from all over oz, from among the winkies, the munchkins, the gillikins and the quadlings, as well as from ozma's magnificent emerald city, and it is considered a great favor to be allowed to serve the royal sorceress. among the many wonderful things in glinda's palace is the great book of records. in this book is inscribed everything that takes place in all the world, just the instant it happens; so that by referring to its pages glinda knows what is taking place far and near, in every country that exists. in this way she learns when and where she can help any in distress or danger, and although her duties are confined to assisting those who inhabit the land of oz, she is always interested in what takes place in the unprotected outside world. so it was that on a certain evening glinda sat in her library, surrounded by a bevy of her maids, who were engaged in spinning, weaving and embroidery, when an attendant announced the arrival at the palace of the scarecrow. this personage was one of the most famous and popular in all the land of oz. his body was merely a suit of munchkin clothes stuffed with straw, but his head was a round sack filled with bran, with which the wizard of oz had mixed some magic brains of a very superior sort. the eyes, nose and mouth of the scarecrow were painted upon the front of the sack, as were his ears, and since this quaint being had been endowed with life, the expression of his face was very interesting, if somewhat comical. the scarecrow was good all through, even to his brains, and while he was naturally awkward in his movements and lacked the neat symmetry of other people, his disposition was so kind and considerate and he was so obliging and honest, that all who knew him loved him, and there were few people in oz who had not met our scarecrow and made his acquaintance. he lived part of the time in ozma's palace at the emerald city, part of the time in his own corncob castle in the winkie country, and part of the time he traveled over all oz, visiting with the people and playing with the children, whom he dearly loved. it was on one of his wandering journeys that the scarecrow had arrived at glinda's palace, and the sorceress at once made him welcome. as he sat beside her, talking of his adventures, he asked: "what's new in the way of news?" glinda opened her great book of records and read some of the last pages. "here is an item quite curious and interesting," she announced, an accent of surprise in her voice. "three people from the big outside world have arrived in jinxland." "where is jinxland?" inquired the scarecrow. "very near here, a little to the east of us," she said. "in fact, jinxland is a little slice taken off the quadling country, but separated from it by a range of high mountains, at the foot of which lies a wide, deep gulf that is supposed to be impassable." "then jinxland is really a part of the land of oz," said he. "yes," returned glinda, "but oz people know nothing of it, except what is recorded here in my book." "what does the book say about it?" asked the scarecrow. "it is ruled by a wicked man called king krewl, although he has no right to the title. most of the people are good, but they are very timid and live in constant fear of their fierce ruler. there are also several wicked witches who keep the inhabitants of jinxland in a state of terror." "do those witches have any magical powers?" inquired the scarecrow. "yes, they seem to understand witchcraft in its most evil form, for one of them has just transformed a respectable and honest old sailor--one of the strangers who arrived there--into a grasshopper. this same witch, blinkie by name, is also planning to freeze the heart of a beautiful jinxland girl named princess gloria." "why, that's a dreadful thing to do!" exclaimed the scarecrow. glinda's face was very grave. she read in her book how trot and button-bright were turned out of the king's castle, and how they found refuge in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy. "i'm afraid those helpless earth people will endure much suffering in jinxland, even if the wicked king and the witches permit them to live," said the good sorceress, thoughtfully. "i wish i might help them." "can i do anything?" asked the scarecrow, anxiously. "if so, tell me what to do, and i'll do it." for a few moments glinda did not reply, but sat musing over the records. then she said: "i am going to send you to jinxland, to protect trot and button-bright and cap'n bill." "all right," answered the scarecrow in a cheerful voice. "i know button-bright already, for he has been in the land of oz before. you remember he went away from the land of oz in one of our wizard's big bubbles." "yes," said glinda, "i remember that." then she carefully instructed the scarecrow what to do and gave him certain magical things which he placed in the pockets of his ragged munchkin coat. "as you have no need to sleep," said she, "you may as well start at once." "the night is the same as day to me," he replied, "except that i cannot see my way so well in the dark." "i will furnish a light to guide you," promised the sorceress. so the scarecrow bade her good-bye and at once started on his journey. by morning he had reached the mountains that separated the quadling country from jinxland. the sides of these mountains were too steep to climb, but the scarecrow took a small rope from his pocket and tossed one end upward, into the air. the rope unwound itself for hundreds of feet, until it caught upon a peak of rock at the very top of a mountain, for it was a magic rope furnished him by glinda. the scarecrow climbed the rope and, after pulling it up, let it down on the other side of the mountain range. when he descended the rope on this side he found himself in jinxland, but at his feet yawned the great gulf, which must be crossed before he could proceed any farther. the scarecrow knelt down and examined the ground carefully, and in a moment he discovered a fuzzy brown spider that had rolled itself into a ball. so he took two tiny pills from his pocket and laid them beside the spider, which unrolled itself and quickly ate up the pills. then the scarecrow said in a voice of command: "spin!" and the spider obeyed instantly. in a few moments the little creature had spun two slender but strong strands that reached way across the gulf, one being five or six feet above the other. when these were completed the scarecrow started across the tiny bridge, walking upon one strand as a person walks upon a rope, and holding to the upper strand with his hands to prevent him from losing his balance and toppling over into the gulf. the tiny threads held him safely, thanks to the strength given them by the magic pills. presently he was safe across and standing on the plains of jinxland. far away he could see the towers of the king's castle and toward this he at once began to walk. chapter fourteen the frozen heart in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy, button-bright was the first to waken in the morning. leaving his companions still asleep, he went out into the fresh morning air and saw some blackberries growing on bushes in a field not far away. going to the bushes he found the berries ripe and sweet, so he began eating them. more bushes were scattered over the fields, so the boy wandered on, from bush to bush, without paying any heed to where he was wandering. then a butterfly fluttered by. he gave chase to it and followed it a long way. when finally he paused to look around him, button-bright could see no sign of pon's house, nor had he the slightest idea in which direction it lay. "well, i'm lost again," he remarked to himself. "but never mind; i've been lost lots of times. someone is sure to find me." trot was a little worried about button-bright when she awoke and found him gone. knowing how careless he was, she believed that he had strayed away, but felt that he would come back in time, because he had a habit of not staying lost. pon got the little girl some food for her breakfast and then together they went out of the hut and stood in the sunshine. pon's house was some distance off the road, but they could see it from where they stood and both gave a start of surprise when they discovered two soldiers walking along the roadway and escorting princess gloria between them. the poor girl had her hands bound together, to prevent her from struggling, and the soldiers rudely dragged her forward when her steps seemed to lag. behind this group came king krewl, wearing his jeweled crown and swinging in his hand a slender golden staff with a ball of clustered gems at one end. "where are they going?" asked trot. "to the house of the wicked witch, i fear," pon replied. "come, let us follow them, for i am sure they intend to harm my dear gloria." "won't they see us?" she asked timidly. "we won't let them. i know a short cut through the trees to blinkie's house," said he. so they hurried away through the trees and reached the house of the witch ahead of the king and his soldiers. hiding themselves in the shrubbery, they watched the approach of poor gloria and her escort, all of whom passed so near to them that pon could have put out a hand and touched his sweetheart, had he dared to. blinkie's house had eight sides, with a door and a window in each side. smoke was coming out of the chimney and as the guards brought gloria to one of the doors it was opened by the old witch in person. she chuckled with evil glee and rubbed her skinny hands together to show the delight with which she greeted her victim, for blinkie was pleased to be able to perform her wicked rites on one so fair and sweet as the princess. gloria struggled to resist when they bade her enter the house, so the soldiers forced her through the doorway and even the king gave her a shove as he followed close behind. pon was so incensed at the cruelty shown gloria that he forgot all caution and rushed forward to enter the house also; but one of the soldiers prevented him, pushing the gardener's boy away with violence and slamming the door in his face. "never mind," said trot soothingly, as pon rose from where he had fallen. "you couldn't do much to help the poor princess if you were inside. how unfortunate it is that you are in love with her!" "true," he answered sadly, "it is indeed my misfortune. if i did not love her, it would be none of my business what the king did to his niece gloria; but the unlucky circumstance of my loving her makes it my duty to defend her." "i don't see how you can, duty or no duty," observed trot. "no; i am powerless, for they are stronger than i. but we might peek in through the window and see what they are doing." trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy they did not notice that pon and trot were watching them. gloria had been tied to a stout post in the center of the room and the king was giving the wicked witch a quantity of money and jewels, which googly-goo had provided in payment. when this had been done the king said to her: "are you perfectly sure you can freeze this maiden's heart, so that she will no longer love that low gardener's boy?" "sure as witchcraft, your majesty," the creature replied. "then get to work," said the king. "there may be some unpleasant features about the ceremony that would annoy me, so i'll bid you good day and leave you to carry out your contract. one word, however: if you fail, i shall burn you at the stake!" then he beckoned to his soldiers to follow him, and throwing wide the door of the house walked out. this action was so sudden that king krewl almost caught trot and pon eavesdropping, but they managed to run around the house before he saw them. away he marched, up the road, followed by his men, heartlessly leaving gloria to the mercies of old blinkie. when they again crept up to the window, trot and pon saw blinkie gloating over her victim. although nearly fainting from fear, the proud princess gazed with haughty defiance into the face of the wicked creature; but she was bound so tightly to the post that she could do no more to express her loathing. pretty soon blinkie went to a kettle that was swinging by a chain over the fire and tossed into it several magical compounds. the kettle gave three flashes, and at every flash another witch appeared in the room. these hags were very ugly but when one-eyed blinkie whispered her orders to them they grinned with joy as they began dancing around gloria. first one and then another cast something into the kettle, when to the astonishment of the watchers at the window all three of the old women were instantly transformed into maidens of exquisite beauty, dressed in the daintiest costumes imaginable. only their eyes could not be disguised, and an evil glare still shone in their depths. but if the eyes were cast down or hidden, one could not help but admire these beautiful creatures, even with the knowledge that they were mere illusions of witchcraft. trot certainly admired them, for she had never seen anything so dainty and bewitching, but her attention was quickly drawn to their deeds instead of their persons, and then horror replaced admiration. into the kettle old blinkie poured another mess from a big brass bottle she took from a chest, and this made the kettle begin to bubble and smoke violently. one by one the beautiful witches approached to stir the contents of the kettle and to mutter a magic charm. their movements were graceful and rhythmic and the wicked witch who had called them to her aid watched them with an evil grin upon her wrinkled face. finally the incantation was complete. the kettle ceased bubbling and together the witches lifted it from the fire. then blinkie brought a wooden ladle and filled it from the contents of the kettle. going with the spoon to princess gloria she cried: "love no more! magic art now will freeze your mortal heart!" with this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon gloria's breast. trot saw the body of the princess become transparent, so that her beating heart showed plainly. but now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and then to white. a layer of frost formed about it and tiny icicles clung to its surface. then slowly the body of the girl became visible again and the heart was hidden from view. gloria seemed to have fainted, but now she recovered and, opening her beautiful eyes, stared coldly and without emotion at the group of witches confronting her. blinkie and the others knew by that one cold look that their charm had been successful. they burst into a chorus of wild laughter and the three beautiful ones began dancing again, while blinkie unbound the princess and set her free. trot rubbed her eyes to prove that she was wide awake and seeing clearly, for her astonishment was great when the three lovely maidens turned into ugly, crooked hags again, leaning on broomsticks and canes. they jeered at gloria, but the princess regarded them with cold disdain. being now free, she walked to a door, opened it and passed out. and the witches let her go. trot and pon had been so intent upon this scene that in their eagerness they had pressed quite hard against the window. just as gloria went out of the house the window-sash broke loose from its fastenings and fell with a crash into the room. the witches uttered a chorus of screams and then, seeing that their magical incantation had been observed, they rushed for the open window with uplifted broomsticks and canes. but pon was off like the wind, and trot followed at his heels. fear lent them strength to run, to leap across ditches, to speed up the hills and to vault the low fences as a deer would. the band of witches had dashed through the window in pursuit; but blinkie was so old, and the others so crooked and awkward, that they soon realized they would be unable to overtake the fugitives. so the three who had been summoned by the wicked witch put their canes or broomsticks between their legs and flew away through the air, quickly disappearing against the blue sky. blinkie, however, was so enraged at pon and trot that she hobbled on in the direction they had taken, fully determined to catch them, in time, and to punish them terribly for spying upon her witchcraft. when pon and trot had run so far that they were confident they had made good their escape, they sat down near the edge of a forest to get their breath again, for both were panting hard from their exertions. trot was the first to recover speech, and she said to her companion: "my! wasn't it terr'ble?" "the most terrible thing i ever saw," pon agreed. "and they froze gloria's heart; so now she can't love you any more." "well, they froze her heart, to be sure," admitted pon, "but i'm in hopes i can melt it with my love." "where do you s'pose gloria is?" asked the girl, after a pause. "she left the witch's house just before we did. perhaps she has gone back to the king's castle," he said. "i'm pretty sure she started off in a diff'rent direction," declared trot. "i looked over my shoulder, as i ran, to see how close the witches were, and i'm sure i saw gloria walking slowly away toward the north." "then let us circle around that way," proposed pon, "and perhaps we shall meet her." trot agreed to this and they left the grove and began to circle around toward the north, thus drawing nearer and nearer to old blinkie's house again. the wicked witch did not suspect this change of direction, so when she came to the grove she passed through it and continued on. pon and trot had reached a place less than half a mile from the witch's house when they saw gloria walking toward them. the princess moved with great dignity and with no show of haste whatever, holding her head high and looking neither to right nor left. pon rushed forward, holding out his arms as if to embrace her and calling her sweet names. but gloria gazed upon him coldly and repelled him with a haughty gesture. at this the poor gardener's boy sank upon his knees and hid his face in his arms, weeping bitter tears; but the princess was not at all moved by his distress. passing him by, she drew her skirts aside, as if unwilling they should touch him, and then she walked up the path a way and hesitated, as if uncertain where to go next. trot was grieved by pon's sobs and indignant because gloria treated him so badly. but she remembered why. "i guess your heart is frozen, all right," she said to the princess. gloria nodded gravely, in reply, and then turned her back upon the little girl. "can't you like even me?" asked trot, half pleadingly. "no," said gloria. "your voice sounds like a refrig'rator," sighed the little girl. "i'm awful sorry for you, 'cause you were sweet an' nice to me before this happened. you can't help it, of course; but it's a dreadful thing, jus' the same." "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves," announced gloria, calmly. "i do not love even myself." "that's too bad," said trot, "for, if you can't love anybody, you can't expect anybody to love you." "i do!" cried pon. "i shall always love her." "well, you're just a gardener's boy," replied trot, "and i didn't think you 'mounted to much, from the first. i can love the old princess gloria, with a warm heart an' nice manners, but this one gives me the shivers." "it's her icy heart, that's all," said pon. "that's enough," insisted trot. "seeing her heart isn't big enough to skate on, i can't see that she's of any use to anyone. for my part, i'm goin' to try to find button-bright an' cap'n bill." "i will go with you," decided pon. "it is evident that gloria no longer loves me and that her heart is frozen too stiff for me to melt it with my own love; therefore i may as well help you to find your friends." as trot started off, pon cast one more imploring look at the princess, who returned it with a chilly stare. so he followed after the little girl. as for the princess, she hesitated a moment and then turned in the same direction the others had taken, but going far more slowly. soon she heard footsteps pattering behind her, and up came googly-goo, a little out of breath with running. "stop, gloria!" he cried. "i have come to take you back to my mansion, where we are to be married." she looked at him wonderingly a moment, then tossed her head disdainfully and walked on. but googly-goo kept beside her. "what does this mean?" he demanded. "haven't you discovered that you no longer love that gardener's boy, who stood in my way?" "yes; i have discovered it," she replied. "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves. i cannot love you, or pon, or the cruel king my uncle, or even myself. go your way, googly-goo, for i will wed no one at all." he stopped in dismay when he heard this, but in another minute he exclaimed angrily: "you must wed me, princess gloria, whether you want to or not! i paid to have your heart frozen; i also paid the king to permit our marriage. if you now refuse me it will mean that i have been robbed--robbed--robbed of my precious money and jewels!" he almost wept with despair, but she laughed a cold, bitter laugh and passed on. googly-goo caught at her arm, as if to restrain her, but she whirled and dealt him a blow that sent him reeling into a ditch beside the path. here he lay for a long time, half covered by muddy water, dazed with surprise. finally the old courtier arose, dripping, and climbed from the ditch. the princess had gone; so, muttering threats of vengeance upon her, upon the king and upon blinkie, old googly-goo hobbled back to his mansion to have the mud removed from his costly velvet clothes. chapter fifteen trot meets the scarecrow trot and pon covered many leagues of ground, searching through forests, in fields and in many of the little villages of jinxland, but could find no trace of either cap'n bill or button-bright. finally they paused beside a cornfield and sat upon a stile to rest. pon took some apples from his pocket and gave one to trot. then he began eating another himself, for this was their time for luncheon. when his apple was finished pon tossed the core into the field. "tchuk-tchuk!" said a strange voice. "what do you mean by hitting me in the eye with an apple-core?" then rose up the form of the scarecrow, who had hidden himself in the cornfield while he examined pon and trot and decided whether they were worthy to be helped. "excuse me," said pon. "i didn't know you were there." "how did you happen to be there, anyhow?" asked trot. the scarecrow came forward with awkward steps and stood beside them. "ah, you are the gardener's boy," he said to pon. then he turned to trot. "and you are the little girl who came to jinxland riding on a big bird, and who has had the misfortune to lose her friend, cap'n bill, and her chum, button-bright." "why, how did you know all that?" she inquired. "i know a lot of things," replied the scarecrow, winking at her comically. "my brains are the carefully-assorted, double-distilled, high-efficiency sort that the wizard of oz makes. he admits, himself, that my brains are the best he ever manufactured." "i think i've heard of you," said trot slowly, as she looked the scarecrow over with much interest; "but you used to live in the land of oz." "oh, i do now," he replied cheerfully. "i've just come over the mountains from the quadling country to see if i can be of any help to you." "who, me?" asked pon. "no, the strangers from the big world. it seems they need looking after." "i'm doing that myself," said pon, a little ungraciously. "if you will pardon me for saying so, i don't see how a scarecrow with painted eyes can look after anyone." "if you don't see that, you are more blind than the scarecrow," asserted trot. "he's a fairy man, pon, and comes from the fairyland of oz, so he can do 'most anything. i hope," she added, turning to the scarecrow, "you can find cap'n bill for me." "i will try, anyhow," he promised. "but who is that old woman who is running toward us and shaking her stick at us?" trot and pon turned around and both uttered an exclamation of fear. the next instant they took to their heels and ran fast up the path. for it was old blinkie, the wicked witch, who had at last traced them to this place. her anger was so great that she was determined not to abandon the chase of pon and trot until she had caught and punished them. the scarecrow understood at once that the old woman meant harm to his new friends, so as she drew near he stepped before her. his appearance was so sudden and unexpected that blinkie ran into him and toppled him over, but she tripped on his straw body and went rolling in the path beside him. the scarecrow sat up and said: "i beg your pardon!" but she whacked him with her stick and knocked him flat again. then, furious with rage, the old witch sprang upon her victim and began pulling the straw out of his body. the poor scarecrow was helpless to resist and in a few moments all that was left of him was an empty suit of clothes and a heap of straw beside it. fortunately, blinkie did not harm his head, for it rolled into a little hollow and escaped her notice. fearing that pon and trot would escape her, she quickly resumed the chase and disappeared over the brow of a hill, following the direction in which she had seen them go. only a short time elapsed before a gray grasshopper with a wooden leg came hopping along and lit directly on the upturned face of the scarecrow's head. "pardon me, but you are resting yourself upon my nose," remarked the scarecrow. "oh! are you alive?" asked the grasshopper. "that is a question i have never been able to decide," said the scarecrow's head. "when my body is properly stuffed i have animation and can move around as well as any live person. the brains in the head you are now occupying as a throne, are of very superior quality and do a lot of very clever thinking. but whether that is being alive, or not, i cannot prove to you; for one who lives is liable to death, while i am only liable to destruction." "seems to me," said the grasshopper, rubbing his nose with his front legs, "that in your case it doesn't matter--unless you're destroyed already." "i am not; all i need is re-stuffing," declared the scarecrow; "and if pon and trot escape the witch, and come back here, i am sure they will do me that favor." "tell me! are trot and pon around here?" inquired the grasshopper, its small voice trembling with excitement. the scarecrow did not answer at once, for both his eyes were staring straight upward at a beautiful face that was slightly bent over his head. it was, indeed, princess gloria, who had wandered to this spot, very much surprised when she heard the scarecrow's head talk and the tiny gray grasshopper answer it. "this," said the scarecrow, still staring at her, "must be the princess who loves pon, the gardener's boy." "oh, indeed!" exclaimed the grasshopper--who of course was cap'n bill--as he examined the young lady curiously. "no," said gloria frigidly, "i do not love pon, or anyone else, for the wicked witch has frozen my heart." "what a shame!" cried the scarecrow. "one so lovely should be able to love. but would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?" the dainty princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue munchkin clothes and shrank back in disdain. but she was spared from refusing the scarecrow's request by the appearance of trot and pon, who had hidden in some bushes just over the brow of the hill and waited until old blinkie had passed them by. their hiding place was on the same side as the witch's blind eye, and she rushed on in the chase of the girl and the youth without being aware that they had tricked her. trot was shocked at the scarecrow's sad condition and at once began putting the straw back into his body. pon, at sight of gloria, again appealed to her to take pity on him, but the frozen-hearted princess turned coldly away and with a sigh the gardener's boy began to assist trot. neither of them at first noticed the small grasshopper, which at their appearance had skipped off the scarecrow's nose and was now clinging to a wisp of grass beside the path, where he was not likely to be stepped upon. not until the scarecrow had been neatly restuffed and set upon his feet again--when he bowed to his restorers and expressed his thanks--did the grasshopper move from his perch. then he leaped lightly into the path and called out: "trot--trot! look at me. i'm cap'n bill! see what the wicked witch has done to me." the voice was small, to be sure, but it reached trot's ears and startled her greatly. she looked intently at the grasshopper, her eyes wide with fear at first; then she knelt down and, noticing the wooden leg, she began to weep sorrowfully. "oh, cap'n bill--dear cap'n bill! what a cruel thing to do!" she sobbed. "don't cry, trot," begged the grasshopper. "it didn't hurt any, and it doesn't hurt now. but it's mighty inconvenient an' humiliatin', to say the least." "i wish," said the girl indignantly, while trying hard to restrain her tears, "that i was big 'nough an' strong 'nough to give that horrid witch a good beating. she ought to be turned into a toad for doing this to you, cap'n bill!" "never mind," urged the scarecrow, in a comforting voice, "such a transformation doesn't last always, and as a general thing there's some way to break the enchantment. i'm sure glinda could do it, in a jiffy." "who is glinda?" inquired cap'n bill. then the scarecrow told them all about glinda, not forgetting to mention her beauty and goodness and her wonderful powers of magic. he also explained how the royal sorceress had sent him to jinxland especially to help the strangers, whom she knew to be in danger because of the wiles of the cruel king and the wicked witch. chapter sixteen pon summons the king to surrender gloria had drawn near to the group to listen to their talk, and it seemed to interest her in spite of her frigid manner. they knew, of course, that the poor princess could not help being cold and reserved, so they tried not to blame her. "i ought to have come here a little sooner," said the scarecrow, regretfully; "but glinda sent me as soon as she discovered you were here and were likely to get into trouble. and now that we are all together--except button-bright, over whom it is useless to worry--i propose we hold a council of war, to decide what is best to be done." that seemed a wise thing to do, so they all sat down upon the grass, including gloria, and the grasshopper perched upon trot's shoulder and allowed her to stroke him gently with her hand. "in the first place," began the scarecrow, "this king krewl is a usurper and has no right to rule this kingdom of jinxland." "that is true," said pon, eagerly. "my father was king before him, and i--" "you are a gardener's boy," interrupted the scarecrow. "your father had no right to rule, either, for the rightful king of this land was the father of princess gloria, and only she is entitled to sit upon the throne of jinxland." "good!" exclaimed trot. "but what'll we do with king krewl? i s'pose he won't give up the throne unless he has to." "no, of course not," said the scarecrow. "therefore it will be our duty to make him give up the throne." "how?" asked trot. "give me time to think," was the reply. "that's what my brains are for. i don't know whether you people ever think, or not, but my brains are the best that the wizard of oz ever turned out, and if i give them plenty of time to work, the result usually surprises me." "take your time, then," suggested trot. "there's no hurry." "thank you," said the straw man, and sat perfectly still for half an hour. during this interval the grasshopper whispered in trot's ear, to which he was very close, and trot whispered back to the grasshopper sitting upon her shoulder. pon cast loving glances at gloria, who paid not the slightest heed to them. finally the scarecrow laughed aloud. "brains working?" inquired trot. "yes. they seem in fine order to-day. we will conquer king krewl and put gloria upon his throne as queen of jinxland." "fine!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands together gleefully. "but how?" "leave the how to me," said the scarecrow proudly. "as a conqueror i'm a wonder. we will, first of all, write a message to send to king krewl, asking him to surrender. if he refuses, then we will make him surrender." "why ask him, when we know he'll refuse?" inquired pon. "why, we must be polite, whatever we do," explained the scarecrow. "it would be very rude to conquer a king without proper notice." they found it difficult to write a message without paper, pen and ink, none of which was at hand; so it was decided to send pon as a messenger, with instructions to ask the king, politely but firmly, to surrender. pon was not anxious to be the messenger. indeed, he hinted that it might prove a dangerous mission. but the scarecrow was now the acknowledged head of the army of conquest, and he would listen to no refusal. so off pon started for the king's castle, and the others accompanied him as far as his hut, where they had decided to await the gardener's boy's return. i think it was because pon had known the scarecrow such a short time that he lacked confidence in the straw man's wisdom. it was easy to say: "we will conquer king krewl," but when pon drew near to the great castle he began to doubt the ability of a straw-stuffed man, a girl, a grasshopper and a frozen-hearted princess to do it. as for himself, he had never thought of defying the king before. that was why the gardener's boy was not very bold when he entered the castle and passed through to the enclosed court where the king was just then seated, with his favorite courtiers around him. none prevented pon's entrance, because he was known to be the gardener's boy, but when the king saw him he began to frown fiercely. he considered pon to be to blame for all his trouble with princess gloria, who since her heart had been frozen had escaped to some unknown place, instead of returning to the castle to wed googly-goo, as she had been expected to do. so the king bared his teeth angrily as he demanded: "what have you done with princess gloria?" "nothing, your majesty! i have done nothing at all," answered pon in a faltering voice. "she does not love me any more and even refuses to speak to me." "then why are you here, you rascal?" roared the king. pon looked first one way and then another, but saw no means of escape; so he plucked up courage. "i am here to summon your majesty to surrender." "what!" shouted the king. "surrender? surrender to whom?" pon's heart sank to his boots. "to the scarecrow," he replied. some of the courtiers began to titter, but king krewl was greatly annoyed. he sprang up and began to beat poor pon with the golden staff he carried. pon howled lustily and would have run away had not two of the soldiers held him until his majesty was exhausted with punishing the boy. then they let him go and he left the castle and returned along the road, sobbing at every step because his body was so sore and aching. "well," said the scarecrow, "did the king surrender?" "no; but he gave me a good drubbing!" sobbed poor pon. trot was very sorry for pon, but gloria did not seem affected in any way by her lover's anguish. the grasshopper leaped to the scarecrow's shoulder and asked him what he was going to do next. "conquer," was the reply. "but i will go alone, this time, for beatings cannot hurt me at all; nor can lance thrusts--or sword cuts--or arrow pricks." "why is that?" inquired trot. "because i have no nerves, such as you meat people possess. even grasshoppers have nerves, but straw doesn't; so whatever they do--except just one thing--they cannot injure me. therefore i expect to conquer king krewl with ease." "what is that one thing you excepted?" asked trot. "they will never think of it, so never mind. and now, if you will kindly excuse me for a time, i'll go over to the castle and do my conquering." "you have no weapons," pon reminded him. "true," said the scarecrow. "but if i carried weapons i might injure someone--perhaps seriously--and that would make me unhappy. i will just borrow that riding-whip, which i see in the corner of your hut, if you don't mind. it isn't exactly proper to walk with a riding-whip, but i trust you will excuse the inconsistency." pon handed him the whip and the scarecrow bowed to all the party and left the hut, proceeding leisurely along the way to the king's castle. chapter seventeen the ork rescues button-bright i must now tell you what had become of button-bright since he wandered away in the morning and got lost. this small boy, as perhaps you have discovered, was almost as destitute of nerves as the scarecrow. nothing ever astonished him much; nothing ever worried him or made him unhappy. good fortune or bad fortune he accepted with a quiet smile, never complaining, whatever happened. this was one reason why button-bright was a favorite with all who knew him--and perhaps it was the reason why he so often got into difficulties, or found himself lost. to-day, as he wandered here and there, over hill and down dale, he missed trot and cap'n bill, of whom he was fond, but nevertheless he was not unhappy. the birds sang merrily and the wildflowers were beautiful and the breeze had a fragrance of new-mown hay. "the only bad thing about this country is its king," he reflected; "but the country isn't to blame for that." a prairie-dog stuck its round head out of a mound of earth and looked at the boy with bright eyes. "walk around my house, please," it said, "and then you won't harm it or disturb the babies." "all right," answered button-bright, and took care not to step on the mound. he went on, whistling merrily, until a petulant voice cried: "oh, stop it! please stop that noise. it gets on my nerves." button-bright saw an old gray owl sitting in the crotch of a tree, and he replied with a laugh: "all right, old fussy," and stopped whistling until he had passed out of the owl's hearing. at noon he came to a farmhouse where an aged couple lived. they gave him a good dinner and treated him kindly, but the man was deaf and the woman was dumb, so they could answer no questions to guide him on the way to pon's house. when he left them he was just as much lost as he had been before. every grove of trees he saw from a distance he visited, for he remembered that the king's castle was near a grove of trees and pon's hut was near the king's castle; but always he met with disappointment. finally, passing through one of these groves, he came out into the open and found himself face to face with the ork. "hello!" said button-bright. "where did you come from?" "from orkland," was the reply. "i've found my own country, at last, and it is not far from here, either. i would have come back to you sooner, to see how you are getting along, had not my family and friends welcomed my return so royally that a great celebration was held in my honor. so i couldn't very well leave orkland again until the excitement was over." "can you find your way back home again?" asked the boy. "yes, easily; for now i know exactly where it is. but where are trot and cap'n bill?" button-bright related to the ork their adventures since it had left them in jinxland, telling of trot's fear that the king had done something wicked to cap'n bill, and of pon's love for gloria, and how trot and button-bright had been turned out of the king's castle. that was all the news that the boy had, but it made the ork anxious for the safety of his friends. "we must go to them at once, for they may need us," he said. "i don't know where to go," confessed button-bright. "i'm lost." "well, i can take you back to the hut of the gardener's boy," promised the ork, "for when i fly high in the air i can look down and easily spy the king's castle. that was how i happened to spy you, just entering the grove; so i flew down and waited until you came out." "how can you carry me?" asked the boy. "you'll have to sit straddle my shoulders and put your arms around my neck. do you think you can keep from falling off?" "i'll try," said button-bright. so the ork squatted down and the boy took his seat and held on tight. then the skinny creature's tail began whirling and up they went, far above all the tree-tops. after the ork had circled around once or twice, its sharp eyes located the towers of the castle and away it flew, straight toward the place. as it hovered in the air, near by the castle, button-bright pointed out pon's hut, so they landed just before it and trot came running out to greet them. gloria was introduced to the ork, who was surprised to find cap'n bill transformed into a grasshopper. "how do you like it?" asked the creature. "why, it worries me good deal," answered cap'n bill, perched upon trot's shoulder. "i'm always afraid o' bein' stepped on, and i don't like the flavor of grass an' can't seem to get used to it. it's my nature to eat grass, you know, but i begin to suspect it's an acquired taste." "can you give molasses?" asked the ork. "i guess i'm not that kind of a grasshopper," replied cap'n bill. "but i can't say what i might do if i was squeezed--which i hope i won't be." "well," said the ork, "it's a great pity, and i'd like to meet that cruel king and his wicked witch and punish them both severely. you're awfully small, cap'n bill, but i think i would recognize you anywhere by your wooden leg." then the ork and button-bright were told all about gloria's frozen heart and how the scarecrow had come from the land of oz to help them. the ork seemed rather disturbed when it learned that the scarecrow had gone alone to conquer king krewl. "i'm afraid he'll make a fizzle of it," said the skinny creature, "and there's no telling what that terrible king might do to the poor scarecrow, who seems like a very interesting person. so i believe i'll take a hand in this conquest myself." "how?" asked trot. "wait and see," was the reply. "but, first of all, i must fly home again--back to my own country--so if you'll forgive my leaving you so soon, i'll be off at once. stand away from my tail, please, so that the wind from it, when it revolves, won't knock you over." they gave the creature plenty of room and away it went like a flash and soon disappeared in the sky. "i wonder," said button-bright, looking solemnly after the ork, "whether he'll ever come back again." "of course he will!" returned trot. "the ork's a pretty good fellow, and we can depend on him. an' mark my words, button-bright, whenever our ork does come back, there's one cruel king in jinxland that'll wish he hadn't." chapter eighteen the scarecrow meets an enemy the scarecrow was not a bit afraid of king krewl. indeed, he rather enjoyed the prospect of conquering the evil king and putting gloria on the throne of jinxland in his place. so he advanced boldly to the royal castle and demanded admittance. seeing that he was a stranger, the soldiers allowed him to enter. he made his way straight to the throne room, where at that time his majesty was settling the disputes among his subjects. "who are you?" demanded the king. "i'm the scarecrow of oz, and i command you to surrender yourself my prisoner." "why should i do that?" inquired the king, much astonished at the straw man's audacity. "because i've decided you are too cruel a king to rule so beautiful a country. you must remember that jinxland is a part of oz, and therefore you owe allegiance to ozma of oz, whose friend and servant i am." now, when he heard this, king krewl was much disturbed in mind, for he knew the scarecrow spoke the truth. but no one had ever before come to jinxland from the land of oz and the king did not intend to be put out of his throne if he could help it. therefore he gave a harsh, wicked laugh of derision and said: "i'm busy, now. stand out of my way, scarecrow, and i'll talk with you by and by." but the scarecrow turned to the assembled courtiers and people and called in a loud voice: "i hereby declare, in the name of ozma of oz, that this man is no longer ruler of jinxland. from this moment princess gloria is your rightful queen, and i ask all of you to be loyal to her and to obey her commands." the people looked fearfully at the king, whom they all hated in their hearts, but likewise feared. krewl was now in a terrible rage and he raised his golden sceptre and struck the scarecrow so heavy a blow that he fell to the floor. but he was up again, in an instant, and with pon's riding-whip he switched the king so hard that the wicked monarch roared with pain as much as with rage, calling on his soldiers to capture the scarecrow. they tried to do that, and thrust their lances and swords into the straw body, but without doing any damage except to make holes in the scarecrow's clothes. however, they were many against one and finally old googly-goo brought a rope which he wound around the scarecrow, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides, and after that the fight was over. the king stormed and danced around in a dreadful fury, for he had never been so switched since he was a boy--and perhaps not then. he ordered the scarecrow thrust into the castle prison, which was no task at all because one man could carry him easily, bound as he was. even after the prisoner was removed the king could not control his anger. he tried to figure out some way to be revenged upon the straw man, but could think of nothing that could hurt him. at last, when the terrified people and the frightened courtiers had all slunk away, old googly-goo approached the king with a malicious grin upon his face. "i'll tell you what to do," said he. "build a big bonfire and burn the scarecrow up, and that will be the end of him." the king was so delighted with this suggestion that he hugged old googly-goo in his joy. "of course!" he cried. "the very thing. why did i not think of it myself?" so he summoned his soldiers and retainers and bade them prepare a great bonfire in an open space in the castle park. also he sent word to all his people to assemble and witness the destruction of the scarecrow who had dared to defy his power. before long a vast throng gathered in the park and the servants had heaped up enough fuel to make a fire that might be seen for miles away--even in the daytime. when all was prepared, the king had his throne brought out for him to sit upon and enjoy the spectacle, and then he sent his soldiers to fetch the scarecrow. now the one thing in all the world that the straw man really feared was fire. he knew he would burn very easily and that his ashes wouldn't amount to much afterward. it wouldn't hurt him to be destroyed in such a manner, but he realized that many people in the land of oz, and especially dorothy and the royal ozma, would feel sad if they learned that their old friend the scarecrow was no longer in existence. in spite of this, the straw man was brave and faced his fiery fate like a hero. when they marched him out before the concourse of people he turned to the king with great calmness and said: "this wicked deed will cost you your throne, as well as much suffering, for my friends will avenge my destruction." "your friends are not here, nor will they know what i have done to you, when you are gone and can-not tell them," answered the king in a scornful voice. then he ordered the scarecrow bound to a stout stake that he had had driven into the ground, and the materials for the fire were heaped all around him. when this had been done, the king's brass band struck up a lively tune and old googly-goo came forward with a lighted match and set fire to the pile. at once the flames shot up and crept closer and closer toward the scarecrow. the king and all his people were so intent upon this terrible spectacle that none of them noticed how the sky grew suddenly dark. perhaps they thought that the loud buzzing sound--like the noise of a dozen moving railway trains--came from the blazing fagots; that the rush of wind was merely a breeze. but suddenly down swept a flock of orks, half a hundred of them at the least, and the powerful currents of air caused by their revolving tails sent the bonfire scattering in every direction, so that not one burning brand ever touched the scarecrow. but that was not the only effect of this sudden tornado. king krewl was blown out of his throne and went tumbling heels over head until he landed with a bump against the stone wall of his own castle, and before he could rise a big ork sat upon him and held him pressed flat to the ground. old googly-goo shot up into the air like a rocket and landed on a tree, where he hung by the middle on a high limb, kicking the air with his feet and clawing the air with his hands, and howling for mercy like the coward he was. the people pressed back until they were jammed close together, while all the soldiers were knocked over and sent sprawling to the earth. the excitement was great for a few minutes, and every frightened inhabitant of jinxland looked with awe and amazement at the great orks whose descent had served to rescue the scarecrow and conquer king krewl at one and the same time. the ork, who was the leader of the band, soon had the scarecrow free of his bonds. then he said: "well, we were just in time to save you, which is better than being a minute too late. you are now the master here, and we are determined to see your orders obeyed." with this the ork picked up krewl's golden crown, which had fallen off his head, and placed it upon the head of the scarecrow, who in his awkward way then shuffled over to the throne and sat down in it. seeing this, a rousing cheer broke from the crowd of people, who tossed their hats and waved their handkerchiefs and hailed the scarecrow as their king. the soldiers joined the people in the cheering, for now they fully realized that their hated master was conquered and it would be wise to show their good will to the conqueror. some of them bound krewl with ropes and dragged him forward, dumping his body on the ground before the scarecrow's throne. googly-goo struggled until he finally slid off the limb of the tree and came tumbling to the ground. he then tried to sneak away and escape, but the soldiers seized and bound him beside krewl. "the tables are turned," said the scarecrow, swelling out his chest until the straw within it crackled pleasantly, for he was highly pleased; "but it was you and your people who did it, friend ork, and from this time you may count me your humble servant." chapter nineteen the conquest of the witch now as soon as the conquest of king krewl had taken place, one of the orks had been dispatched to pon's house with the joyful news. at once gloria and pon and trot and button-bright hastened toward the castle. they were somewhat surprised by the sight that met their eyes, for there was the scarecrow, crowned king, and all the people kneeling humbly before him. so they likewise bowed low to the new ruler and then stood beside the throne. cap'n bill, as the gray grasshopper, was still perched upon trot's shoulder, but now he hopped to the shoulder of the scarecrow and whispered into the painted ear: "i thought gloria was to be queen of jinxland." the scarecrow shook his head. "not yet," he answered. "no queen with a frozen heart is fit to rule any country." then he turned to his new friend, the ork, who was strutting about, very proud of what he had done, and said: "do you suppose you, or your followers, could find old blinkie the witch?" "where is she?" asked the ork. "somewhere in jinxland, i'm sure." "then," said the ork, "we shall certainly be able to find her." "it will give me great pleasure," declared the scarecrow. "when you have found her, bring her here to me, and i will then decide what to do with her." the ork called his followers together and spoke a few words to them in a low tone. a moment after they rose into the air--so suddenly that the scarecrow, who was very light in weight, was blown quite out of his throne and into the arms of pon, who replaced him carefully upon his seat. there was an eddy of dust and ashes, too, and the grasshopper only saved himself from being whirled into the crowd of people by jumping into a tree, from where a series of hops soon brought him back to trot's shoulder again. the orks were quite out of sight by this time, so the scarecrow made a speech to the people and presented gloria to them, whom they knew well already and were fond of. but not all of them knew of her frozen heart, and when the scarecrow related the story of the wicked witch's misdeeds, which had been encouraged and paid for by krewl and googly-goo, the people were very indignant. meantime the fifty orks had scattered all over jinx land, which is not a very big country, and their sharp eyes were peering into every valley and grove and gully. finally one of them spied a pair of heels sticking out from underneath some bushes, and with a shrill whistle to warn his comrades that the witch was found the ork flew down and dragged old blinkie from her hiding-place. then two or three of the orks seized the clothing of the wicked woman in their strong claws and, lifting her high in the air, where she struggled and screamed to no avail, they flew with her straight to the royal castle and set her down before the throne of the scarecrow. "good!" exclaimed the straw man, nodding his stuffed head with satisfaction. "now we can proceed to business. mistress witch, i am obliged to request, gently but firmly, that you undo all the wrongs you have done by means of your witchcraft." "pah!" cried old blinkie in a scornful voice. "i defy you all! by my magic powers i can turn you all into pigs, rooting in the mud, and i'll do it if you are not careful." "i think you are mistaken about that," said the scarecrow, and rising from his throne he walked with wobbling steps to the side of the wicked witch. "before i left the land of oz, glinda the royal sorceress gave me a box, which i was not to open except in an emergency. but i feel pretty sure that this occasion is an emergency; don't you, trot?" he asked, turning toward the little girl. "why, we've got to do something," replied trot seriously. "things seem in an awful muddle here, jus' now, and they'll be worse if we don't stop this witch from doing more harm to people." "that is my idea, exactly," said the scarecrow, and taking a small box from his pocket he opened the cover and tossed the contents toward blinkie. the old woman shrank back, pale and trembling, as a fine white dust settled all about her. under its influence she seemed to the eyes of all observers to shrivel and grow smaller. "oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed, wringing her hands in fear. "haven't you the antidote, scarecrow? didn't the great sorceress give you another box?" "she did," answered the scarecrow. "then give it me--quick!" pleaded the witch. "give it me--and i'll do anything you ask me to!" "you will do what i ask first," declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch was shriveling and growing smaller every moment. "be quick, then!" she cried. "tell me what i must do and let me do it, or it will be too late." "you made trot's friend, cap'n bill, a grasshopper. i command you to give him back his proper form again," said the scarecrow. "where is he? where's the grasshopper? quick--quick!" she screamed. cap'n bill, who had been deeply interested in this conversation, gave a great leap from trot's shoulder and landed on that of the scarecrow. blinkie saw him alight and at once began to make magic passes and to mumble magic incantations. she was in a desperate hurry, knowing that she had no time to waste, and the grasshopper was so suddenly transformed into the old sailor-man, cap'n bill, that he had no opportunity to jump off the scarecrow's shoulder; so his great weight bore the stuffed scarecrow to the ground. no harm was done, however, and the straw man got up and brushed the dust from his clothes while trot delightedly embraced cap'n bill. "the other box! quick! give me the other box," begged blinkie, who had now shrunk to half her former size. "not yet," said the scarecrow. "you must first melt princess gloria's frozen heart." "i can't; it's an awful job to do that! i can't," asserted the witch, in an agony of fear--for still she was growing smaller. "you must!" declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch cast a shrewd look at him and saw that he meant it; so she began dancing around gloria in a frantic manner. the princess looked coldly on, as if not at all interested in the proceedings, while blinkie tore a handful of hair from her own head and ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her gown. then the witch sank upon her knees, took a purple powder from her black bag and sprinkled it over the hair and cloth. "i hate to do it--i hate to do it!" she wailed, "for there is no more of this magic compound in all the world. but i must sacrifice it to save my own life. a match! give me a match, quick!" and panting from lack of breath she gazed imploringly from one to another. cap'n bill was the only one who had a match, but he lost no time in handing it to blinkie, who quickly set fire to the hair and the cloth and the purple powder. at once a purple cloud enveloped gloria, and this gradually turned to a rosy pink color--brilliant and quite transparent. through the rosy cloud they could all see the beautiful princess, standing proud and erect. then her heart became visible, at first frosted with ice but slowly growing brighter and warmer until all the frost had disappeared and it was beating as softly and regularly as any other heart. and now the cloud dispersed and disclosed gloria, her face suffused with joy, smiling tenderly upon the friends who were grouped about her. poor pon stepped forward--timidly, fearing a repulse, but with pleading eyes and arms fondly outstretched toward his former sweetheart--and the princess saw him and her sweet face lighted with a radiant smile. without an instant's hesitation she threw herself into pon's arms and this reunion of two loving hearts was so affecting that the people turned away and lowered their eyes so as not to mar the sacred joy of the faithful lovers. but blinkie's small voice was shouting to the scarecrow for help. "the antidote!" she screamed. "give me the other box--quick!" the scarecrow looked at the witch with his quaint, painted eyes and saw that she was now no taller than his knee. so he took from his pocket the second box and scattered its contents on blinkie. she ceased to grow any smaller, but she could never regain her former size, and this the wicked old woman well knew. she did not know, however, that the second powder had destroyed all her power to work magic, and seeking to be revenged upon the scarecrow and his friends she at once began to mumble a charm so terrible in its effect that it would have destroyed half the population of jinxland--had it worked. but it did not work at all, to the amazement of old blinkie. and by this time the scarecrow noticed what the little witch was trying to do, and said to her: "go home, blinkie, and behave yourself. you are no longer a witch, but an ordinary old woman, and since you are powerless to do more evil i advise you to try to do some good in the world. believe me, it is more fun to accomplish a good act than an evil one, as you will discover when once you have tried it." but blinkie was at that moment filled with grief and chagrin at losing her magic powers. she started away toward her home, sobbing and bewailing her fate, and not one who saw her go was at all sorry for her. chapter twenty queen gloria next morning the scarecrow called upon all the courtiers and the people to assemble in the throne room of the castle, where there was room enough for all that were able to attend. they found the straw man seated upon the velvet cushions of the throne, with the king's glittering crown still upon his stuffed head. on one side of the throne, in a lower chair, sat gloria, looking radiantly beautiful and fresh as a new-blown rose. on the other side sat pon, the gardener's boy, still dressed in his old smock frock and looking sad and solemn; for pon could not make himself believe that so splendid a princess would condescend to love him when she had come to her own and was seated upon a throne. trot and cap'n bill sat at the feet of the scarecrow and were much interested in the proceedings. button-bright had lost himself before breakfast, but came into the throne room before the ceremonies were over. back of the throne stood a row of the great orks, with their leader in the center, and the entrance to the palace was guarded by more orks, who were regarded with wonder and awe. when all were assembled, the scarecrow stood up and made a speech. he told how gloria's father, the good king kynd, who had once ruled them and been loved by everyone, had been destroyed by king phearce, the father of pon, and how king phearce had been destroyed by king krewl. this last king had been a bad ruler, as they knew very well, and the scarecrow declared that the only one in all jinxland who had the right to sit upon the throne was princess gloria, the daughter of king kynd. "but," he added, "it is not for me, a stranger, to say who shall rule you. you must decide for yourselves, or you will not be content. so choose now who shall be your future ruler." and they all shouted: "the scarecrow! the scarecrow shall rule us!" which proved that the stuffed man had made himself very popular by his conquest of king krewl, and the people thought they would like him for their king. but the scarecrow shook his head so vigorously that it became loose, and trot had to pin it firmly to his body again. "no," said he, "i belong in the land of oz, where i am the humble servant of the lovely girl who rules us all--the royal ozma. you must choose one of your own inhabitants to rule over jinxland. who shall it be?" they hesitated for a moment, and some few cried: "pon!" but many more shouted: "gloria!" so the scarecrow took gloria's hand and led her to the throne, where he first seated her and then took the glittering crown off his own head and placed it upon that of the young lady, where it nestled prettily amongst her soft curls. the people cheered and shouted then, kneeling before their new queen; but gloria leaned down and took pon's hand in both her own and raised him to the seat beside her. "you shall have both a king and a queen to care for you and to protect you, my dear subjects," she said in a sweet voice, while her face glowed with happiness; "for pon was a king's son before he became a gardener's boy, and because i love him he is to be my royal consort." that pleased them all, especially pon, who realized that this was the most important moment of his life. trot and button-bright and cap'n will all congratulated him on winning the beautiful gloria; but the ork sneezed twice and said that in his opinion the young lady might have done better. then the scarecrow ordered the guards to bring in the wicked krewl, king no longer, and when he appeared, loaded with chains and dressed in fustian, the people hissed him and drew back as he passed so their garments would not touch him. krewl was not haughty or overbearing any more; on the contrary he seemed very meek and in great fear of the fate his conquerors had in store for him. but gloria and pon were too happy to be revengeful and so they offered to appoint krewl to the position of gardener's boy at the castle, pon having resigned to become king. but they said he must promise to reform his wicked ways and to do his duty faithfully, and he must change his name from krewl to grewl. all this the man eagerly promised to do, and so when pon retired to a room in the castle to put on princely raiment, the old brown smock he had formerly worn was given to grewl, who then went out into the garden to water the roses. the remainder of that famous day, which was long remembered in jinxland, was given over to feasting and merrymaking. in the evening there was a grand dance in the courtyard, where the brass band played a new piece of music called the "ork trot" which was dedicated to "our glorious gloria, the queen." while the queen and pon were leading this dance, and all the jinxland people were having a good time, the strangers were gathered in a group in the park outside the castle. cap'n bill, trot, button-bright and the scarecrow were there, and so was their old friend the ork; but of all the great flock of orks which had assisted in the conquest but three remained in jinxland, besides their leader, the others having returned to their own country as soon as gloria was crowned queen. to the young ork who had accompanied them in their adventures cap'n bill said: "you've surely been a friend in need, and we're mighty grateful to you for helping us. i might have been a grasshopper yet if it hadn't been for you, an' i might remark that bein' a grasshopper isn't much fun." "if it hadn't been for you, friend ork," said the scarecrow, "i fear i could not have conquered king krewl." "no," agreed trot, "you'd have been just a heap of ashes by this time." "and i might have been lost yet," added button-bright. "much obliged, mr. ork." "oh, that's all right," replied the ork. "friends must stand together, you know, or they wouldn't be friends. but now i must leave you and be off to my own country, where there's going to be a surprise party on my uncle, and i've promised to attend it." "dear me," said the scarecrow, regretfully. "that is very unfortunate." "why so?" asked the ork. "i hoped you would consent to carry us over those mountains, into the land of oz. my mission here is now finished and i want to get back to the emerald city." "how did you cross the mountains before?" inquired the ork. "i scaled the cliffs by means of a rope, and crossed the great gulf on a strand of spider web. of course i can return in the same manner, but it would be a hard journey--and perhaps an impossible one--for trot and button-bright and cap'n bill. so i thought that if you had the time you and your people would carry us over the mountains and land us all safely on the other side, in the land of oz." the ork thoughtfully considered the matter for a while. then he said: "i mustn't break my promise to be present at the surprise party; but, tell me, could you go to oz to-night?" "what, now?" exclaimed trot. "it is a fine moonlight night," said the ork, "and i've found in my experience that there's no time so good as right away. the fact is," he explained, "it's a long journey to orkland and i and my cousins here are all rather tired by our day's work. but if you will start now, and be content to allow us to carry you over the mountains and dump you on the other side, just say the word and--off we go!" cap'n bill and trot looked at one another questioningly. the little girl was eager to visit the famous fairyland of oz and the old sailor had endured such hardships in jinxland that he would be glad to be out of it. "it's rather impolite of us not to say good-bye to the new king and queen," remarked the scarecrow, "but i'm sure they're too happy to miss us, and i assure you it will be much easier to fly on the backs of the orks over those steep mountains than to climb them as i did." "all right; let's go!" trot decided. "but where's button-bright?" just at this important moment button-bright was lost again, and they all scattered in search of him. he had been standing beside them just a few minutes before, but his friends had an exciting hunt for him before they finally discovered the boy seated among the members of the band, beating the end of the bass drum with the bone of a turkey-leg that he had taken from the table in the banquet room. "hello, trot," he said, looking up at the little girl when she found him. "this is the first chance i ever had to pound a drum with a reg'lar drum stick. and i ate all the meat off the bone myself." "come quick. we're going to the land of oz." "oh, what's the hurry?" said button-bright; but she seized his arm and dragged him away to the park, where the others were waiting. trot climbed upon the back of her old friend, the ork leader, and the others took their seats on the backs of his three cousins. as soon as all were placed and clinging to the skinny necks of the creatures, the revolving tails began to whirl and up rose the four monster orks and sailed away toward the mountains. they were so high in the air that when they passed the crest of the highest peak it seemed far below them. no sooner were they well across the barrier than the orks swooped downward and landed their passengers upon the ground. "here we are, safe in the land of oz!" cried the scarecrow joyfully. "oh, are we?" asked trot, looking around her curiously. she could see the shadows of stately trees and the outlines of rolling hills; beneath her feet was soft turf, but otherwise the subdued light of the moon disclosed nothing clearly. "seems jus' like any other country," was cap'n bill's comment. "but it isn't," the scarecrow assured him. "you are now within the borders of the most glorious fairyland in all the world. this part of it is just a corner of the quadling country, and the least interesting portion of it. it's not very thickly settled, around here, i'll admit, but--" he was interrupted by a sudden whir and a rush of air as the four orks mounted into the sky. "good night!" called the shrill voices of the strange creatures, and although trot shouted "good night!" as loudly as she could, the little girl was almost ready to cry because the orks had not waited to be properly thanked for all their kindness to her and to cap'n bill. but the orks were gone, and thanks for good deeds do not amount to much except to prove one's politeness. "well, friends," said the scarecrow, "we mustn't stay here in the meadows all night, so let us find a pleasant place to sleep. not that it matters to me, in the least, for i never sleep; but i know that meat people like to shut their eyes and lie still during the dark hours." "i'm pretty tired," admitted trot, yawning as she followed the straw man along a tiny path, "so, if you don't find a house handy, cap'n bill and i will sleep under the trees, or even on this soft grass." but a house was not very far off, although when the scarecrow stumbled upon it there was no light in it whatever. cap'n bill knocked on the door several times, and there being no response the scarecrow boldly lifted the latch and walked in, followed by the others. and no sooner had they entered than a soft light filled the room. trot couldn't tell where it came from, for no lamp of any sort was visible, but she did not waste much time on this problem, because directly in the center of the room stood a table set for three, with lots of good food on it and several of the dishes smoking hot. the little girl and button-bright both uttered exclamations of pleasure, but they looked in vain for any cook stove or fireplace, or for any person who might have prepared for them this delicious feast. "it's fairyland," muttered the boy, tossing his cap in a corner and seating himself at the table. "this supper smells 'most as good as that turkey-leg i had in jinxland. please pass the muffins, cap'n bill." trot thought it was strange that no people but themselves were in the house, but on the wall opposite the door was a gold frame bearing in big letters the word: "welcome." so she had no further hesitation in eating of the food so mysteriously prepared for them. "but there are only places for three!" she exclaimed. "three are quite enough," said the scarecrow. "i never eat, because i am stuffed full already, and i like my nice clean straw better than i do food." trot and the sailor-man were hungry and made a hearty meal, for not since they had left home had they tasted such good food. it was surprising that button-bright could eat so soon after his feast in jinxland, but the boy always ate whenever there was an opportunity. "if i don't eat now," he said, "the next time i'm hungry i'll wish i had." "really, cap'n," remarked trot, when she found a dish of ice-cream appear beside her plate, "i b'lieve this is fairyland, sure enough." "there's no doubt of it, trot," he answered gravely "i've been here before," said button-bright, "so i know." after supper they discovered three tiny bedrooms adjoining the big living room of the house, and in each room was a comfortable white bed with downy pillows. you may be sure that the tired mortals were not long in bidding the scarecrow good night and creeping into their beds, where they slept soundly until morning. for the first time since they set eyes on the terrible whirlpool, trot and cap'n bill were free from anxiety and care. button-bright never worried about anything. the scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and tried to count the stars. chapter twenty-one dorothy, betsy and ozma i suppose many of my readers have read descriptions of the beautiful and magnificent emerald city of oz, so i need not describe it here, except to state that never has any city in any fairyland ever equalled this one in stately splendor. it lies almost exactly in the center of the land of oz, and in the center of the emerald city rises the wall of glistening emeralds that surrounds the palace of ozma. the palace is almost a city in itself and is inhabited by many of the ruler's especial friends and those who have won her confidence and favor. as for ozma herself, there are no words in any dictionary i can find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty of mind and person. merely to see her is to love her for her charming face and manners; to know her is to love her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her truth and honor. born of a long line of fairy queens, ozma is as nearly perfect as any fairy may be, and she is noted for her wisdom as well as for her other qualities. her happy subjects adore their girl ruler and each one considers her a comrade and protector. at the time of which i write, ozma's best friend and most constant companion was a little kansas girl named dorothy, a mortal who had come to the land of oz in a very curious manner and had been offered a home in ozma's palace. furthermore, dorothy had been made a princess of oz, and was as much at home in the royal palace as was the gentle ruler. she knew almost every part of the great country and almost all of its numerous inhabitants. next to ozma she was loved better than anyone in all oz, for dorothy was simple and sweet, seldom became angry and had such a friendly, chummy way that she made friends where-ever she wandered. it was she who first brought the scarecrow and the tin woodman and the cowardly lion to the emerald city. dorothy had also introduced to ozma the shaggy man and the hungry tiger, as well as billina the yellow hen, eureka the pink kitten, and many other delightful characters and creatures. coming as she did from our world, dorothy was much like many other girls we know; so there were times when she was not so wise as she might have been, and other times when she was obstinate and got herself into trouble. but life in a fairy-land had taught the little girl to accept all sorts of surprising things as matters-of-course, for while dorothy was no fairy--but just as mortal as we are--she had seen more wonders than most mortals ever do. another little girl from our outside world also lived in ozma's palace. this was betsy bobbin, whose strange adventures had brought her to the emerald city, where ozma had cordially welcomed her. betsy was a shy little thing and could never get used to the marvels that surrounded her, but she and dorothy were firm friends and thought themselves very fortunate in being together in this delightful country. one day dorothy and betsy were visiting ozma in the girl ruler's private apartment, and among the things that especially interested them was ozma's magic picture, set in a handsome frame and hung upon the wall of the room. this picture was a magic one because it constantly changed its scenes and showed events and adventures happening in all parts of the world. thus it was really a "moving picture" of life, and if the one who stood before it wished to know what any absent person was doing, the picture instantly showed that person, with his or her surroundings. the two girls were not wishing to see anyone in particular, on this occasion, but merely enjoyed watching the shifting scenes, some of which were exceedingly curious and remarkable. suddenly dorothy exclaimed: "why, there's button-bright!" and this drew ozma also to look at the picture, for she and dorothy knew the boy well. "who is button-bright?" asked betsy, who had never met him. "why, he's the little boy who is just getting off the back of that strange flying creature," exclaimed dorothy. then she turned to ozma and asked: "what is that thing, ozma? a bird? i've never seen anything like it before." "it is an ork," answered ozma, for they were watching the scene where the ork and the three big birds were first landing their passengers in jinxland after the long flight across the desert. "i wonder," added the girl ruler, musingly, "why those strangers dare venture into that unfortunate country, which is ruled by a wicked king." "that girl, and the one-legged man, seem to be mortals from the outside world," said dorothy. "the man isn't one-legged," corrected betsy; "he has one wooden leg." "it's almost as bad," declared dorothy, watching cap'n bill stump around. "they are three mortal adventurers," said ozma, "and they seem worthy and honest. but i fear they will be treated badly in jinxland, and if they meet with any misfortune there it will reflect upon me, for jinxland is a part of my dominions." "can't we help them in any way?" inquired dorothy. "that seems like a nice little girl. i'd be sorry if anything happened to her." "let us watch the picture for awhile," suggested ozma, and so they all drew chairs before the magic picture and followed the adventures of trot and cap'n bill and button-bright. presently the scene shifted and showed their friend the scarecrow crossing the mountains into jinxland, and that somewhat relieved ozma's anxiety, for she knew at once that glinda the good had sent the scarecrow to protect the strangers. the adventures in jinxland proved very interesting to the three girls in ozma's palace, who during the succeeding days spent much of their time in watching the picture. it was like a story to them. "that girl's a reg'lar trump!" exclaimed dorothy, referring to trot, and ozma answered: "she's a dear little thing, and i'm sure nothing very bad will happen to her. the old sailor is a fine character, too, for he has never once grumbled over being a grasshopper, as so many would have done." when the scarecrow was so nearly burned up the girls all shivered a little, and they clapped their hands in joy when the flock of orks came and saved him. so it was that when all the exciting adventures in jinxland were over and the four orks had begun their flight across the mountains to carry the mortals into the land of oz, ozma called the wizard to her and asked him to prepare a place for the strangers to sleep. the famous wizard of oz was a quaint little man who inhabited the royal palace and attended to all the magical things that ozma wanted done. he was not as powerful as glinda, to be sure, but he could do a great many wonderful things. he proved this by placing a house in the uninhabited part of the quadling country where the orks landed cap'n bill and trot and button-bright, and fitting it with all the comforts i have described in the last chapter. next morning dorothy said to ozma: "oughtn't we to go meet the strangers, so we can show them the way to the emerald city? i'm sure that little girl will feel shy in this beautiful land, and i know if 'twas me i'd like somebody to give me a welcome." ozma smiled at her little friend and answered: "you and betsy may go to meet them, if you wish, but i can not leave my palace just now, as i am to have a conference with jack pumpkinhead and professor wogglebug on important matters. you may take the sawhorse and the red wagon, and if you start soon you will be able to meet the scarecrow and the strangers at glinda's palace." "oh, thank you!" cried dorothy, and went away to tell betsy and to make preparations for the journey. chapter twenty-two the waterfall glinda's castle was a long way from the mountains, but the scarecrow began the journey cheerfully, since time was of no great importance in the land of oz and he had recently made the trip and knew the way. it never mattered much to button-bright where he was or what he was doing; the boy was content in being alive and having good companions to share his wanderings. as for trot and cap'n bill, they now found themselves so comfortable and free from danger, in this fine fairyland, and they were so awed and amazed by the adventures they were encountering, that the journey to glinda's castle was more like a pleasure trip than a hardship, so many wonderful things were there to see. button-bright had been in oz before, but never in this part of it, so the scarecrow was the only one who knew the paths and could lead them. they had eaten a hearty breakfast, which they found already prepared for them and awaiting them on the table when they arose from their refreshing sleep, so they left the magic house in a contented mood and with hearts lighter and more happy than they had known for many a day. as they marched along through the fields, the sun shone brightly and the breeze was laden with delicious fragrance, for it carried with it the breath of millions of wildflowers. at noon, when they stopped to rest by the bank of a pretty river, trot said with a long-drawn breath that was much like a sigh: "i wish we'd brought with us some of the food that was left from our breakfast, for i'm getting hungry again." scarcely had she spoken when a table rose up before them, as if from the ground itself, and it was loaded with fruits and nuts and cakes and many other good things to eat. the little girl's eyes opened wide at this display of magic, and cap'n bill was not sure that the things were actually there and fit to eat until he had taken them in his hand and tasted them. but the scarecrow said with a laugh: "someone is looking after your welfare, that is certain, and from the looks of this table i suspect my friend the wizard has taken us in his charge. i've known him to do things like this before, and if we are in the wizard's care you need not worry about your future." "who's worrying?" inquired button-bright, already at the table and busily eating. the scarecrow looked around the place while the others were feasting, and finding many things unfamiliar to him he shook his head and remarked: "i must have taken the wrong path, back in that last valley, for on my way to jinxland i remember that i passed around the foot of this river, where there was a great waterfall." "did the river make a bend, after the waterfall?" asked cap'n bill. "no, the river disappeared. only a pool of whirling water showed what had become of the river; but i suppose it is under ground, somewhere, and will come to the surface again in another part of the country." "well," suggested trot, as she finished her luncheon, "as there is no way to cross this river, i s'pose we'll have to find that waterfall, and go around it." "exactly," replied the scarecrow; so they soon renewed their journey, following the river for a long time until the roar of the waterfall sounded in their ears. by and by they came to the waterfall itself, a sheet of silver dropping far, far down into a tiny lake which seemed to have no outlet. from the top of the fall, where they stood, the banks gradually sloped away, so that the descent by land was quite easy, while the river could do nothing but glide over an edge of rock and tumble straight down to the depths below. "you see," said the scarecrow, leaning over the brink, "this is called by our oz people the great waterfall, because it is certainly the highest one in all the land; but i think--help!" he had lost his balance and pitched headforemost into the river. they saw a flash of straw and blue clothes, and the painted face looking upward in surprise. the next moment the scarecrow was swept over the waterfall and plunged into the basin below. the accident had happened so suddenly that for a moment they were all too horrified to speak or move. "quick! we must go to help him or he will be drowned," trot exclaimed. even while speaking she began to descend the bank to the pool below, and cap'n bill followed as swiftly as his wooden leg would let him. button-bright came more slowly, calling to the girl: "he can't drown, trot; he's a scarecrow." but she wasn't sure a scarecrow couldn't drown and never relaxed her speed until she stood on the edge of the pool, with the spray dashing in her face. cap'n bill, puffing and panting, had just voice enough to ask, as he reached her side: "see him, trot?" "not a speck of him. oh, cap'n, what do you s'pose has become of him?" "i s'pose," replied the sailor, "that he's in that water, more or less far down, and i'm 'fraid it'll make his straw pretty soggy. but as fer his bein' drowned, i agree with button-bright that it can't be done." there was small comfort in this assurance and trot stood for some time searching with her eyes the bubbling water, in the hope that the scarecrow would finally come to the surface. presently she heard button-bright calling: "come here, trot!" and looking around she saw that the boy had crept over the wet rocks to the edge of the waterfall and seemed to be peering behind it. making her way toward him, she asked: "what do you see?" "a cave," he answered. "let's go in. p'r'aps we'll find the scarecrow there." she was a little doubtful of that, but the cave interested her, and so did it cap'n bill. there was just space enough at the edge of the sheet of water for them to crowd in behind it, but after that dangerous entrance they found room enough to walk upright and after a time they came to an opening in the wall of rock. approaching this opening, they gazed within it and found a series of steps, cut so that they might easily descend into the cavern. trot turned to look inquiringly at her companions. the falling water made such din and roaring that her voice could not be heard. cap'n bill nodded his head, but before he could enter the cave, button-bright was before him, clambering down the steps without a particle of fear. so the others followed the boy. the first steps were wet with spray, and slippery, but the remainder were quite dry. a rosy light seemed to come from the interior of the cave, and this lighted their way. after the steps there was a short tunnel, high enough for them to walk erect in, and then they reached the cave itself and paused in wonder and admiration. they stood on the edge of a vast cavern, the walls and domed roof of which were lined with countless rubies, exquisitely cut and flashing sparkling rays from one to another. this caused a radiant light that permitted the entire cavern to be distinctly seen, and the effect was so marvelous that trot drew in her breath with a sort of a gasp, and stood quite still in wonder. but the walls and roof of the cavern were merely a setting for a more wonderful scene. in the center was a bubbling caldron of water, for here the river rose again, splashing and dashing till its spray rose high in the air, where it took the ruby color of the jewels and seemed like a seething mass of flame. and while they gazed into the tumbling, tossing water, the body of the scarecrow suddenly rose in the center, struggling and kicking, and the next instant wholly disappeared from view. "my, but he's wet!" exclaimed button-bright; but none of the others heard him. trot and cap'n bill discovered that a broad ledge--covered, like the walls, with glittering rubies--ran all around the cavern; so they followed this gorgeous path to the rear and found where the water made its final dive underground, before it disappeared entirely. where it plunged into this dim abyss the river was black and dreary looking, and they stood gazing in awe until just beside them the body of the scarecrow again popped up from the water. chapter twenty three the land of oz the straw man's appearance on the water was so sudden that it startled trot, but cap'n bill had the presence of mind to stick his wooden leg out over the water and the scarecrow made a desperate clutch and grabbed the leg with both hands. he managed to hold on until trot and button-bright knelt down and seized his clothing, but the children would have been powerless to drag the soaked scarecrow ashore had not cap'n bill now assisted them. when they laid him on the ledge of rubies he was the most useless looking scarecrow you can imagine--his straw sodden and dripping with water, his clothing wet and crumpled, while even the sack upon which his face was painted had become so wrinkled that the old jolly expression of their stuffed friend's features was entirely gone. but he could still speak, and when trot bent down her ear she heard him say: "get me out of here as soon as you can." that seemed a wise thing to do, so cap'n bill lifted his head and shoulders, and trot and button-bright each took a leg; among them they partly carried and partly dragged the damp scarecrow out of the ruby cavern, along the tunnel, and up the flight of rock steps. it was somewhat difficult to get him past the edge of the waterfall, but they succeeded, after much effort, and a few minutes later laid their poor comrade on a grassy bank where the sun shone upon him freely and he was beyond the reach of the spray. cap'n bill now knelt down and examined the straw that the scarecrow was stuffed with. "i don't believe it'll be of much use to him, any more," said he, "for it's full of polliwogs an' fish eggs, an' the water has took all the crinkle out o' the straw an ruined it. i guess, trot, that the best thing for us to do is to empty out all his body an' carry his head an' clothes along the road till we come to a field or a house where we can get some fresh straw." "yes, cap'n," she agreed, "there's nothing else to be done. but how shall we ever find the road to glinda's palace, without the scarecrow to guide us?" "that's easy," said the scarecrow, speaking in a rather feeble but distinct voice. "if cap'n bill will carry my head on his shoulders, eyes front, i can tell him which way to go." so they followed that plan and emptied all the old, wet straw out of the scarecrow's body. then the sailor-man wrung out the clothes and laid them in the sun till they were quite dry. trot took charge of the head and pressed the wrinkles out of the face as it dried, so that after a while the scarecrow's expression became natural again, and as jolly as before. this work consumed some time, but when it was completed they again started upon their journey, button-bright carrying the boots and hat, trot the bundle of clothes, and cap'n bill the head. the scarecrow, having regained his composure and being now in a good humor, despite his recent mishaps, beguiled their way with stories of the land of oz. it was not until the next morning, however, that they found straw with which to restuff the scarecrow. that evening they came to the same little house they had slept in before, only now it was magically transferred to a new place. the same bountiful supper as before was found smoking hot upon the table and the same cosy beds were ready for them to sleep in. they rose early and after breakfast went out of doors, and there, lying just beside the house, was a heap of clean, crisp straw. ozma had noticed the scarecrow's accident in her magic picture and had notified the wizard to provide the straw, for she knew the adventurers were not likely to find straw in the country through which they were now traveling. they lost no time in stuffing the scarecrow anew, and he was greatly delighted at being able to walk around again and to assume the leadership of the little party. "really," said trot, "i think you're better than you were before, for you are fresh and sweet all through and rustle beautifully when you move." "thank you, my dear," he replied gratefully. "i always feel like a new man when i'm freshly stuffed. no one likes to get musty, you know, and even good straw may be spoiled by age." "it was water that spoiled you, the last time," remarked button-bright, "which proves that too much bathing is as bad as too little. but, after all, scarecrow, water is not as dangerous for you as fire." "all things are good in moderation," declared the scarecrow. "but now, let us hurry on, or we shall not reach glinda's palace by nightfall." chapter twenty-four the royal reception at about four o'clock of that same day the red wagon drew up at the entrance to glinda's palace and dorothy and betsy jumped out. ozma's red wagon was almost a chariot, being inlaid with rubies and pearls, and it was drawn by ozma's favorite steed, the wooden sawhorse. "shall i unharness you," asked dorothy, "so you can come in and visit?" "no," replied the sawhorse. "i'll just stand here and think. take your time. thinking doesn't seem to bore me at all." "what will you think of?" inquired betsy. "of the acorn that grew the tree from which i was made." so they left the wooden animal and went in to see glinda, who welcomed the little girls in her most cordial manner. "i knew you were on your way," said the good sorceress when they were seated in her library, "for i learned from my record book that you intended to meet trot and button-bright on their arrival here." "is the strange little girl named trot?" asked dorothy. "yes; and her companion, the old sailor, is named cap'n bill. i think we shall like them very much, for they are just the kind of people to enjoy and appreciate our fairyland and i do not see any way, at present, for them to return again to the outside world." "well, there's room enough here for them, i'm sure," said dorothy. "betsy and i are already eager to welcome trot. it will keep us busy for a year, at least, showing her all the wonderful things in oz." glinda smiled. "i have lived here many years," said she, "and i have not seen all the wonders of oz yet." meantime the travelers were drawing near to the palace, and when they first caught sight of its towers trot realized that it was far more grand and imposing than was the king's castle in jinxland. the nearer they came, the more beautiful the palace appeared, and when finally the scarecrow led them up the great marble steps, even button-bright was filled with awe. "i don't see any soldiers to guard the place," said the little girl. "there is no need to guard glinda's palace," replied the scarecrow. "we have no wicked people in oz, that we know of, and even if there were any, glinda's magic would be powerful enough to protect her." button-bright was now standing on the top steps of the entrance, and he suddenly exclaimed: "why, there's the sawhorse and the red wagon! hip, hooray!" and next moment he was rushing down to throw his arms around the neck of the wooden horse, which good-naturedly permitted this familiarity when it recognized in the boy an old friend. button-bright's shout had been heard inside the palace, so now dorothy and betsy came running out to embrace their beloved friend, the scarecrow, and to welcome trot and cap'n bill to the land of oz. "we've been watching you for a long time, in ozma's magic picture," said dorothy, "and ozma has sent us to invite you to her own palace in the em'rald city. i don't know if you realize how lucky you are to get that invitation, but you'll understand it better after you've seen the royal palace and the em'rald city." glinda now appeared in person to lead all the party into her azure reception room. trot was a little afraid of the stately sorceress, but gained courage by holding fast to the hands of betsy and dorothy. cap'n bill had no one to help him feel at ease, so the old sailor sat stiffly on the edge of his chair and said: "yes, ma'am," or "no, ma'am," when he was spoken to, and was greatly embarrassed by so much splendor. the scarecrow had lived so much in palaces that he felt quite at home, and he chatted to glinda and the oz girls in a merry, light-hearted way. he told all about his adventures in jinxland, and at the great waterfall, and on the journey hither--most of which his hearers knew already--and then he asked dorothy and betsy what had happened in the emerald city since he had left there. they all passed the evening and the night at glinda's palace, and the sorceress was so gracious to cap'n bill that the old man by degrees regained his self-possession and began to enjoy himself. trot had already come to the conclusion that in dorothy and betsy she had found two delightful comrades, and button-bright was just as much at home here as he had been in the fields of jinxland or when he was buried in the popcorn snow of the land of mo. the next morning they arose bright and early and after breakfast bade good-bye to the kind sorceress, whom trot and cap'n bill thanked earnestly for sending the scarecrow to jinxland to rescue them. then they all climbed into the red wagon. there was room for all on the broad seats, and when all had taken their places--dorothy, trot and betsy on the rear seat and cap'n bill, button-bright and the scarecrow in front--they called "gid-dap!" to the sawhorse and the wooden steed moved briskly away, pulling the red wagon with ease. it was now that the strangers began to perceive the real beauties of the land of oz, for they were passing through a more thickly settled part of the country and the population grew more dense as they drew nearer to the emerald city. everyone they met had a cheery word or a smile for the scarecrow, dorothy and betsy bobbin, and some of them remembered button-bright and welcomed him back to their country. it was a happy party, indeed, that journeyed in the red wagon to the emerald city, and trot already began to hope that ozma would permit her and cap'n bill to live always in the land of oz. when they reached the great city they were more amazed than ever, both by the concourse of people in their quaint and picturesque costumes, and by the splendor of the city itself. but the magnificence of the royal palace quite took their breath away, until ozma received them in her own pretty apartment and by her charming manners and assuring smiles made them feel they were no longer strangers. trot was given a lovely little room next to that of dorothy, while cap'n bill had the cosiest sort of a room next to trot's and overlooking the gardens. and that evening ozma gave a grand banquet and reception in honor of the new arrivals. while trot had read of many of the people she then met, cap'n bill was less familiar with them and many of the unusual characters introduced to him that evening caused the old sailor to open his eyes wide in astonishment. he had thought the live scarecrow about as curious as anyone could be, but now he met the tin woodman, who was all made of tin, even to his heart, and carried a gleaming axe over his shoulder wherever he went. then there was jack pumpkinhead, whose head was a real pumpkin with the face carved upon it; and professor wogglebug, who had the shape of an enormous bug but was dressed in neat fitting garments. the professor was an interesting talker and had very polite manners, but his face was so comical that it made cap'n bill smile to look at it. a great friend of dorothy and ozma seemed to be a machine man called tik-tok, who ran down several times during the evening and had to be wound up again by someone before he could move or speak. at the reception appeared the shaggy man and his brother, both very popular in oz, as well as dorothy's uncle henry and aunt em, two happy old people who lived in a pretty cottage near the palace. but what perhaps seemed most surprising to both trot and cap'n bill was the number of peculiar animals admitted into ozma's parlors, where they not only conducted themselves quite properly but were able to talk as well as anyone. there was the cowardly lion, an immense beast with a beautiful mane; and the hungry tiger, who smiled continually; and eureka the pink kitten, who lay curled upon a cushion and had rather supercilious manners; and the wooden sawhorse; and nine tiny piglets that belonged to the wizard; and a mule named hank, who belonged to betsy bobbin. a fuzzy little terrier dog, named toto, lay at dorothy's feet but seldom took part in the conversation, although he listened to every word that was said. but the most wonderful of all to trot was a square beast with a winning smile, that squatted in a corner of the room and wagged his square head at everyone in quite a jolly way. betsy told trot that this unique beast was called the woozy, and there was no other like him in all the world. cap'n bill and trot had both looked around expectantly for the wizard of oz, but the evening was far advanced before the famous little man entered the room. but he went up to the strangers at once and said: "i know you, but you don't know me; so let's get acquainted." and they did get acquainted, in a very short time, and before the evening was over trot felt that she knew every person and animal present at the reception, and that they were all her good friends. suddenly they looked around for button-bright, but he was nowhere to be found. "dear me!" cried trot. "he's lost again." "never mind, my dear," said ozma, with her charming smile, "no one can go far astray in the land of oz, and if button-bright isn't lost occasionally, he isn't happy." the wonderful oz books by l. frank baum the wizard of oz the land of oz ozma of oz dorothy and the wizard in oz the road to oz the emerald city of oz the patchwork girl of oz tik-tok of oz the scarecrow of oz rinkitink in oz the lost princess of oz the tin woodman of oz the magic of oz glinda of oz _featuring_ bert lytell and claire windsor new york the macaulay company copyright, , by the macaulay company printed in the u. s. a. to my friend dorothea thornton clarke without whose help and constant encouragement neither this nor any of my books would have been written preface a beach of white sand, the whisper of palms answering the murmuring moonlit sea, the fragrance of orange blossoms, the perfume of roses and syringa,--that is grand canary, a bit of heaven dropped into the atlantic; overlooked by writers and painters in general. surely one can be pardoned a bit of praise and promise for this story, laid, as it is in part, in that magic island. the canaries properly belong to the african continent. that is best proven by their original inhabitants who were of pure berber stock. the islands are the stepping stone between europe and the sahara. mysterious arabs and a continual stream of those silent men who come and go from the great desert tarry there for a while, giving color and romance to the big hotels. the petty gossip, the real news of the sahara "breaks" there.--weird, passionate tales; believable or not, they carry an undercurrent of reality that thrills. from such a source came this story. unaltered in fact, it is given to you, the life story of a man and a woman who turned their backs on worldly conventions that they might find happiness. if it is frank, forgive it. life near the equator is not a milk and water affair. the publishers. contents part i part ii part iii illustrations with annette limp across his saddle, casim ammeh sped away . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ he had come to the harem to say farewell for sale as a common slave at the taureg auction block "let us both dance for you, so that you may judge between us" part i a son of the sahara chapter i in the days when france was pursuing a vigorous forward policy in africa, a policy started by general faidherbe and carried on by subsequent governors, one of the bravest among her pioneer soldiers was colonel raoul le breton. he was a big, handsome man with a swarthy complexion, coal-black hair and dark, fiery eyes, by nature impetuous and reckless. with a trio of white sergeants and a hundred senegalese soldiers, he would attempt--and accomplish--things that no man with ten times his following would have attempted. but there came a day when even his luck failed. he left st. louis, in senegal, and went upwards to the north-east, intending to pierce the heart of the sahara. from that expedition, however, he never returned. the government at st. louis assumed that he and his little pioneer force had been wiped out by some hostile negro king or arab chief. it was but one of the tragedies attached to extending a nation's territory. when raoul le breton went on that ill-fated expedition, he did what no man should have done who attempts to explore the back of beyond with an indifferent force. he took his wife with him. there was some excuse for this piece of folly. he was newly married. he adored his wife, and she worshipped him, and refused to let him go unless she went also. she was barely half his age; a girl just fresh from a convent school, whom he had met and married in paris during his last leave. colonel le breton journeyed for weeks through an arid country, an almost trackless expanse of poor grass and stunted scrub, until he reached the edge of the sahara. annette le breton enjoyed her travels. she did not mind the life in tents, the rough jolting of her camel, the poor food, the heat, the flies; she minded nothing so long as she was with her husband. he was a man of rare fascination, as many women had found to their cost; a light lover until annette had come into his life and captured his straying heart once and for all. on the edge of the sahara le breton met a man who, on the surface at least, appeared to see even more quickly than the majority of negro kings and arab chiefs he had come in contact with, the advantages attached to being under the shadow of the french flag. it would be difficult to say where the sultan casim ammeh came from. he appeared one afternoon riding like a madman out of the blazing distance; a picturesque figure in his flowing white burnoose, sitting his black stallion like a centaur. he was a young man, perhaps about twenty-four, of medium height, lean and lithe and brown, with fierce black eyes and a cruel mouth: the hereditary ruler of that portion of the sahara. his capital was a walled city that, so far, had not been visited by any european. in his way he was a man of great wealth, and he added to that wealth by frequent marauding expeditions and slave-dealing. with a slight smile he listened to all the frenchman had to say. already he had heard of france--a great power, creeping slowly onwards--and he wondered whether he was strong enough to oppose it, or whether the wiser plan might not be just to rest secure under the shadow of its distant wing, and under its protection continue his wild, marauding life as usual. as he sat with colonel le breton in the latter's tent, something happened which caused the sultan casim ammeh to make up his mind very quickly. it was late afternoon. from the open flap of the tent an endless, rolling expense of sand showed, with here and there a knot of coarse, twisted grass, a dwarfed shrub, or a flare of red-flowered, distorted cacti. the french officer's camp was pitched by an oasis; a little group of date palms, where a spring bubbled among brown rocks, bringing an abundance of grass and herbs where horses and camels browsed. as the two men sat talking, a soft voice said unexpectedly: "oh, raoul, i'd no idea you had a visitor!" all at once a girl had appeared in the entrance of the tent she was small and slim, with two thick plaits of golden-brown hair reaching to her knees; a beautiful girl of about eighteen, with wide grey eyes and a creamy white skin. her voice brought le breton to his feet. "what is it, annette?" he asked. "i thought----i'll come later," she said; the blushes mounting to her cheeks. the sultan casim ammeh got to his feet also. not out of any sense of deference; he had none where women were concerned, but drawn there by the beauty of the girl. "you needn't mind what you say in front of this man," her husband remarked. "he doesn't understand a word of french. "ill tell you later, raoul, when there's nobody here." she would have gone, but le breton called her forward and, in arabic, introduced her to his visitor. annette bowed to the lean, lithe, brown man in the white burnoose, and her eyes dropped under the fierce admiration in his. the sultan looked at her, all the time wondering why the white man was such a fool as to let this priceless pearl, this jewel among women, go unveiled, and allow the eyes of strange men to rest upon her with desire and longing. annette said she was pleased to meet him: a message her husband translated, and which brought a fierce smile to the young sultan's face and made the wild desire in his savage heart suddenly blossom into plans. so she, this houri from paradise, was pleased to meet him! this fair flower from a far land! but not so pleased as he was to meet _her_. and her husband let her say such things to strange men! what a fool the man was! not worthy of this houri! he could not appreciate the treasure he possessed. not as he, the sultan, would, were she his. casim ammeh despised colonel le breton utterly. as soon as the introduction was over, annette would have gone. "don't run away, my pet," her husband said fondly. "i shall soon have finished." but the girl went, anxious to get away from the arab chief who watched her with such covetous desire and smouldering passion in his fierce black eyes. when she had gone, the two men seated themselves again. but the sultan gave no thought to the business in hand. he only wanted one thing now--the girl who had just gone from the tent. soon after annette's departure he left, promising to visit le breton again within the course of a few days. he kept his word. five days later he swept out of the desert with a horde of wild horsemen. and in less than half an hour there was only one of raoul le breton's ill-fated expedition left alive. the next day, with annette limp across his saddle, the sultan casim ammeh set off with his following to his desert stronghold. chapter ii the city of el-ammeh lies about a hundred miles within the sahara proper. it is a walled town of moorish aspect, built of brown rock and baked mud. within the walls is a tangle of narrow, twisted, squalid lanes--a jumble of flat-roofed houses, practically devoid of windows on the sides overlooking the streets. here and there a minaret towers, and glimpses of strange trees can be seen peeping over walled gardens. along one side stands a domed palace; a straggling place, with horse-shoe arches, stone galleries and terraces. in front of it a blue lake spreads, surrounded by fertile gardens and groves of fruit trees. and the whole is encircled by the desert. annette le breton remembered nothing of her journey to el-ammeh. her life was a nightmare of horror that held nothing but her husband's murderer, whom she could not escape from. she was taken to the palace, and placed in the apartment reserved for the sultan's favourite. a big room with walls and floor of gold mosaic, furnished with ottomans, rugs and cushions, and little tables and stools of carved sandalwood inlaid with ivory and silver. on one side of the apartment a series of archways opened on a screened and fretted gallery, at the end of which a flight of wide, shallow steps led down into a walled garden, a dream of roses. but it was weeks before annette knew anything of this. all day long she lay, broken and suffering, on one of the ottomans, and dark-faced women fawned upon her, saying words she could not understand; women who looked at her queerly, jealously, and talked about her among themselves. a strange girl, this new fancy of the sultan's! who wanted none of the things he piled upon her--not even his love. a girl who looked as though life were a mirage; as if she moved in bad dreams,--a listless girl, beautiful beyond any yet seen in the harem, who seemed to have neither idea nor appreciation of the honour that was hers; who lay all day in silence, her only language tears. tears that even the sultan could not charm away. in fact they seemed to fall more quickly and hopelessly when he came to see her. yet he did everything that mortal man could do to comfort her. jewels were showered upon her; jewels she refused to wear, to look at even; casting them from her with weak, angry hands, when her women would have decked her with them for her master's coming. and never before were so many musicians, singers, dancers, and conjurors sent to the women's apartments. hardly a day passed without bringing some such form of diversion; or merchants with rare silks, perfumes and ostrich feathers. the harem had never had such a perpetual round of amusements. all for this new slave-girl. and she refused to be either amused or interested. she would look neither at the goods nor the entertainers. she just stayed with her face turned towards the wall and wept. one day when the sultan came to the harem to visit his new favourite, some of the older women drew him aside and whispered with him. they suspected they had found a reason for the girl's strange behaviour. their words sent the sultan from the big hall of the harem to the gilded chamber set aside for annette, with hope in his savage heart, and left him looking down at her with a touch of tenderness on his cruel face. he laid a dark hand on the girl, caressing her fondly. "give me a son, my pearl," he whispered. "then my cup will be full indeed." annette shuddered at his touch. she had no idea what he said. he and his language were beyond her. as the long weeks ground out their slow and dreary course, annette grew to suspect what her attendants now knew. the weeks became months and annette languished in her captor's palace; her only respite the times he was away on some marauding expedition. he loved rapine and murder, and was never happy unless dabbling in blood. sometimes he was away for weeks together, killing and stealing, bringing slaves for the slave-market of his city, and fresh women for his harem. during one of his absences annette's baby arrived. the child came a week or so before the women had expected it. "the girl has wept so much," they said, "that her son has come before his time, to see what his mother's tears are about. and now, if allah is kind, let us hope the child will dry them." for a fortnight annette was too ill to know even that she had a son. when the baby was brought to her, she hardly dared look at it, not knowing what horror might have come from those ghastly nights spent with the sultan casim ammeh. but when she looked, it was not his face, dark and cruel, that looked back at her. in miniature, she saw the face of raoul le breton! this son of hers did not owe his life to the sultan. he was a legacy from her murdered husband. something that belonged to her lost life. with a wild sob of joy, annette held out weak arms for her baby. weeping she strained the mite to her breast, baptizing it with her tears. tears of happiness this time. light and love had come into her life again. for raoul was not dead. he had come back to her. weak and tiny he lay upon her heart, hers to love and cherish. she was lying on her couch one day, too absorbed in tracing out each one of her dead lover's features in the tiny face pillowed on her breast, to notice what was happening, when the voice she dreaded said in a fierce, fond manner: "so, pearl of my heart, you love my son, even if you hate me." annette did not know what the sultan said. but she held her child closer, watching its father's murderer with fear and loathing; afraid that he might put his dark, defiling hands upon her treasure. but he did not attempt to touch either her or the child. seating himself at her side, he stayed watching her, tenderness on his cruel face, for the first time having pity on her weakness. the weakness of the woman who had given him the one thing his savage heart craved for, and which, until now, had been denied him--a son. chapter iii by the time annette knew enough arabic to make herself understood, and to understand what was said around her, she realized that if the sultan learnt her boy was not his, this one joy of her tragic life would be taken from her. he would murder the son as he had murdered the father. as the baby grew, her one idea was to keep its true parentage from her savage captor. if she could have done so, she would have kept his dark, blood-stained hands from touching her son. but this was impossible. when in el-ammeh, the sultan came every day to see the child, often sitting with it in his arms, watching it with an air of proud possession. and fearsomely annette would watch him, wondering why he never suspected. but he was too eaten up with his own desire for a son ever to give a thought to her dead husband. the baby was given the name of casim ammeh. but annette always called her boy by another name, "raoul le breton." and at the age of five he said to her: "why do you always call me 'raoul,' not 'casim,' as my father does?" his father! annette's heart ached. his father had been dead these long years, murdered by the man her son now called by that name. "the sultan and myself are of different races," she said. "he calls you by his name. i, by one of my own choosing, raoul le breton.'" "why do you always say 'the sultan,' and never 'your father'?" sadly she smiled at her small questioner. "some day, my son, i'll tell you. when you are a man and understand things." at five, raoul le breton was a big, handsome boy, spoilt and pampered by the whole harem, and spoilt most of all by the man he proudly called "father." the sultan in his flowing white robes, with his half-tamed horses, his horde of wild followers and barbaric splendour, was a picturesque figure, one to capture any brave boy's heart. annette did all she could to counteract her captor's influence, but, as the child grew, he was more with the sultan than with her. what was more, he craved for men's company. he soon tired of the amusements the harem could offer. he much preferred to be on his own horse, galloping with the sultan or some of his men along the desert tracks about the city. and knowing annette loved her son, and hated him, despite their years together, the sultan did all he could to win the boy's affection and wean him from his mother. he might have succeeded, except for one thing. the boy loved learning, and to hear of the great world that his mother came from; a world that seemed as remote from el-ammeh as the paradise his moslem teachers spoke of. the sultan was not averse to the mother teaching her son. he was a shrewd man, if savage and cruel. and that france from where the girl came was growing ever more powerful. it would be to the boy's advantage to learn all the arts and cunning of his mother's people. the sultan casim gave annette but one present that she took from him willingly; a sandalwood bureau with shelves and drawers and little sliding panels, an elaborately carved and handsome piece of furniture; stocked with slate and pencil, paper, quills and ink--such as the priests at the mosques used themselves. for this strange girl who hated him had more learning than all the priests put together. but, for all that, the youngster had to sit at their feet at appointed times, and be taught all the sultan had ever been taught, to read and write, and recite scraps from the koran, and to be a true moslem. annette hated this wild, profligate religion, and into her son she tried to instil her own roman catholic faith. but at eight years, although he learnt with avidity all her other teachings, he laughed at her religion. "yours is a woman's religion, little mother," he said one day. "it's all right for you--a religion that prays to a woman, but it is not suitable for men. give me my father's religion. a religion where men rule. in that, one does not bow the knee to a woman. a good religion, my father's, fierce and strong, of love and fighting, not a puling thing where one prays to a woman and a babe. no, little mother, keep your religion, and be happy with it. i prefer my father's and my own." "raoul, my son, you mustn't forget the white side when you are with the sultan," she said gently, a touch of chiding in her sad voice. the boy looked at her speculatively, knowing already that his mother had no affection for the man he called "father." "you should be proud, not sorry, to be the sultan's wife," he remarked. "it is an honour for any woman to be loved by the sultan. even a woman as lovely and learned as you, little mother." at twenty-seven annette was even more beautiful than on the day the sultan casim ammeh first saw her; but more fragile and ethereal. although her captor's fancy often strayed to other women, he never lost his passion for her. "oh, my boy, you don't understand," she said sadly. "when you are a man i'll tell you, and then perhaps you'll think differently." "when i am a man, i shall be like my father, but richer and more powerful, because i shall have more knowledge, thanks to you, my mother." "i hope you will be like your father, raoul, i ask for nothing better." when her boy reached manhood annette intended to tell him the truth, and to leave him to deal with the situation as he would. at ten years, her son had as much general knowledge as the average french boy of his age, thanks to his mother's teachings. and he knew, too, a great deal more than she taught him. he was a big lad for his years, handsome and quick-tempered, the sultan's acknowledged heir. on every side there were people anxious to spoil him and curry favour with him. in the scented, sensual atmosphere of the harem, he learnt things his mother would have kept from him. but she was powerless among so many, all ready to flatter her boy and gain his good graces. "when i grow up," he said to her one day, "i shall have a hundred wives, like my father." "in the france i come from a man has but one. you must always remember that, raoul." "only one! then, mother, i call that a poor country. how can a man be satisfied with one woman? my father has promised me wives of my own when i am sixteen." it seemed to annette that in this profligate atmosphere her boy was drifting further and further away from her and his own nation; becoming daily more akin to the barbaric people around him. every day she felt she must tell him the truth. yet every day she put it off. for her boy was only a child still, and in his anger and rage he would not be able to keep his knowledge from the sultan; then evil would befall him. it was written that many years were to pass before raoul le breton learnt the truth about himself. soon after this episode the sultan took the boy with him on some thieving expedition. whilst they were away, one of the deadly epidemics that occasionally visited el-ammeh swept through the city, claiming among its many victims annette le breton. chapter iv with the passing years, the sultan casim ammeh increased in wealth and power. he gave very little thought to france now. it was a vague power, too far away to trouble him, and only once had it really sent a feeler in his direction; that ill-fated expedition headed by colonel le breton. emboldened by his success, he had extended his marauding. but, if he heard nothing more of france, france occasionally heard of him, in the form of complaints from various parts of the protectorate, from other chiefs whose territory he had raided. the government knew his name but it had no idea where he came from. on one occasion the sultan and his robber horde swept down to within a hundred miles of st. louis. but there he met with a severe defeat. he retired to his desert stronghold, deciding not to adventure in that direction again. and he owed his defeat to strange guns such as had not come into his life before. guns that fired not a couple of shots, but a whole volley; an endless fusillade that even his wild warriors could not face. he went back to el-ammeh determined to get hold of some of those wonderful guns. obviously it was out of the question to attack st. louis where they came from. if they were to be obtained, they must be searched for in some other direction. sore with defeat, he brooded on the strange guns. and very often he talked of them to the boy he called his son. raoul le breton was about thirteen when the sultan met with his first rebuff at the hands of france. and he had the welfare and prestige of the desert kingdom at heart, and was as anxious as the sultan to possess this new weapon. far away in the south was the outpost of another european power; just a handful of white men struggling to keep a hold on a country an indifferent and short-sighted government was inclined to let slip. round and about the river gambia the british had a footing. among the men most determined to keep a hold on this strip of territory was captain george barclay. he was a man of about twenty-eight, of medium height and wiry make, with a thin face and steady grey eyes where tragedy lurked. his confrères said that barclay had no interests outside of his work. but they were wrong. he had one thing that was more to him than his own life; a tiny, velvety-eyed, golden-haired daughter. he had come out to north-west africa in quest of forgetfulness. at twenty-three, although he was only a penniless lieutenant, the beauty of the london season, the prospective heiress of millions, had thought well to marry him. it was a runaway match. for his sake pansy carrington had risked losing both wealth and position. she was only nineteen, and her guardian and godfather, whose acknowledged heiress she was, had disapproved of george barclay; gossip said because he was madly in love with her himself, although he was nearly thirty years her senior. however, whether this was so or not, henry langham had forgiven the girl. he had taken her back into his good graces, and, in due course, had become godfather to the second pansy. "grand-godfather," the child called him as soon as she could talk. it had seemed to george barclay that no man's life could be happier than his. then, without any warning, tragedy came upon him after five years of bliss. for one day his girl-wife was brought back to him dead, the result of an accident in the hunting-field. with her death all light had gone out of his life. to escape from himself he had gone out to gambia; and his tiny daughter now lived, as her mother had lived before her, with her godfather, henry langham. but it was not of his daughter barclay was thinking at that moment; other matters occupied his mind. he stood on the roof of a little stone fort, gazing at the landscape in a speculative manner. the building itself consisted of four rooms, set on a platform of rock some three feet from the ground. all the windows were small, and high up and barred. one room had no communication with the others: it was a sort of guardroom entered by a heavy wooden door. to the other three rooms one solid door gave entry, and from one of them a ladder and trap-door led up to the roof which had battlements around it. below was a large compound, rudely stockaded, in which half a dozen native huts were built. in that part of gambia captain barclay represented the british government. he had to administer justice and keep the peace, and in this task he was aided by a white subaltern, twenty hausa soldiers, and a couple of maxim guns. on three sides of the little british outpost an endless expanse of forest showed, with white mist curling like smoke about it. on the fourth was a wide shallow valley, with dwarf cliffs on either side, alive with dog-faced baboons. the valley was patched with swamps and lakes, and through it a river wended an erratic course, its banks heavily fringed with reeds and mimosa trees; a valley from which, with approaching evening, a stream of miasma rose. barclay's gaze, however, never strayed in the direction of the shallow valley. he looked to the north. a week or so ago word had come through that a notorious raider was on the move; a man whom the french government had been endeavouring to catch for the last five years or more. what he was doing so far south as gambia, the district officer did not know. but he knew he was there. only the previous day news had come that one of the villages within his, barclay's, jurisdiction had been practically wiped out. a similar fate might easily fall to the lot of the british outpost, considering that the arab chief's force outnumbered barclay's ten to one. from the roof of his quarters the englishman saw the sun set. it seemed to sink and drown in a lake of orange that lay like a blazing furnace on the horizon; a lake that spread and scattered when the sun disappeared, drifting off in islands of clouds, gold, rose, mauve and vivid red, sailing slowly across a tense blue sky, getting ever thinner and more ragged, until night came suddenly and swallowed up their tattered remains. a dense, purple darkness fell upon the land, soft and velvety, that reminded barclay of his little daughter's eyes. and in a vault as darkly purple, a host of great stars flashed. away in the forest an owl hooted. from the wide valley came the coughing roar of a leopard. every now and again some night bird passed, a vague shadow in the darkness. in silver showers the fireflies danced in the thick, hot air. down in the compound glow-worms showed, looking like a lot of smouldering cigarette ends cast carelessly aside. upon the roof, with gaze fixed on the misty, baffling darkness that soughed and hissed around him, barclay stayed, until the gong took him down to dinner. there his junior waited, a round-faced youngster of about nineteen. the meal was a poor repast of tinned soup, hashed tinned beef, yams and coffee, all badly cooked and indifferently served. during the course of the meal the youngster remarked: "what a joke if we nabbed the sultan casim ammeh, or whatever he calls himself, and went one better than the french johnnies." "it would be more than a joke. it would be a jolly good riddance," barclay responded. "it's queer nobody knowing where he really comes from." "you may be sure he doesn't play his tricks anywhere near his own headquarters. more likely than not, he and his cut-throat lot start out disguised as peaceful merchants, in separate bands, and join up when they reach the seat of operations. there are vast tracts of senegal practically unexplored. they would give endless cover to one of his kidney." "if you had the luck to bag him, what should you do?" "shoot him straight off, knowing the earth was well rid of a villain." "but what's his idea in coming as far south as this? he's never been heard of on this side of the senegal river before." "plunder. guns, most likely. he's heard we're none too welcome, and hardly settled here, and thinks we shall prove an easy prey." however, the little english force was not to prove quite the easy prey the sultan had imagined when he came south in quest of new weapons. the next night, without any warning, he attacked barclay's headquarters. he struck at an hour when all was darkest; not with his usual swoop of wild horsemen, but stealthily. unchallenged and unmolested, he and his following scaled the stockade and crept towards the tiny fort, vague shadows moving silently in the purple darkness. but each night barclay had laid a trap for his expected foe. he knew the enemy force outnumbered his, and that his little handful could be starved out within a week, if the arab chief wanted to make a siege of it. barclay had no intention of letting this come to pass. he did a bold thing. each night, after dark, the little british garrison divided into three units. a hausa sergeant and fifteen men were left on the roof of the fort. barclay, two soldiers and one maxim gun, his junior, with two more soldiers and the other gun, crept out from the place, and hid in the dense undergrowth, at different points outside of the stockade; first removing a plank here and there in the enclosure to enable them to work their guns through. barclay's ruse succeeded. whilst the sultan and his followers were busy trying to scale the fort and get at the handful of men peppering at them from its roof, without any warning there came an unexpected fusillade from, the rear. he turned and attacked in that direction, only to find a further fusillade pouring in on him from another point. the sultan sensed that he had fallen into a trap; that he was surrounded on all sides. sore and furious he turned to go, more quickly than he had come. but before he had reached the stockade, the world slipped from him suddenly. chapter v when the skirmish was over, barclay and his junior, with half a dozen hausas and a lantern or two, made a round of the compound, counting the dead and attending to the wounded. his own garrison was practically unscathed, but his guns had played grim havoc with the attacking party; fully fifty dead and wounded lay within the stockade. barclay went about his task cautiously. he knew arabs and their little ways. giving no quarter themselves, they expected none, and would sham death and then stab those who came to succour them. among the prisoners was a lean, lithe man of about forty, who appeared more stunned than hurt from a bullet that had grazed his forehead. barclay came across the wounded man just when the latter was coming back to consciousness. although in dress he differed in no way from the rest of his following, the knives in his belt were heavily jewelled, and gems flashed on his brown fingers. by the light of a lantern the englishman scanned him, noting his array of jewels and his cruel, arrogant, commanding face, the face of a savage leader. "my son," he said to the subaltern, "i believe your joke has come to pass." "my joke!" the youngster repeated blankly. then the light of understanding came to his face. "you don't mean to say this cruel-looking cuss is the sultan casim ammeh!" "i'd be surprised to hear he wasn't," barclay responded. suspicious of his man, and knowing him to be no more than stunned, the captain had him handcuffed and locked up in one of the inner rooms of the fort. when the wounded had been attended to they were left in the guardroom, and the little garrison retired once more within the fort. the enemy had had such a thorough beating that barclay did not expect another attack. for all that, he was taking no risks. just before daybreak, when the world was a place of curling white mist and greyness, there came a stampede of horses. and, above the thunder of hoofs, the wild mohammedan war-cry. "deen! deen muhammed!" that wild swoop and yell was the sultan's usual way of attacking. "it seems we didn't get our man last night," barclay remarked, as the guns were trained in the direction of the sound. "according to report, this is his usual method of attack." out of the greyness of approaching morning a mêlée of wild horsemen appeared. their leader was hardly the man barclay had pictured to himself as the blood-stained arab chief, but a smooth-faced youth in white burnoose, mounted on a huge black stallion. more than this barclay did not wait to see. he opened fire on the massed horsemen, his guns playing deadly havoc. within a few minutes their ranks broke. in wild disorder they turned and stampeded back, soon to be lost in the screening mist. "i don't think they'll face another dose," the junior remarked. however, he was wrong. presently from out of the fog came the same wild war-cry and the thunder of hoofs. there was another charge with sadly depleted numbers. for reckless courage barclay had never seen anything to equal their youthful leader. again and again he rallied his men and brought them on, until finally, with only about a dozen men, he swept through the deadly zone and on towards the fort. in the very teeth of the maxims his black horse literally flew over the high stockade. but the youngster was the only one who faced the guns. his following broke up and turned back under the fierce fusillade. although the leader got over the stockade alive, his horse did not. it crashed and fell dead beneath him. with a quick side spring--a marvellous piece of horsemanship--he avoided injury and, with drawn sword, rushed on towards the little fort. the hausas would have shot down the reckless youngster, but barclay stopped them. "we don't make war on children," he said in their dialect. a closer inspection showed the leader of the arab horde to be hardly more than a child; a handsome boy of about fourteen who, suddenly, realising that his followers had deserted him, now stood gazing round in a fierce, thwarted fashion. on finding he was alone he did not retreat, although barclay gave him every opportunity. instead, he stood his ground and hurled a challenge in arabic at the men clustered on the top of the fort. since there was no reply to that, he shouted again, this time in french. "who and what is the youngster?" barclay asked. "he doesn't look any more arabian than i do. and now he's yelling at us in pure parisian french." however, nobody could find any reply. so barclay descended alone to interview the one remaining member of the sultan casim's forces. he was hardly out in the compound before he wished he had not gone. he had just time to draw his sword when the boy fell upon him. barclay was a skilled duellist, but in this wild youth from the desert he met his match. for all his finesse and superior height and weight, the englishman had his cheek laid open and his arm ripped up in the course of a minute. things would have gone badly with him, except that a shot from his junior put the boy's sword arm out of action. with a rattle his weapon fell to the ground, his arm useless at his side. but, even then, there was no plea for mercy. with a proud gesture he threw up his head, facing his enemy in arrogant fashion. "kill me," he said in french, "but let my father live." "who is your father?" barclay asked, as with a handkerchief he tried to stop the blood gushing from his cheek. "the sultan casim ammeh," the boy answered proudly. the reply told barclay that the man he had under lock and key really was the marauding arab chief. he scanned the boy closely. except for his coal-black hair and eyes and fierce, arrogant expression, there was no resemblance between father and son. if he had not heard to the contrary, he would have said the boy was as french as the language he spoke. "i've no intention of killing _you_," barclay remarked. "on the contrary, young man, i'm going to have your arm set and bound up before you bleed to death." the blood was dripping from the boy's fingers, making a pool on the ground. but he paid no heed to his own hurt. all his thoughts were for the sultan casim. "i'm not asking mercy for myself, but for my father," he said haughtily. "i'm afraid that's useless, considering two governments have condemned him." "you will dare to kill him?" barclay said nothing. but his very silence was ominous. a dazed, incredulous look crossed the boy's face. as the englishman watched him it seemed that, blood-stained murderer as the sultan was, at least this big, handsome son of his loved him. like one stunned, the youngster submitted to being led into the fort, where his arm was set and his wounds bound up. when this was done he said to barclay: "i'll give you wealth in jewels that will amount to three hundred thousand francs in french money if you will let my father go free and take my life instead." barclay made no reply. "you will murder my father?" the boy went on, dreading the worst from barclay's silence. the word made the englishman wince. for it did seem like murder with this fierce, handsome boy pleading desperately for his father's life. again he said nothing. to escape from the sight of the pain and anguish his silent verdict had aroused, barclay went from the room, leaving the youngster in the charge of a couple of soldiers. about noon that day, at the hands of the british government, the sultan casim ammeh met a well-deserved end. he met it bravely, (refusing to be blindfolded), with a slight, cruel smile facing the guns levelled at him. it was evening before barclay summoned up enough courage to meet his youthful prisoner. and when he did, it seemed he had never seen so much concentrated hatred on any face. "so, you shot my father?" the boy said in a slow, savage manner. barclay had not come to discuss the dead malefactor. he wanted to learn more about the son--where he had learnt his excellent french; how he came to differ so in appearance from the arab chief and his wild following. "your father has paid the penalty of his crimes," he said quietly. "and you shall pay the penalty of yours!" the boy cried passionately; "for i shall kill you as you have killed my father. your daughters i shall sell as slaves. your sons shall toil in chains in my city. your wives shall become the bondswomen of my servants. remember, white man, for i do not speak lightly. i will be avenged. i, casim ammeh, whose father you have thought well to murder!" the savage threats of a wild, heart-broken boy did not trouble george barclay much. but his mind did go to his tiny four-year-old daughter, and he was glad she was safe in england and not within reach of this savage lad. at that moment he was more worried about his youthful captive than the latter's wild threats. he did not want to make a criminal of the boy; for, obviously, whatever wrong he had done was done under the influence of his savage father. and there looked to be the makings of a fine man in him, if only he had good guidance. barclay decided to put the case before the french government, together with a suggestion of his own--that the youngster should be sent somewhere where he could be brought up to be of use to the country, not a constant thorn in its flesh, as his father had been. but captain barclay need not have troubled himself with making plans for the future of the youthful sultan of el-ammeh, for that night the boy escaped, and his future was left in his own hands. chapter vi after some two years out in gambia, george barclay returned to england. he returned with a scar across his right cheek. that scar was the first thing his little daughter remarked upon when the excitement of reunion had died down. perched on his knee, she touched it with gentle little fingers and kissed it with soft lips. "who has hurt my nice new daddy?" she asked distressfully. then there followed the story of the youthful sultan casim ammeh. "oh, what a wicked boy!" she exclaimed. then she glanced across at her godfather who was sitting near. "isn't he a bad, naughty boy, grand-godfather, to want to kill my daddy and sell me as a slave?" henry langham had listened to the story with interest, and very heartily he agreed with her. "i shall tell bobby," the little girl went on indignantly, "and he'll go and kill the sultan casim ammeh." "who's bobby?" her father asked. "my sweetheart. master robert cameron." "so in my absence i've been cut out, have i?" her father said teasingly. "i'm dreadfully jealous." but pansy snuggled closer to him, and her arms went round his neck in a tight hug. "there'll never be anyone as nice as my daddy," she whispered. george barclay held the tiny girl closer, kissing the golden head. often during his months in england, pansy would scramble on his knee and say: "daddy, tell me the story of casim ammeh. that naughty boy who hurt your poor face." to pansy it was some new arabian nights, vastly interesting because her father was one of the principal characters. although she had heard it quite fifty times, she was ready to hear it quite fifty times more. "but, my darling, you've heard it scores of times," barclay said one day. for all that he told the story again. quietly she listened until the end was reached. then she said: "i don't like him. not one little bit. do you like him, daddy?" "to tell you the truth, pansy, i did like him. he was a very brave boy." "i shall never like him, because he hurt you," she said firmly, her little flower-like face set and determined. "well, my girlie, you're never likely to meet him, so it won't make much difference to him whether you like him or not." but--in the book of fate it was written otherwise. chapter vii somewhere off the boulevard st. michel there is a cabaret. the big dancing hall has red walls painted with yellow shooting stars, and, overhead, electric lights blaze under red and yellow shades. there is a bar at one end, and several little tables for the patrons' use when they tire of dancing. in the evenings a band, in seedy, red uniforms with brass buttons, fills, with a crash of sound, an atmosphere ladened with patchouli and cigarette smoke, and waiters, in still more seedy dress-suits, attend to the tables. never at any time is the gathering select, and generally there are quite a few foreigners of all colours present. one night, the most noticeable among the patrons was an englishman, well-groomed and tailored, and a big youth of about eighteen in a flowing white burnoose. they were in no way connected with each other, but chance, in the shape of their female companions, had brought them to adjacent tables. the girl with the youngster was very pretty in a hard, metallic way, with the white face and vivid red lips of the parisienne, and brown eyes, bright and polished-looking, that were about as expressionless as pebbles. she was attired in a cheap, black evening dress, cut very low, and about her plump throat was a coral necklace. her hair was elaborately dressed, and her shoes, although well worn, were tidy. by day, marie hamon earned a meagre living for herself in a florist's shop. at night, she added to her earnings in the recognized way of quite a few of the working girls of paris. and this particular cabaret was one of her hunting grounds. as marie sat there "making eyes" at the youth in the white burnoose, the man at the next table remarked in french, in an audible and disgusted tone: "look at that girl there making up to that young nigger. a beastly spectacle, i call it." before his companion had time to reply the youth was up, his black eyes flashing, and he grasped the englishman's shoulder in an angry, indignant fashion. "i am no nigger!" he cried. "i'm the sultan casim ammeh." "i don't care a damn who you are so long as you keep your black paws off me!" the youth's hands were not black, but deeply bronzed like his face, which looked darker than it really was against the whiteness of his hood. "take back that word," he said savagely, "or, by allah, it shall be wiped out in blood!" he drew his knife. the girls screamed. excited waiters rushed towards the table. the mixed company stopped dancing and pressed forward to watch what looked like the beginning of a royal row. such incidents were by no means unusual in the cabaret. only the englishman remained calm. he grasped his opponent's wrist quickly. "no, you don't," he said. "you damned niggers seem to think you own the world nowadays." there was a brief scuffle. but the englishman was big and heavy, and half a dozen waiters were hanging on to the enraged and insulted youth. his knife was wrested from his hand. he was hustled this way and that; and, finally, worsted and smouldering, he retired, to be led to another and more distant table by his female companion. the episode was over in a couple of minutes. disappointed at the lack of bloodshed, the spectators returned to their dancing. relieved, the waiters went back to their various spheres. the englishman seated himself again as if nothing had happened. at a distant table the youth sat and glowered at him. "who is that man?" he asked presently, pointing a lean forefinger at his late opponent. marie shrugged her plump shoulders. "i've never seen him here before. he looks to me like an englishman." with renewed interest the youth studied the distant figure, hate smouldering in his black eyes. so he was one of the nation who had murdered his father! this man who had insulted him. but, for all his hatred of the englishman, reluctantly he admired his coolness and his clothes. the world had enlarged for annette le breton's son since his first experience with the english. on escaping from barclay, with the remaining handful of the defunct sultan's following, he had returned to el-ammeh, at the age of fourteen its recognised ruler. the boy was not lacking in sense. defeat at the hands of both british and french made him decide to give up what had been the late sultan's chief source of income--marauding. with a wisdom beyond his years, casim ammeh, as he was now always called, decided to go in for trading; and before many years had passed he saw it was a better paying game than marauding, despite its lack of excitement. then he extended his operations. there were always caravans coming to his desert city, and a great demand for articles that came from the europe his mother had told him of. with one or two of his principal merchants he went down to st. louis, but he did not go as the sultan casim ammeh; that name was too well known to the french government. instead, he went under the name his mother used to call him, raoul le breton. and under that name he opened a store in st. louis. there was a new generation in the town since his real father's day, and the name roused no comment. it was an ordinary french one. in st. louis there were quite a few half-breed french-arabs, as the youth supposed himself to be, living and trading under european names. his business ventures were so successful that he opened several more stores at various points between st. louis and his own capital; but the whereabouts of his own city he did not divulge to strangers. at sixteen it had seemed to the boy that st. louis was the hub of the universe; but at eighteen a craving that amounted to nostalgia drove him further afield--to paris. and he went in arabian garments, for he was intensely proud of his sultanship and the desert kingdom he ruled with undisputed sway. to his surprise, he felt wonderfully at home in his mother's city. it did not feel as strange as st. louis had felt, but more as if he had once lived there and had forgotten about it. he had been a couple of days in paris, wandering at will, when on the second evening his wanderings had brought him in contact with marie hamon. she was by no means the first of her sort to accost him, but she was the first he had condescended to take any notice of. she had smiled at him as, aloof and haughty, he had stalked along the boulevard st. michel, and had fallen into step beside him. he had looked at her in a peculiar manner that was half amusement, half contempt, but he had not shaken her off. she had suggested they should have dinner together, and he had fallen in with her suggestion; not exactly with alacrity, but as if he wanted to study the girl further. for all her plump prettiness and profession, there was a shrewd, sensible air about her. afterwards, at her instigation, they had repaired to the cabaret. as the youth continued to scowl at the distant englishman, with the idea of preventing further trouble, marie tried to get his mind on other matters. "casim, let's have a dance?" she suggested. "i can afford to pay for hired dancers, so why should i posture for the benefit of others?" he asked scornfully. she tittered. "well, get me another drink instead, then." he beckoned a waiter and gave a curt order. however, he did not touch the cheap champagne himself. instead, he kept strictly to coffee. "have a drop of cognac in it to cheer you up a bit," marie said. "you make me feel as if i were at a funeral." "i'm a mohammedan, and strong drink is forbidden." "you are the limit! i shouldn't quarrel with the good things of this life even if i were a mohammedan." "by my religion women have no souls," he replied in a voice that spoke volumes. but marie was not easily abashed. "the lack of a soul doesn't trouble me in the least," she responded lightly. "a pretty body is of greater use to a woman any day. do you think i'm pretty, casim?" she finished coquettishly. "i shouldn't be with you unless you were," he replied, as if her question were an insult to his taste. for some minutes there was silence. as the girl sipped her champagne she watched her escort in a calculating manner. "you've got lots of money, haven't you?" she said presently. "not as much as i intend to have," he replied. "but enough to buy me a new frock?" she questioned. "fifty, if you want them." marie threw her arms around his neck. "you nice boy!" she cried, kissing him soundly. he resented her attentions, removing her arms in a none too gentle manner. "i object to such displays of affection in public," he said, with an air of ruffled dignity. "come home with me, then," she suggested. "home" to marie was an attic in a poor street. there casim ammeh went, not as a victim to her charms, as she imagined, but seeing in her a means to his own end. the next morning as he sat at breakfast with the girl--a meagre repast of black coffee and rolls--from somewhere out of his voluminous robes he produced a string of pearls and dangled it before his hostess. marie looked at them, her mouth round with surprise, for they were real and worth at least ten thousand francs. "if i give you these, marie, will you teach me to become a frenchman?" he asked. "won't i just!" she cried enthusiastically, and without hesitation continued: "first of all we must get an apartment. and, _mon dieu!_ yes, you must cut your hair short." the youth wore his hair long, knotted under his hood in the arab fashion. it was three months before casim ammeh left paris. and he left it in a correctly cut english suit and with his smooth, black hair brushed back over his head. in the spick-and-span young man it would have been difficult to recognise the barbaric youth who had come there knowing nothing of civilised life except what his mother had told him and what he had seen in st. louis; and, what was more, he felt at ease in his new garments, in spite of having worn burnoose and hood all his life. the day before he left, marie sat with him in the _salon_ of the pretty flat they had occupied since the day they struck their bargain. and she looked very different, too. her evening frock was no longer of shabby black. it was one of the several elaborate gowns she now possessed, thanks to the young man. and she no longer wore a string of coral beads about her pretty throat, but the pearl necklace. although marie had taken on the youth as a business speculation, within a few days she loved him passionately. she was loath to let her benefactor go, but all her wiles failed to keep him. "when you're back in africa you won't quite forget your little marie who taught you to be a man, will you?" she whispered tearfully. her remarks made him laugh. "i've had women of my own for at least a year before i met you," he replied. it seemed to marie she had never really known the youth who had come to her a savage and was leaving her looking a finished man of the world. he never talked to her of himself or his affairs. although kind and generous, he demanded swift obedience, and he treated her always as something infinitely inferior to himself. "say you love me," she pleaded. "that you'll think of me sometimes." "love!" he said contemptuously. "i don't love women. i have them for my pleasure. i'm not one of your white men who spend their days whining at some one woman's feet pleading for favours. women to me are only toys. good to look upon, if beautiful, but not so good as horses." "oh, you are cruel!" she said, weeping. "and i thought you loved me." "it is the woman's place to love. there are other things in a man's life." marie realised she had never had any hold on her protégé. she had been of use to him, and he had paid her well for it, and there, as far as he was concerned, the matter ended. being sensible, she sat up and dried her tears, gathering consolation from the fact that he had been a good speculation. there would be no immediate need to return to the florist's shop when he had gone. in fact, if she liked to sell the necklace, she could buy a business of her own. "shall you come to paris again, casim?" she asked. "oh yes, often. it's a good city, full of beautiful women who are easy to buy." but he made a reservation to himself. when he came again he would come under the name his mother used to call him--raoul le breton, and he would come in european clothes. then the english he hated would not be able to hurl that detestable word "nigger" at him. chapter viii in a select french boarding-school a girl sat reading a letter. she was about fifteen years old, a slender, lovely child, light and graceful, with a cascade of golden curls reaching to her waist, and wide, purple eyes. her complexion was perfect. she had a vivid little red mouth, impulsive and generous, and a pink rose on each cheek. on reading the letter, sorrow clouded her face. for it ran:-- "my dear little pansy, when you get this letter i shall be with your mother. i am leaving you the money she would not have. and it was worth having, you will agree, for it will bring you in about £ , a year. the only condition i make is that you take the name your mother refused, your own second name. and my one hope is that you will be more successful in love than i was. your affectionate 'grand-godfather,' henry langham." for some minutes pansy sat brooding on her godfather's end. the poor old boy had been awfully ill for a long time, and now he was dead. she blinked back a couple of tears. then her thoughts went to the fortune she had inherited. presently she crossed to the mirror and looked at herself. "no, old girl," she said to her reflection, "your head isn't turned." then she slipped the letter into her pocket and made straight for her great friend and confidante. to the average eye there was nothing about miss grainger to attract a vivid, beautiful girl like pansy barclay--pansy langham as she would be now. miss grainger was middle-aged, grey-haired, thin and depressed-looking: the down-trodden english mistress, with no qualifications except good breeding. she was poor and friendless, and life had gone hard with her, but these facts were sufficient to fill pansy's heart with a warmth of generous affection and sympathy. the girl's principal thought as she went along was not so much of the millions she had just inherited, but that she had always wanted to do something for miss grainger, and now she saw a way of doing it. she entered the room that served the english mistress as bedroom, study and sitting-room, disturbing the latter in the midst of correcting an accumulated pile of exercise books. "what is it, pansy?" she asked, smiling at her favourite. "miss grainger, you'll be pleased to hear i'm a millionaire." the english mistress put down her pen carefully, and then sat staring at the child. "really, my dear," she said in a bewildered tone, "you have a way of saying the most surprising things in the most matter-of-fact manner. but, since you're saying it, it must be true." "that's a character in itself," pansy remarked, smiling, a smile that brought to view several bewitching dimples. she produced the letter and handed it to her friend. the english mistress read it through. "sixty thousand pounds a year!" she exclaimed. "it makes my head reel." "then yours can't be so firmly screwed on as mine. mine isn't turned one little bit. i looked at myself in a glass to see." "but what are you going to do with it all?" the governess asked helplessly. "spend it, of course. i take after my father and never shirk an unpleasant duty," she went on, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "to begin with, you, miss grainger, are going to be my companion, and we'll have a yacht and go all round the world together, and see and do everything that can be seen and done." "you'll get married, pansy," the governess said, looking lovingly at the beautiful flower-like, little face. "not much! you dear old antiquated thing. i'm not going to be tied by the leg in that fashion." "as the english mistress, i must remind you that 'tied by the leg' is slang." "when you're my companion you'll be talking slang yourself. i'm not so sure i won't make that one of the stipulations," the child went on teasingly. "it'll be such a change for you after thirty years of correcting stupid exercises." "it will be rather," miss grainger said wistfully. "and i shall come out at seventeen," pansy went on. "i must start as early as possible if i'm to spend all that money. i shall write and ask my father if i may come out at seventeen. do you think he'll refuse?" "no man will ever refuse you anything, pansy. you're too sweet and good and beautiful." "and rich. don't forget the rich. that'll be a tremendous draw." miss grainger smiled at her favourite. "i hope the man who marries you will pick you for your good heart and generous nature, not your looks and money," she remarked. "still harping on that old string, mrs. noah. women don't get married nowadays if they can afford to stay single." then the school dinner-bell ringing sent pansy from the room, but not before she had given an impetuous hug and kiss to her friend. chapter ix paris always has a welcome for millionaires. and it always had a specially warm welcome for raoul le breton, the african merchant-prince. not only was he fabulously rich, but he was young and remarkably good-looking. it was whispered that he had arab blood in his veins, but he was wealthy enough for the majority to overlook this drawback. like many modern frenchmen, he dabbled in "le sport." he was a brilliant tennis player, a worthy opponent at billiards, and he kept a stud of race-horses. there was hardly an actress of any repute and with any pretence to youth and beauty who had not had his patronage at one time or the other. match-making mothers with marriageable daughters laid snares about his feet. with surprising agility he avoided their traps. none of the daughters proved sufficiently tempting to turn him from the broad, smooth way of gay parisian bachelorhood to the steep and jagged path of matrimony. raoul le breton was about twenty-five when he paid his sixth visit to paris. he came now for about three months every year. and he always came in style, with a whole retinue of arab servants--silent, discreet men who never gossiped about their master. it was whispered also that out in africa he had a whole harem of his own; moreover, that he was some big chief or the other. in fact, many things were whispered about him, for, on the whole, paris knew very little except that he was wealthy and wild. his french acquaintances tried to learn more of his doings through the medium of his own private doctor, a stout frenchman who accompanied the young millionaire to and fro. but dr. edouard refused to gossip about his friend and patron. in spite of his success, the young sultan of el-ammeh had not forgotten george barclay. on getting more in touch with civilisation and its ways he had tried to find out the name of the man who was responsible for the death of his supposed father. it was not an easy task. george barclay had left gambia five years before raoul le breton set about his investigations. there had been a succession of men since barclay's time, and the shooting of a native malefactor was not a matter of great note in the annals of a government. however, eventually le breton managed to establish the identity of the man he looked upon as his father's murderer. but to trace george barclay in england proved an even more difficult task than tracing him in africa. the englishman had not stopped long in his country. in search of forgetfulness, he had gone from one place to another, holding posts in various parts of the empire. the sultan casim ammeh was twenty-five when he heard that barclay was in the malay straits. the news came to him in paris just when he was setting out for an evening's amusement in company with dr. edouard. the letter was brought to him as he stood in dress-suit, opera hat in hand, in his own private sitting-room at the palatial hotel he always patronised when in paris. on perusing it he turned to his companion, and said, with an air of savage triumph: "well, edouard, i've managed to trace my man at last." the doctor knew who the man in question was, for he, edouard, was the sultan casim's one confidant. rather uneasily he glanced at his patron. he wished the young man would be content with money and the many joys and pleasures it could buy--for casim ammeh was no longer a strict mohammedan--and would not be always hankering after vengeance, a vengeance that might embroil him with england and bring his wild and brilliant career to an abrupt close. "where is george barclay?" edouard asked uneasily. "in the straits settlements." the doctor experienced a feeling of intense pleasure on hearing barclay was in so remote a spot. "it'll be difficult for you to get hold of him there," he remarked, trying to keep out of his voice the relief he was feeling. "he won't stay there for ever. i've waited eleven years for my vengeance. i can go on waiting a little longer, until fate thinks well to place him in a more accessible position." with a savage expression le breton turned to a desk. sitting down, he wrote to his agents telling them to keep him informed of george barclay's movements. part ii chapter i the harem in the palace of el-ammeh led into a large hall with carved doors and tiny arabesque windows, fretted and scrolled, with no one spot big enough to squeeze more than a hand through. generally speaking, the women of the harem preferred the large hall, where they could gossip among themselves and with their attendant women, to the little rooms that were their own private quarters. but there was one special apartment that they all in turn had striven after and, in turn, had failed to attain. no one in the harem had seen the room except old sara, and she had plenty of tales to tell about its magnificence. it was a big gilded chamber, with a ceiling like the sky on a desert night, and great golden, jewelled lamps. there was a wonderful bathroom, a fretted gallery that gave a wide view of the desert, a walled garden full of roses, and, above all, a door that led into the sultan's private suite. the room had had no occupant since the days of the sultan's mother, the lady annette, the first wife and favourite of his father. and sara had been her special slave and attendant. it could be reached from the harem. at one point behind the silken curtains a narrow stairway led upwards, and ended in a scented, sandalwood door. but the door was always locked, and only the sultan had the key. it was common harem gossip that in that room he would place the one among his slaves whom he deigned to make his first wife. although the law allowed him four, and as many slaves as he fancied, so far he had no legal wife. it was strange, considering he was nearly thirty. but, in many ways, he differed from all the previous sultans. according to old sara, it was because his mother belonged to quite another race, and had come from a land as remote from el-ammeh as paradise, where the women were all white, a land that the sultan now visited yearly. for that land he was starting to-morrow. he had just been to the harem to say farewell to the half-dozen girls there, departing with promises of new jewels and novelties to please and amuse these toys of his on his return. and now he lingered with his newest slave and favourite, rayma, the arab girl he had bought but six weeks ago. [illustration: he had come to the harem to say farewell.....] envious glances were cast towards the door behind which the sultan casim ammeh and his new slave, rayma, took farewell of one another. one girl more than the others watched the door with hurt, angry, jealous eyes. she was about twenty-three, with a full figure, a creamy skin, a profusion of long black curls, and great soft, languid eyes--a half-breed spanish-moorish girl of the true odalesque type. her attire was scanty. a red silk slip draped her from shoulder to knee, held on by ribbon straps; and on her hands and wrists and neck a quantity of barbaric jewelery flashed. "i pray to allah that on his travels our sultan will find some woman he loves better than rayma," she said, spite and jealousy in her soft voice. "no, i don't pray that, leonora," one of her companions remarked. "for _you_ took him from _me_, and what am i now? like you, a scent that has lost its savour; for it is but a shred of love that the lord casim has now for me. no; i pray may _he_ know what it is to love and be denied, for too easily do women's hearts go to him. and no man values what comes to him cheaply. our day is done, mine and yours, leonora, as rayma's will be when another woman takes his fancy. no, pray as i do, that he may love a woman who has no desire for him, who spurns his love--a woman whose people will not sell her, who is no slave put up for auction, as we were. may his heart ache, as mine has ached. may passion keep him sleepless, with empty arms and craving desire. may love prove to him a mirage that he can see yet never grasp!" unconscious of these wishes, the sultan casim ammeh and the slave girl rayma lingered together behind closed doors. the moon shone into the little apartment, showing a big man in a white burnoose, and at his side a girl lay, looking at him with tearful, love-laden eyes. she was about seventeen, with an amber skin and a cloud of straight black hair that reached to her heels. a cloud out from which looked a little oval face, with great black eyes and a small red mouth, a perfect type of arab beauty. "my lord casim, beloved, my heart breaks at the thought of your going," she said tearfully. smilingly he watched her, caressing her in an indulgent fashion. "but, my desert flower, i shall come back again." "but it is so far. and in that paris there are so many women. i know, because sara has told me. and all their arms will be stretched out to keep you there." "no arms have kept me there for longer than three months," he replied. "and mine! mine are not strong enough to keep you here?" she sobbed. he drew the sobbing little beauty into his embrace, and kissed her tear-stained face. "tell me, my jewel, what favour can i grant you before i go?" "i want nothing but just to rest upon your heart for ever." with a tender hand he stroked her long black hair, and tried to soothe away the tears; flattering tears, resulting from his coming departure. "don't go to paris, casim, beloved," she whispered. "stay in el-ammeh. paris is so far, and i am so ignorant of all outside of the desert. ignorant of everything except love and you. think, my lord, only six weeks have we been together, and now you would go! only six weeks since my father brought me from the desert to sell me to the sultan casim ammeh. how afraid i was until i saw you. and then i was afraid i might not find favour in your sight. for my heart was yours the moment our eyes met. only six weeks ago! casim, don't go," she implored. "stay with me, for my heart is breaking." "little one, there is business as well as love," he said gently. "i think of nothing but love." "love is quite enough for any girl to think of." "and those women in paris, do they think only of love?" "no; they think of money as well. that's why i prefer you." she slipped her slim arms about his neck, pressing, her slight form against him, kissing him passionately. "let me live in the gilded chamber until you come back," she whispered, "and then i should feel the most honoured among your slaves." however, he avoided this suggestion. "we'll see about that when i return," he answered with an amused, indulgent air. then he held the girl closer. "now, before i go, rayma, is there nothing you want? nothing i can do for you?" "there is one thing, my sultan. sell leonora. i hate her. she's a great fat toad, always plotting and planning to steal your heart from me." "i couldn't do that. i'm not quite like your desert men, remember. i can't sell a woman who has once pleased me. but, on my return, i'll find her a nice husband, if that will satisfy you." there was a note in his voice that brooked no argument; and the girl, reared for the harem, was quick to notice it. she gave a sharp glance at her owner. it seemed that a man she did not know stood behind her sultan, indulgent master as he had proved. a man she had no hold over. chapter ii in one of the hotels in the island of grand canary dinner had just been served. around the door of the large dining-hall the manager, the head waiter and several underlings hovered, with an air of awaiting the arrival of some important personage. presently two people appeared in the doorway. one was a middle-aged woman with grey hair and a prim expression. she was wearing a plain black silk evening dress, and she had the look of a retired governess. her companion was of quite another type. she was a slender, graceful girl of medium height, with a mop of short, golden curls dancing round a small, frank face, that gave her the look of some lovely, delicate schoolboy. she wore a simple white silk frock, and her only mark of wealth was a large diamond hanging from a thin platinum chain about her slender neck; a gem in itself worth a fortune. evidently she was the personage expected. as she appeared the manager went forward to meet her. she smiled at him in a friendly, affable manner. with him at her side, she and her companion went up the big room, towards a specially reserved table, the head-waiter and a little group of others following behind. as she came up the room, a man seated at one of the tables in the center of the room said to his neighbour: "who is that girl? the whole hotel is falling over itself to wait on her." the speaker was a short, thick-set man, with a red face and fishy eyes. "that's pansy langham, the millionairess," his neighbour replied. "she came over in her yacht from teneriffe this afternoon. barclay her name was before she came into her money." "a millionaire, is she? that's the second one of the species in grand canary then. for there's a french millionaire staying in a villa at the back here. le breton, his name is. but what's brought the girl to these parts? there's not much here to attract a woman with money." "she's here for her health, i believe." "not lungs, surely! she looks healthy enough." "no, she had an accident about a couple of months ago. some half-mad horse mauled her horribly, all but killed her. i remember reading about the case in the papers. they say she's a very decent sort, in spite of her millions. gives an awful lot away in charity." as the girl approached the table, the red-faced man screwed an eyeglass into one fishy eye and surveyed her from head to foot. "she's not bad looking," he said in a condescending manner, as if it were his prerogative to criticise every woman who crossed his horizon. "but she's not a patch on the red-haired woman in the villa at the back here. now, she's what i call a beauty." he did not trouble to lower his voice, and his words reached pansy. she glanced in his direction and wrinkled her pretty nose, as if she were smelling a bad smell. and with no more notice than that, she passed on to her own table. chapter iii just off the main road between the port and the city of las palmas, grand canary, a villa stood. it was situated on a hill; a white, flat-roofed building, set in a pleasant garden. long windows opened on a lawn surrounded by trees. out from one of the windows a flood of light streamed and mingled with the silver of the night. the apartment it came from was elaborately furnished, in an ornate french style, with gilded furniture, bevelled mirrors, and satin-covered chairs and lounges. on one of the latter a woman lolled back amongst an array of soft cushions. she was big and voluptuous-looking, with a dead-white skin, a mass of flaming red hair, and eyes green as the emerald necklace she wore. she had on an extremely low-cut, black satin dress, that suited her style and colouring. and she made a striking, if somewhat bizarre, picture. but attractive and unique as she looked, the man sitting with her appeared more interested in the view from the window than in his companion. from there, a glint of moonlit sea showed between the vaguely moving trees; a peaceful stretch that spread away to the purple, misty horizon. he was a big man of about thirty, well groomed and handsome, with smooth black hair, close-clipped moustache, and dark, smouldering eyes that had a latent searching look at the back of them. he was in evening attire, with black pearl studs in his pleated dress shirt. for some time the two had been sitting in silence; the man's gaze on the sea; the woman's on the man, in a hungry, anxious manner. "you've got one of your restless moods on to-night, raoul," she said presently. "i get them frequently nowadays. nothing ever satisfies me for long." she smiled at him, a soft, slow smile. "yet i have satisfied you longer than most, for you are still here with me." "it's not you so much, lucille, as business that keeps me here." "i believe you have no heart at all," she cried, a catch of pain in her voice. "you look upon all women as animals." "you are a most handsome animal, you must agree," he replied. "you talk as if you'd bought me." "i don't know that i ever put it quite so crudely as that." "put it as crudely as you like," she cried in a sudden gust of temper. "you have taken all from me and given me nothing in return." he made no reply. in a slightly amused manner his glance rested on her emerald necklace. "you may look," she went on passionately. "but i want more than gifts. i want love, not just to be the creature of your passions." "then you want too much. there's no such thing as love between men and women. there's only passion." "you are cruel," she moaned. "cruel! merely because i refuse to be enslaved by any one woman, eaten up in mind and body and soul, as some of the men i know are? i wasn't brought up to look upon women as superior beings, and i've never met one yet to make me want to change my sentiments. they are here for my convenience and pleasure, and nothing more." there was silence again. lucille sighed. she knew she had no hold over him other than her sex, and never had had. heroics, temper and entreaties had no effect on him whatsoever; he remained always unmoved and indifferent. with a shrug she picked out a chocolate from a large box at her side. then she changed the conversation. "what's the business, raoul? i'd no idea you had any here. i thought ours was a pleasure trip, purely--or impurely." "the business is strictly private," he replied, a savage note in his voice. a month before, on leaving paris, when le breton had asked lucille lemesurier, the actress, to accompany him on his yacht and spend a week or so in grand canary, it had been for pleasure solely. but a few days ago a letter had reached him. a letter to the effect that his enemy, now sir george barclay, had been appointed governor of gambia. the sultan casim ammeh was waiting in grand canary until certain that his man was _en route_ for his new post. chapter iv on the balcony of her bedroom pansy langham stood, slim and boyish-looking in a suit of silk pyjamas. beneath, the hotel grounds spread, running down to the shore. beyond, the sea stretched, a silver mirror, away to the sparkling, frosty mist of the horizon. in the milky sky the moon soared, a molten globe, touching the drooping palms and making their quivering fronds look like silver fountains. a little line of waves lapped murmurously on the shore, in a running ridge of white fire. the stone wall edging the garden was turned into marble. here and there across the beach the taller trees threw thick, ebony shadows. on the whole expanse of silvered sea, only one mark showed like a black dot in the distance. pansy had seen the mark when it had been much nearer the shore; a man's dark head. he had swum out and out, away into the mist and moonlight. it was long after midnight. in the whole white world there was no sign of life except that dark head and the girl on the balcony who was watching the swimmer. the black dot grew bigger, as, with powerful overhand strokes, the man made his way shorewards. when about two hundred yards away from the beach the strong ease of his limbs altered suddenly. they grew contorted. he threw up his arms, and a moment later vanished completely. pansy gave a quick gasp of alarm. but the man appeared again, trying to float, as a level-headed swimmer does when cramps seize him, in order to get air between the spasms that send him writhing under water; a hopeless task usually, unless aid is quickly forthcoming. for just one second pansy watched with horror and distress on her face. then she turned sharply and vanished into her bedroom. a moment or so later she was out of the hotel and running swiftly through the silent garden towards the shore. to le breton out there with the water choking his powerful lungs, gasping and fighting for his life against a death that only his own nerve and wit kept at bay, that struggle seemed an eternity. all at once, he was caught and held from behind, just on the surface of the water; a slight support, but sufficient to keep him from going under when the spasms were on. unlike the average swimmer in difficulties, he did not snatch at his unseen rescuer. for all his dire straits he had the presence of mind to let his preserver alone. for another ten minutes or more the attack lasted. then his muscles unknotted and strength came back to his limbs. he turned himself over to see who had come to his aid. out of the misty moonlit sea a young face looked at him from under a mop of short curls. "you didn't come a moment too soon, my boy," he said. there was a tired look about pansy, but that did not prevent her dimpling in an effort not to smile. and to hide her mirth she dived suddenly and struck out towards the land. le breton struck out too. he reached the shore first. pansy, however, did not go in his direction. she turned off and landed where the shadows were the thickest. from where the man stood, he saw what looked to be a slim, fragile boy of about fourteen, who staggered slightly with fatigue as he made towards the most shadowed pair of steps leading into the hotel grounds. quickly le breton went towards his rescuer, with the idea of lending a hand, for it looked as if the boy were thoroughly worn out. by the time he reached her pansy was leaning against the wall under cover of the thickest shadows. "i'm afraid you've over-exerted yourself on my account," he said in a solicitous way. "i don't usually get knocked out so quickly," she replied. "but i had a nasty accident some weeks ago, and i've not quite recovered yet." the answer was in french, as fluent and parisian as his own. "you must let me help you back to the hotel," he said. "oh no, it's not necessary. i shall be all right in a moment." "what you need, my boy, is a dose of brandy," he remarked. "that would soon put you right." pansy put her hand to her mouth to hide her smiles. her short hair, pyjamas, and the shadows had deceived him completely. "it wouldn't be a bad idea," she replied; "but i don't happen to have any." "ring for some, then, when you get back to the hotel." "i wouldn't dream of disturbing people at this hour of the night," she said in an indignant tone of voice. "what else are the servants there for?" he asked in a surprised and peremptory way. "they're not there for me to root out of bed at two o'clock in the morning." he laughed in an amused manner. "i'm not so considerate of menials as you appear to be. but tell me the number of your room and i'll bring you some." there was a brief pause. out from the shadows pansy scanned the man. she could not see much, except that he was big and of splendid proportions. but he had a well-bred air, and his deep voice, if imperious, was pleasant and cultured. then her eyes started to sparkle with mischief. "my room is number three on the first floor," she said. "don't knock; come straight in. i'll leave the door ajar. i don't want to disturb my neighbours with my midnight prowls." "very well. i'll be there in ten minutes or so," they parted company, le breton going along the shore, pansy up the shadowed steps. on reaching her own room she switched on the light. slipping off her sodden garments, she dried herself quickly and put on a low-necked, short-sleeved, silk nightgown embroidered with purple pansies. giving a quick, vigorous rub to her curls, she opened the door an inch or so. then she skipped into bed and sat there, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, delighted with the surprise she had prepared for the man. unaware of what was in store for him, le breton returned to the hotel. knowing the place well, he made his way noiselessly along the dim, deserted corridor towards a door that stood slightly ajar, letting out a sharp knife of light. he was in shirt and trousers, and in his hand he carried a small jewelled flask. without any preamble he went into the room. the apartment he entered was a sumptuous one to average eyes, the best the hotel boasted. on the wide dressing-table was a litter of silver toilet appointments, each with a pansy in purple enamel on it. le breton did not give the room a glance. he had eyes for nothing but the figure sitting up in bed. a figure no longer in pyjamas--they lay in a wet heap in the middle of the floor--but in a pretty nightgown; and from beneath a flood of golden curls wide, purple eyes looked at him, sparkling with innocent mischief. it was no boy who had come to his assistance, but a girl! a lovely girl with a full, perfect mouth, vividly red, a milk-white skin and cheeks where roses bloomed. he backed slightly and locked the door, as if the situation were one he was quite accustomed to and equal to dealing with. "there's no need to lock the door," pansy said. "it's on your account, not mine. a little incident of this sort won't damage my reputation." "i'd forgotten about my reputation," she said, a note of concern in her voice. "i only thought about giving you a surprise." "it is. a most delightful one, too. in fact, i don't think i've ever experienced anything quite so delightful and unexpected," he responded drily. he crossed to the bed, and stood looking at the girl with a critical, appreciative air. and pansy looked at him with candid, friendly gaze, taking stock of him equally. he struck her as being remarkably good-looking, but his expression was too arrogant, his mouth too hard; it even had a suspicion of cruelty. he had an air, too, of having ridden rough-shod over people all his days. in spite of his well-groomed, well-bred appearance, there was a suggestion of the wild about him, as if he had never been properly broken in. there was a brief silence as the two surveyed one another. le breton was the first to speak, and his remark was of a critical nature. "why do you wear your hair short? it would suit you far better long, as a woman's hair ought to be." "i like it short. it's less trouble." there was a note in her voice as if his or any man's opinion about her appearance did not worry her in the least; an air of thorough independence, out of keeping with her years, that he was quick to notice. "do you always do as you like?" he asked. "always. it's an excellent habit to cultivate, and one you've cultivated to the fullest by the look of you, since criticism is the order of the day," she replied. le breton thought of the desert kingdom he had ruled with undisputed sway for sixteen years. "i dare say i do as i like more than most people you've come across," he answered with emphasis. pansy dimpled. there was an air about her visitor as if he expected and were accustomed to people standing in awe of him. however, he did not inspire her with this feeling, only with a desire to tease and plague him; he was so big and masterful looking, as if he thought himself "monarch of all he surveyed," even herself, at that moment. "are you in the habit of asking strange men to your bedroom?" he asked suddenly. "if i remember rightly, you volunteered to come." "and now i'm here, what am i supposed to do?" "to be _most_ surprised. to give me a drink of brandy; and then go, nicely and quietly, like a good 'boy.'" an amused look crossed le breton's face. innocent mischief had not come into his life before. "i am most surprised," he said. "i flattered myself i could tell a woman anywhere." "i'm not a woman, not until next year. so that must account for your deplorable mistake." "you look even younger than twenty. are you english or american?" "why can't i have a choice of being either french or russian or italian or spanish or german?" "only an english or an american girl would play this sort of a trick. not that i've had any dealings with either. i'd like to hear you were american." "what's wrong with being english?" "i dislike and despise the english," he replied, a latent note of savagery in his deep voice. "then you'll have to dislike and despise me, because i'm one of them." pansy stretched out her hand. the action brought into view a network of disfiguring red ridges and scars on her upper arm, marring an otherwise perfect limb. "please give me a drink," she finished. the excitement of the surprise she had prepared was dying down, leaving her looking what she really was--worn out with the exertion of saving him. crossing to the wash-stand, le breton picked up a glass. pouring a small dose of brandy into it, he added the requisite water and brought it back to the girl. then he seated himself on the bedside, watching her as she drank it. "what a nasty scar you have on your arm," he remarked, is if any flaw on such perfection annoyed him. "i've worse scars here and here," she replied, touching her side and thigh; "and they don't look at all pretty. 'the sultan' did them." he started slightly. "the sultan! what sultan?" "a brown sultan. a very nice sultan, but we understand one another now." le breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women. "they're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey. with an air of relief, pansy held the empty glass towards him. "thank goodness that's finished. now, with your permission, i'll go to sleep." he took the glass, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside. "you must tell me your name," he said. "you'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. it's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays." "won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone. pansy shook her head. "then i must find a name for you," he said. "a flower name would suit you admirably. let me see, what do you call the flower in english?" he hesitated. "pansy," he finished, after a moment's thought. "but why 'pansy' specially?" she asked, smiling at him. "why not lily or rose or may, since i'm to be given a stupid flower name?" "there are pansies in your eyes, on your nightgown, on the appointments of your dressing-table, on your handkerchief here." with a deeply bronzed hand he touched a scrap of embroidered muslin that peeped out from beneath her pillow and which had a pansy worked on it in one corner. pansy laughed, amused at his perception. "now, i'm too tired to entertain you any longer," she said. "good night, and thank you for bringing the brandy." le breton was not accustomed to being dismissed when he was prepared to stay.' "are you really anxious to get rid of me?" he asked. "most anxious. i'm dying to go to sleep." in a reluctant manner he got to his feet. stooping over the bed, he gave a caressing pat to the tired, small face. "good night, pansy, little flower," he said softly. "i'll go if you really want me to, but i'm not in the habit of going unless _i_ want to." "what an autocrat you sound! and please--don't forget my reputation. i can't afford to lose it so early in life." there was anxiety in the girl's voice, for all her light tone. "your reputation will be quite safe with me," he said. he stood for a moment watching her, an amused expression lurking in his dark, fiery eyes. then he turned and, switching off the light, went noiselessly from the room. it was not until he had gone that pansy recollected that he had touched her twice and she had not minded or reproved him, and usually she very strongly resented being touched by men. and it was not until le breton reached his villa that he remembered the girl had not even troubled to ask his name. in fact, once the trick had been played, her only desire had been to get him out of the room. chapter v in one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel, miss grainger was lolling back in a comfortable wicker chair reading a newspaper. the door opening made her look round. a slim, boyish figure entered the room, clad in a well-cut white riding suit, the neatest of brown boots and leggings, and a white felt hat pulled well on to a mop of curls. "you're late starting this morning, pansy." "i am. but--last night i saved a man's life." "saved a man's life! really, my dear, what a way you have of springing surprises on one." teasingly pansy glanced at her old governess. "miss grainger, i must remind you that 'springing surprises' is slang." miss grainger ignored the reprimand. "but what man did you save, and how did you save him?" she asked in a slightly bewildered manner. "i forgot to ask his name. i fished him out of the sea. he had cramps." "but he might have dragged you under!" her companion said in a horrified voice. "i should have thought that last experience of yours with that awful horse would have taught you not to go diving headlong into danger." "'the sultan' isn't awful. you know it was all a mistake on his part. besides, nothing will keep me from 'diving headlong into danger,' as you call it, when i see things being hurt. it's all part of my silly, impetuous nature." "well, i hope the man was grateful." "he never even thanked me." such gross ingratitude left miss grainger aghast. "my dear!" she exclaimed. "he thought i was a boy, and when he found i was a girl he was too astonished to remember his manners," pansy explained. "but don't say anything about it to anybody. you know i hate a fuss." "what was he like?" "big and dark and awfully good-looking, with an arrogant, high-handed manner. he badly needed taking down a peg or two." "quite different from captain cameron," miss grainger suggested. "oh, quite. bob's a kid beside him." there was a brief pause. miss grainger glanced at the girl. "do you know, pansy, i'm sorry for captain cameron." "so am i," the girl replied, a touch of distress in her voice. "but my sorrow refuses to blossom into love." "he's a very good sort." "i know; but then i'm not given to falling in love." "some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it." pansy smiled at her old governess in a merry, whole-hearted fashion. "what a persistent bird of ill-omen you are!" she said. then she glanced at the clock. "now i'm off. i shan't be back for lunch. so-long," she finished. she went, leaving miss grainger with the feeling of a fresh, sweet breeze having been wafted through the room. chapter vi in the large palm-decked patio of the hotel, le breton sat sipping coffee as he went through the newspapers solicitous waiters had placed on a table at his elbow. it was not often he came to the hotel, but when he did the whole staff was at his disposal, for he scattered largess with a liberal hand. he had lunched there, his gaze wandering over the crowded dining-room as if in search of someone; and afterwards he had stayed on. it was now about three in the afternoon, an hour when the patio was practically deserted. as he sat there reading, pansy entered the big hall, still in breeches and leggings, just as she had returned from her ride. she would have passed through the patio without coming within his vision, except that something about the smooth black head was familiar. so she changed her route and went in le breton's direction instead. "have you gotten over your disappointment?" she asked. in an unperturbed manner he looked round. then he got to his feet leisurely, surveying the slim, boyish figure with disapproval. pansy stood with her hands deep in her pockets, smiling at him, a smile that deepened under his lack of appreciation of her attire. "what disappointment?" he asked. "of finding i was a girl you had to be polite to instead of a boy you could bully." "i'm inclined to go back to my first impression," he said. "don't you like my get-up?" "decidedly i do not. why don't you wear something feminine? not go about masquerading as a man." adverse criticism rarely came pansy's way. she laughed. "what a back number you are! all women ride in breeches nowadays. but, since you don't approve of me, come along and see if you like 'the sultan' any better. you were most interested in his mark and seal." there was an air about her as if she never expected to be gainsaid if she felt like favouring a man, for she turned at once and led the way towards the main entrance. picking up his hat, le breton followed. once outside, he said: "i've not yet thanked you for saving my life." "i couldn't do less than lend a hand," she replied with a casual air. "it was a risky thing to do. i might have dragged you under." "well, you didn't. and we're neither of us any the worse for the little adventure." "i hope we shall be all the better. that we shall be excellent friends," he replied. then he drew a leather case from his pocket and held it towards her. "i've brought you a little memento," he finished. with inquisitive hands pansy took the case and snapped it open. inside was a string of pearls worth at least £ . he watched the girl as she opened the case, but none of the coos of delight and surprise at his generosity, that he expected and was accustomed to under such circumstances, were forthcoming. instead, she closed the case and handed it back to him. "it's very pretty, and very kind of you to think of it," she said. "but i couldn't keep it." to have his gift thrust back on him was the last thing le breton was prepared for or desired. "why not?" he asked abruptly. "i never take presents from men, but i appreciate your kindness all the same." he glanced at her, a peculiar look at the back of his eyes. to get off the topic pansy hurried forward. from a building close at hand there came a gentle whinny. "that's 'the sultan,'" she remarked. "he hears me coming." when the stables came into view, over the open door of a box a long brown head and neck were seen stretched towards the approaching girl. "i'm going to let him out," she said; "but you mustn't come too close. he hates strangers; and so should i if i'd been through the hell he's been through." le breton laughed, as if anyone, more especially the slim girl with him, telling him to be careful of anything in the shape of a horse had its intensely funny side. as pansy opened the door his glance ran swiftly over the animal. it was a huge, gaunt beast, a chestnut, with wild, roving eyes; a great, vicious-looking creature, well on in years and undoubtedly an old race-horse, for speed was written all over it. and on it, too, were scars and weals that spoke of past ill-treatment. pansy kissed its soft nose, and patted and stroked it and pulled its ears; and the great animal fawned on her. then she led it out, keeping a tight grip on its mane. for it bared its teeth at le breton, and stood shivering and expectant, as if suspecting every man's hand to be against it. he, however, ignored its attentions and came closer. but it swung round and lashed at him with iron heels. "oh, do be careful! don't come so close," pansy cried. in spite of its snarls and the iron hoofs, she kept her grip on its mane. but neither teeth nor hoofs, were in her direction. ignoring her entreaties, le breton came closer, all the time talking to the horse gently in a strange language. the animal seemed to recognize a friend. it quietened down suddenly, and stretched a long neck in his direction. still talking, he patted and stroked it. the horse submitted to his attentions, and before many moments had passed was rubbing its nose against him. all interest, pansy watched the two make friends. "what are you saying to him?" she asked. "usually he won't let a stranger near him." "i was talking to him in the language all race-horses understand--arabic," he replied. "but how did you come by such a brute?" the animal was of the type only the most hardened of stable-men could handle; the very last horse for a girl to ride. "i dropped across him quite by accident." le breton thought of the scars he had seen on the girl's arm, and he had heard there were others and worse beyond his view. "i should say it was 'by accident,'" he remarked drily. "i'd like to hear the story." pansy patted the big horse fondly. "we met in a london slum," she said. "i happened to be passing a stable yard when i heard a noise like a horse being hurt or frightened, and men laughing. so i opened the gate and went in. there was poor old sultan tied up in one corner and half a dozen roughs baiting him, all the time taking good care not to get within his reach, for he was almost mad with terror and rage and ill-treatment. i told them what i thought, and in the telling i got too close to 'the sultan,' and he grabbed me by the arm. in ten minutes he had made such a mess of me that it took a month to patch me up. and the men were such cowards that they never tried to rescue me. it was 'the sultan' himself who seemed to realise he'd set on his best friend, for he stopped chewing me, and stood sniffing at me, and let me crawl away. and i didn't remember anything more until i found myself back home. then i remembered the poor horse left to the mercy of those cruel wretches; and i sent someone along to buy him and take him away from his awful surroundings. it was so obvious he had known better days, although he had sunk right down to dragging some east end coal higgler's cart. the first time i was allowed out i went to his paddock and had a look at him. and i'm sure he knew me. he stretched his long neck over the gate and sniffed and snuffed at me and seemed quite conscience-stricken. at the end of a fortnight i was on his back, and now i take him everywhere i go, as he gets worried if he doesn't see me about. he can't believe his awful days are over unless i'm here to reassure him." as pansy told the tale she leant against the big horse; and she told it as if her own hurts were nothing. "and you took him into your favour after he had treated you so abominably!" le breton said. "i couldn't be hard on him for what was the result of his awful surroundings." "you are very magnanimous." pansy smiled. "you'll forgive me for not accepting that pretty necklace, won't you?" she asked. "some day, when we know each other better, you'll honour me by accepting it," he said. he spoke to the girl now as if she were his equal, not just some pretty toy he happened to have fancied. "i never take anything from men--except perhaps a few flowers." there was a subtle contempt for his sex in her voice which le breton was quick to note. "so you despise men?" "not that exactly, but i've had rather an overdose of them. since i've been here, sultan and i go off early every morning usually, and are miles away before there are any men about to bother us." with this pansy turned and led the horse back to its box. "now," she said, when this was done, "i mustn't keep you. good-bye, and i'm glad you're none the worse for last night." again le breton was dismissed when he would have lingered. and on this second meeting she still had not troubled to ask his name. there was a curious glint in his eyes as they rested on the slim, white, indifferent figure of the girl who was making her way back to the hotel without a further glance in his direction. chapter vii at six o'clock in the morning the road that joins the port and the city of las palmas shows very little sign of the peaceful english invasion. it is given over to the islanders. to peasant women with baskets of produce on their heads; to men driving donkeys laden with fruit and vegetables, and creaking bullock carts. the early morning was pansy's favourite time; the world was a place of dew and brightness with the sun glinting gold on sandy hills and air that sparkled like champagne. she trotted along on her big horse towards the white city, its flat roofs, low houses and palms giving it an oriental aspect. biding through the town, she crossed a wide bridge and went upwards through a grove of palms, past banana gardens, into a deserted world, with a blue sky overhead and an endless stretch of sea behind. as she mounted higher, the hill grew vine-clad, and great ragged eucalyptus trees stood in tatters by the roadside. here and there was a stunted pine, the deep green of a walnut tree, a clump of bamboo, a palm and occasionally, a great patch of prickly cacti, whose flaming flowers stood out red against a dazzling day. she rode without spurs or whip, when necessary urging her horse with hand and voice only. a village was reached, where black-browed men in slouch hats and blanket cloaks lounged in groups, smoking and gossiping, and swarthy women with bright handkerchiefs around their heads stared at the girl astride the big horse. in the dust of the road a little group of half-clad, bare-footed children dragged a trio of unfortunate lizards along by strings around their necks, and screamed with delight at the writhings of the tortured reptiles. the sight brought a look of distress to pansy's face. reining in her horse, she slipped of and went towards the group. in indifferent spanish she gave a brief lecture on cruelty. there was a sprinkling of small coins, and the lizards changed owners. pansy stooped. loosening the strings from their soft throats, she picked them out of the dust. they were pretty, harmless little things, each about eighteen inches long and bright green in colour, that hung limp in her gentle hands, and looked at her with tortured eyes. holding them carefully, she went back to her horse, and with the reins over her arm, made her way through the village. once well out of sight of the place, she seated herself on a bank at the side of the road, and laid the three limp little forms on a warm, flat, sunny rock. then she tried to coax them back to life and their normal state of bright friskiness. as she sat rubbing, with a gentle forefinger, their soft, panting throats, crooning over them with pitying words, too intent on her task to notice what was going on around her, a deep voice said with an unexpectedness that made her jump: "they'll do exactly the same with the next lizards they catch." she looked round quickly. in the middle of the road, mounted on a huge black horse, was the man whose life she had saved. pansy's gaze rested on him for a moment before she replied. he made such a picture on the black horse, with his strong, sunburnt face and well-cut khaki riding suit; the most perfect combination of horse and man she had ever seen. "i know they will," she said. "but still, i've done my best for these three." "do you always try to do your best for everything that comes your way, pansy?" he asked tenderly. "only a few privileged people are allowed to call me 'pansy,'" she said tartly. "what else can i call you, since you refuse to tell me your name?" "you mean to say you haven't found out yet?" she exclaimed. "i never gossip," he replied in a haughty tone. "i don't know yours," she answered, "so we're what is called in english 'quits.'" "what exactly does 'quits' mean? i don't know much english." as pansy petted the lizards she explained the meaning of the word. during the explanation one of her protégés recovered, and darted off in a most thankless manner into a crevice in the rocks. "my name is le breton," he said when he had grasped her meaning. "raoul le breton." pansy stared at him. she had surprised him on the occasion of their first meeting, but he had turned the tables on her. during her stay in teneriffe she had heard of raoul le breton. he was a french millionaire, an african merchant prince, so rumour said. she had had a feeling that he had followed her that morning, and she was inclined to be angry about it. now she saw that if he sought her out, it was not from mercenary motives, since he was quite as wealthy as she was. what was more he had no idea who she was. "i'm always interested in millionaires," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "all women are," he responded grimly. "but you're not the only millionaire in the islands," she remarked. "so i've gathered. there is, or was, one here quite recently. an englishwoman of the name of langham. i detest women with money. they are invariably ugly and conceited." pansy laughed--a ripple of sheer enjoyment. "perhaps their independence annoys you," she suggested. "i believe you're what is known as the 'masterful' type." with that, her attention went back to the lizards. dismounting, le breton came to her side. "you speak french remarkably well," he commented, as the moments passed and no notice was taken of him. "i was educated in paris." she glanced at him, her eyes brimming with mischief, and, as she glanced, another of her protégés frisked thanklessly away. "wouldn't you like to know my name?" she asked. "at present it's sufficient that you are 'pansy.' 'heart's ease,' don't you say in english?" "i wish i could ease this one poor little beast," she said, touching the remaining lizard. "but i fear it's hurt beyond redemption." stooping he picked up the little reptile and examined it. it hung limp in his grasp; a hopeless case. "the best thing to do with it is to kill it," he commented. "oh, i couldn't," she said quickly. but it appeared he could. he went some distance away from the girl and placed the lizard on a flat rock. in a moment he had ground all tortured life out of it with his heel. "thank you," she said gratefully. "i knew it was suffering, but i couldn't have done that to save my life. as a reward, will you come and have breakfast with me?" "there's nothing i should like better," he answered. pansy got to her feet. he helped her to mount. then he rode at her side up the hill. "i love the clear heights," she remarked presently. "i don't know much about them. the miry depths are more in my line," he replied. critically she surveyed him. "you don't look so specially muddy." "no? what do i look like--to you?" he asked, a caressing note in his voice. "very proud, very passionate, very strong, and as if you could be cruel." "then i can't look very attractive," he said, smiling slightly. "being proud is all right, so long as it makes you too proud to do mean things." "and what about the passionate?" he asked, "since you're making excuses for me. "i don't know anything about it." "well, what about my being strong then?" "i don't like men unless they are." "and the cruelty?" "i hate it." "life sometimes combines to make people cruel who otherwise might not be," he remarked, as if unaccustomed to finding excuses for himself. "you can't judge a person fairly until you know all that has gone to form their character." pansy patted her gaunt steed. "i know that," she said, "that's why i stuck to 'the sultan' when my friends tried to persuade me to have him shot. there's a lot in his life that i don't know. these marks tell me that." she pointed to the various old scars on the animal. "now you shall see what 'the sultan' can do," she went on. "i'll race you to the farm over there, where breakfast is waiting," she finished, pointing to a green patch away in the distance. a touch of her spurless heel sent the gaunt beast flying along the dusty, deserted road, in a long, loping gallop that grew more and more rapid, egged on by the sound of another horse persistently at his heels. pansy had not expected that her escort would be able to keep up with her. no horse she had met could keep pace with her protégé. at the end of half a mile she had been prepared to rein up and wait for le breton. but at the end of a mile he was a length behind her. and at the end of two he was there just the same. pansy tired before either the man or the horses. "oh!" she panted, as le breton drew up beside her. "i wasn't trained as a jockey." "you didn't get away from me quite so easily as you expected," he remarked with curious emphasis. "i didn't know there was a horse in the islands to touch 'the sultan,' in spite of his years." "this horse i'm on has won several races in paris. and you challenged me, pansy, without pausing to consider what you might be let in for," he said, watching her in a fierce, fond manner. "i always leap before i look. it's my besetting sin," she replied. then she pointed to a side track, leading to a low building, half white-washed mud, half timber. "that's the way to my farm," she said. "but i don't know that my breakfast will appeal to millionaires." "don't thrust that down my throat just now," he answered. "i want to see life from your point of view." the farm they were approaching was a tiny place, with a spreading garden where orange and fig trees grew. in one corner a little summer-house stood, wreathed with red roses, that gave a wide view of the island and a glimpse of the sea. evidently pansy was expected. a coarse white cloth was spread on the table in the summer-house, and it was set with thick crockery and leaden-looking forks and spoons. leaving le breton to attend to the horses, she made her way to the tiny homestead, to announce her presence and the fact of a guest. then she passed on towards the summer-house. tossing her hat on a seat, she sat with the light glinting on her golden curls, her elbows on the table, watching the scene dreamily, in a frame of red roses. this vision of her greeted le breton as he turned the corner, bringing a hungry glint to his eyes. breakfast proved a simple repast. there was a thick jug full of coffee, another of milk, a large omelet, a dish of fruit, rolls, butter and honey. "now," she said when it was set before them, "how do you like your coffee?" "as it should be according to the orientals--black as sin, hot as hell, sweet as--love," he finished, lingering over the word. she poured his out, and handed it to him, black as he desired. "i can get on very well without either the sin or the love," she remarked as she helped herself to a cup that was mostly milk, and with no sugar in it. "i thought all girls liked sweet things and lived for love," he said as he set about serving the omelet. "there's a lot more in life for women nowadays than love." "being in love is a woman's normal condition," he said in a forcible, dogmatic manner. pansy smiled. "i always thought you had come out of the ark, and now i'm sure of it. you've got such antiquated, early victorian ideas about women. they mustn't wear knickers. they must always be yearning after some mere male. very flattering to him, i'm sure," she finished, wrinkling a disdainful nose. le breton's gaze rested on the vivid, beautiful little face, with the full, perfect, generous mouth, telling of an unselfish, disinterested nature that would love swiftly and deeply. "some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it," he commented. "so other people have said. and it makes me horribly nervous at times. like a blind man walking on the edge of a precipice." "so long as you fell in love with a man who could appreciate you, it would be all right,--a man sufficiently versed in women to know you have qualities beyond your beauty to recommend you." with some surprise pansy glanced at him. a soft heart lay beneath her light manner. quite half her income was spent for the benefit of others. she wondered how he knew about these "qualities," considering their brief acquaintance. and she wondered, too, why she was sitting there discussing love with him; a subject she never would let any man approach, if it could be avoided. she put it down to the fact that her identity was unknown to him, and she could talk to him freely, knowing her millions were no temptation. "one thing," she said mischievously, "money will never attract me. i've no expensive tastes. i like views and flowers and sunsets. moons and stars and seas and sago pudding. horses and chocolates and--my own way. all things that don't require a tremendous income." there was a brief silence. in a calculating manner le breton watched her. she was a new type to him; a girl who could not be approached in the way most women could be--by the easy route of costly presents. the air was heavy with the scent of roses. in the distance a guitar was playing; a throb of melody, faint and seductive, that fed the craving in the man's heart. pansy glanced at him. "how quiet you are all at once. what are you thinking about?" "ways and means," he replied, smiling slightly. "i thought only hard-up people were troubled in that way." "the trouble with me now is that i want something which i fear can't be bought with money." "what an unpleasant position for a millionaire to be in. still, it makes you 'realise your limitations,' as an old governess of mine used to say." she paused for a moment, watching him with an air of subtle mockery. "and, mr. le breton, it won't do you any harm to have to go without a few of the things you want. there's a look about you as if you always had things too much your own way." "i'm not so sure yet that i'm going to do without it. fortunately i have two other courses left open to me--persuasion and power," he replied. "power! i thought that was the prerogative of kings." le breton said nothing. he knew if this english girl had any idea who he was, she would not be sitting there talking to him so freely. although he was the sultan of el-ammeh, in the eyes of her nation he was a "nigger." there was a further silence which pansy broke. "what made you swim out all those miles the other night?" she asked. "i get moods when i want to lose the earth and find a heaven to my own liking." "what sort of heaven would that be?" "where there would be only one houri, and she all-sufficing." "a houri? why that's a sort of mohammedan angel-woman." evidently le breton was in a confessional mood, for he said: "nowadays i often wonder what use my life is. there's no pleasure in it except, perhaps--women." "so long as it's 'women,' it's all right. the trouble starts when it comes to--'woman.'" these words from the innocent girl's lips made him laugh. "who told you that?" he asked. "captain cameron. he likes to pose as an authority on such subjects." "and who is captain cameron?" there was a suspicion of jealousy in le breton's voice. "at present he's possessed with a demon of tennis. but when the devil has been cast out, he's my father's secretary." "and how can the devil be cast out?" "there's no really permanent cure, but it can be assuaged _pro tem_, if he meets someone who can beat him. in teneriffe, he carried all before him. and he's coming over here to-morrow to beat all the local champions. he's one of the few people i really like. i've known him all my life." these remarks of hers had the effect of reducing le breton to silence again. chapter viii in the library of the villa, le breton sat alone. the hour was late, getting on to midnight. he was stretched in a deep chair smoking, his gaze fixed on a desk close by, on which was a wide, shallow, crystal bowl full of water where half a dozen purple pansies floated. as he sat there indulging in some dream of his own, a door opened and he looked round sharply, by no means pleased at being roused from his reverie. the room was his special sanctum; no one was supposed to enter without his permission. in the doorway lucille stood, in a foamy white dressing-gown, her wealth of red hair in two thick ropes down her back. on seeing her, a look of suppressed annoyance crossed his face. "what is it?" he asked in a none too cordial tone. she crossed to his side, and stood looking down at him anxiously. "what has happened to you the last two days?" she asked. "happened to me! what do you mean?" "you've been so very indifferent." "was i ever particularly effusive?" she laid her hand on his sleeve with a lingering, caressing touch. "i see nothing of you now except at meals," she said. with an impatient gesture he drew his arm away. "i'm not always in the mood for women," he said coldly. "perhaps it would be nearer the truth if you said some other woman has taken your fancy," she suggested. there was no reply. le breton got to his feet and crossed to the desk, standing there with his back to her as if he resented her presence. it was most obvious to lucille that she was not welcome. "what is this new fancy of yours like?" she asked in a hurt, jealous tone. he made no answer, but his very back oozed annoyance. "what's her price, raoul?" she asked in a wild manner. "is it emeralds or pearls or diamonds? or is she one whose price is above rubies?" he faced round suddenly, anger flashing in his eyes. "be quiet, woman!" he said savagely. she laughed hysterically. "so she's something too good for me to talk about, is she? does she know of all your gay doings in paris?" "oh, you women!" he ejaculated contemptuously. "can you never learn the virtue of silence?" in an angry manner he went from the room, leaving lucille in possession. she watched him until the door closed. then she sank down into the chair he had vacated and stayed there with bowed head, weeping bitterly. chapter ix at a spot about ten miles away from las palmas there are some well-known orange groves. stretch upon stretch of scented trees, they made a lattice-work of smooth boughs and shiny leaves overhead, with a glint of blue sky here and there. the ground was strewn with white petals, and clusters of white blossoms made fragrant the gilded greenness. a glimpse of the sea could be had, and the waves filled the air with a constant, soft, distant murmur. at one spot in the scented grove preparations had been made for an elaborate picnic. piles of soft silk cushions were set upon the ground. on a cloth of finest linen was spread an array of frail china and heavy silver, with here and there some golden dish holding dainties. two impassive men with lean, brown faces, clad in flowing white robes, stood near. beyond all view of the feast came a faint rattle of pots and pans, and a little wavering column of smoke rose from a fire where breakfast was being prepared. when pansy had come down the hotel steps for her usual early morning ride she had not been very surprised to find le breton there waiting for her. she had had a wide experience of men and their ways, and she knew what she called "the symptoms." generally "the symptoms" annoyed her; she felt they had more to do with her money than herself. but le breton's case was different. she knew who he was, but he had no idea of her identity. "i'm going to take you out for breakfast this time," he said on seeing her. "where are we going?" she asked. "to the orange groves beyond telde." they had ridden through the white city, and then on, skirting the coast, past banana plantations, cindery-looking cliffs and a lava bed where the poisonous euphorbia grew, ten to twelve feet high, stiff and straight, like gigantic candelabras. "i was thinking about you last night," pansy remarked once, between their canters. "what you said about the miry depths. and i remember having read somewhere that water can always reach to the level it rises from. when people get into the depths they should remember that; it'll help them to scramble out." the miry depths of dissipation into which he occasionally plunged had never troubled le breton in the least. he was not actively aware that they did now, although he hoped that pansy would not get to hear of them. but it was all part of the girl's nature to have ready the helpful hand. "so, pansy," he said, "having saved my body, you're now after my soul." "oh no, i'm not a missionary! but if you like people, there's no harm in giving them a word in season." he brought his horse closer, and bent towards the girl. "so you like me?" he said in a caressing tone. "i shouldn't be here if i didn't," she answered candidly. "and what if i say i like _you_?" he asked, laughing softly. "i should say it's very nice of you, considering you know nothing at all about me." "i can see you are beautiful. i know your heart is kind. circumstances have shown me you are not mercenary. what more could i wish to know about you? isn't the combination enough to attract any man?" "considering you are french, you've missed the vital point," she said demurely. "you haven't said anything about a _dot_." "no man in his senses would want a _dot_ with you." "he wouldn't get much money out of my father, anyhow," she said. "he's a poor man who has to work hard for his living; and i love him better than anyone in the whole wide world." "i'd like to meet him," le breton remarked. "so you will, if you behave yourself. he's coming out here very soon." "what constitutes behaving myself?" he asked. "people have never complained of my behaviour so far." pansy knew he was arrogant and overbearing. by his own telling, she guessed he was inclined to be wild. she suspected him of having little or no respect for women, although he had been unfailingly courteous to her. "i might complain if i had much to do with you, though," she said. "it would be refreshing, to say the least," he remarked, with a slight smile hovering on his lips. "and what would you complain of especially?" "you need a lot of reforming in quite a few ways." "tell me, and i'll endeavour to mould myself according to your ideals," he said with laughter. "you know you're very well pleased with yourself as you are." "but i'm even better pleased with you, pansy," he answered, watching her with glowing gaze. this pansy knew quite well. to get off the topic, she touched her horse lightly and broke into a canter. for it seemed to her "the symptoms" were coming to a head even more rapidly than she had expected. when the edge of the orange grove was reached, a couple of white-robed men came forward to take their horses--dark men, with hawk-like faces, lean and sun-scorched, who bowed low before her escort with the utmost servility. "they look like arabs," pansy said. "they are arabs; some of my servants from africa. i generally have half a dozen with me." it seemed to pansy the whole half-dozen were in the grove, ready to wait on her. no sooner was she settled among the cushions than one of the servants placed a little box before her, about six inches long and four wide: a costly trifle made of beaten gold, inlaid with flat emeralds and rubies. "is it pandora's box?" she asked, picking it up and examining it with curiosity. "it and the contents are for you," le breton replied. she turned the tiny golden key. inside, three purple pansies reposed on a nest of green moss, smiling up at her with velvety eyes. "i'll have the contents," she said. "the box you can keep for another time." with slim white fingers she picked out the pansies and tucked them into her coat. "still only a few flowers, pansy?" he said, annoyed, yet pleased that her friendship was disinterested. "suggest something else that you would accept." "breakfast," she said promptly. "i'm dying of hunger." a sumptuous feast was spread for her benefit, served in gold and jewel-encrusted dishes; an array of the most expensive luxuries. if le breton's idea had been to impress her with his wealth and magnificence, he failed. it seemed to pass her by unnoticed; for pansy was much more interested in his arab servants, the grove, the distant view of the sea, than any of the regal extravagance immediately before her. when the meal was over she sat, wistful and dreamy-looking, listening to the sigh of the sea. for some moments le breton watched her. just then her mood appeared very out of keeping with her boyish attire. "i'd like to see you dressed in something really feminine," he remarked presently. "what's your idea of something 'really feminine?'" she inquired. "just one garment, a robe that would come from your shoulders to your knees, loose and clinging, soft and white, with a strap of pearls to hold it on." "it sounds draughty," she commented; "and it might show my horrid scars." "it would suit you admirably." "and, i suppose, it would suit you admirably, too, to be lying about on cushions with me so attired waiting on you," she said quickly. "bringing you sherbet and hubble-bubbles, or whatever you call those big pipe things that men smoke in eastern pictures and on cigar-box lids. and i shouldn't dare call my soul my own. i should tremble at your look. that one garment would place me at a terrible disadvantage." "i might not be a severe task-master. i might only ask you to do one thing." "and what would that be?" "in english, i could say it in two words; spell it in six letters." pansy darted a quick look at him, and a little mocking smile came and hovered on her mouth. she was too accustomed to men and their ways not to guess what the two words that could be spelt in six letters were. she sat quiet for a moment or two, an impish look on her face. then she rattled off a riddle in english:-- "my first is in apple, but not in pie, my second is in do, but not in die, my third is in veal, but not in ham, my fourth is in sheep, but not in lamb, my fifth is in morning, but not in night, my sixth is in darkness, but not in light, my whole is just a word or two, which is known to me as well as to you." le breton knew more english than he pretended, but riddles did not often come his way. "say it again slowly," he requested. pansy repeated her composition. he stored it up in his mind, deciding to go into the matter later on when there was no lovely little face, dimpled with mischief, looking at him teasingly from beneath a halo of golden curls. soon after this pansy glanced at her wrist watch. "i mustn't stay any longer," she said, getting to her feet. "it's not nine o'clock yet," he remarked. "i didn't hurry away from you so quickly yesterday." this pansy knew quite well. he had sat on, and on, with her in the summer-house with the red roses, and she had been pleased to let him stay. in fact, it had been afternoon before they had come down to earth again. "captain cameron is coming this morning," she said. "and i promised to be on the quay to meet him." so saying, she turned towards the spot where the horses were waiting, leaving him to follow or not as he liked. pansy wanted to linger in the grove with raoul le breton as she had been pleased to stay with him among the red roses on the previous day; but she decided the mood was not one to be encouraged, especially considering his desire for the two words, containing in all six letters, and her own desire for untrammelled liberty. chapter x under the trees that shadowed one corner of the tennis-courts of the hotel a couple stood. one was a young man of about twenty-four, in white flannel trousers and shirt-sleeves, who held a tennis racket in one hand and a couple of balls in the other. he was of medium height, fresh and fair and boyish looking. at his side pansy stood, in short skirt and blouse and panama hat. "well, old pal, is there anything doing yet?" he was asking cheerfully. "there's nothing doing, bob, much as i try." "anyhow, it's a standing order," he said. "i know; and i'm doing my best," she said. "i try to go to bed every night with your name on my lips, but more frequently i go with a yawn. all for the sake of the 'dear dead days beyond recall.'" "which ones especially?" cameron inquired. "when i was five and you were nine, and we were all the world to one another." "in the days of my 'dim and distant' youth i learnt a rotten poem, from dire necessity, not choice, you bet. about some bore of a scotch king and a spider, and the chorus or the moral, i've forgotten which, ran, 'if at first you don't succeed, try again.' perseverance, pansy. it's a wonderful thing. you'll find yourself there in the end." pansy smiled a trifle wistfully at the boy she had known all her life, who always gave her nonsense for nonsense, and, incidentally, his heart. "bob, i wish i could love you," she said, suddenly grave. smiling at her, he started juggling with the two balls. "so the spirit is willing, etc.?" he responded. "well, i shall go on hoping for a triumph of mind over matter." for some reason pansy felt intensely sorry for her old playmate. she caught herself making comparisons, and something within her suddenly whispered that they would never be more than friends, something she did not quite realise--some change that had taken place within herself since they had parted in teneriffe only a week before. chapter xi raoul le breton took pansy's riddle home to solve. he went about it in his own private sanctum. seating himself at the desk, he wrote out the verse, with a french-english dictionary, making sure his spelling was correct. then he set out to find the solution. he was not long in doing so. afterwards he sat on, gazing at the pansies in the crystal bowl on the desk, a tender look on his arrogant face. a daring little creature, that beautiful english girl, frank as the boy she looked in her riding suit, with attractions beyond those of her sex and beauty; a courage that roused his admiration; a kindness that moved his heart; a disinterestedness sweet as it was novel; an ability to touch parts of his being no woman had touched before, and with a subtle something about her that brought him an ease of spirit he rarely experienced. "heart's ease," truly! as he brooded on pansy he forgot his vengeance--that he was only waiting in grand canary until quite certain sir george barclay was on his way to gambia. he thought only of the velvety-eyed girl who had answered him so deftly and laughingly. the riddle had told him the one thing he would ask her to do; his two words, spelt with six letters: "love me." the fact sent le breton to the hotel that evening for an interview with the verse-maker. the place was a blaze of light and a crash of music. in the big patio the usual bi-weekly dance was taking place, and a crowd of people disported themselves to the strains of a ragtime band. le breton made a striking figure in evening clothes, and more than one woman glanced at him with invitation. he took no notice of them. all he wanted was a slim girl with a mop of short, dancing, golden curls. the room was so crowded that he could get no glimpse of his quarry, although he altered his point of view several times. at the end of half an hour he decided to take a turn round the grounds. the garden was soft with moonlight, filled with a misty brightness, and the palms hung limp and sighing. from beyond the wall came the murmur of the sea. syringa and roses filled the night with perfume. at one spot a fountain sang sweetly to itself. there le breton lingered with the moonlight and the ebony shadows, the tropical trees sighing languorously around him. as he waited there, deep in some reverie of his own, the sound of footsteps reached him. then, from an adjacent path, voices talking in english--a man's thick, low, and protesting, then a girl's clear and indignant. "when did i encourage you?" she asked, her voice raised in righteous anger. "once you brought me a cup of tea i didn't want. twice you mixed my books and papers with somebody else's. i was three times your partner at bridge, and that wasn't any fault of mine. i defy you to mention more encouragement than that. go to your woman with red hair, and don't talk nonsense to me." the man's voice came again. then there was a little cry of anger and the sound of a struggle. the girl's voice brought le breton out of his reverie. he knew it, although he could not follow a quarter of what was said. but the little cry and the subsequent scuffle sent him quickly in that direction. he saw pansy struggling vainly to get away from a short, thick-set man with a red face and fishy eyes, who held her by one bare arm. le breton was not long in covering the distance that lay between himself and the couple. his coming made pansy's persecutor let go quickly, and make off. the girl had been struggling with all her might to escape from his coarse, hot grip. and she was too intent on getting out of an undesirable situation even to notice that someone's approach was responsible for her sudden freedom. the force of her struggles sent her staggering backwards, right on le breton. his arm went round her. he held her pressed against him, his hand on her heart. it seemed to pansy, she had gotten out of the frying-pan into the fire. quivering with indignation she looked up. then she laughed in a tremulous manner. "oh, it's you, is it? i wondered who else was on my trail." "you ought not to be out at night alone," he said severely. "a beautiful girl is a temptation to any man." "i'm no temptation. it's my money. he likes women with red hair." le breton scanned pansy more closely. he had noticed she was dressed in white, but with her unexpectedly in his arms he had not troubled to look further. she was wearing a dress of chiffon, light as air, vague as moonlight, that clung about her like a mist, caught up here and there with tiny diamond buckles which made the garment look as if studded with dewdrops. and on a thin platinum chain about her neck was hung one great sparkling drop of light. le breton knew real gems when he saw them, and that one diamond alone was worth a fortune. he bent his proud head, until his lips just touched the fluff of golden curls. "who are you really, pansy?" he asked softly. "you despise and dislike me already, so why should i get further into your black books?" "i, despise and dislike you?" "you said you disliked all the english." "i'm quite willing to make an exception in your favour." "when you learn the truth you'll 'detest' me." "never!" he said emphatically. "well then, i'm 'that woman of the name of langham.'" "you!" he exclaimed. then he laughed. "pansy, you're a little creature of rare surprises." the surprise held him silent for some moments. or else it was sufficient to have the girl there, unresisting against his heart. up till now pansy had avoided all male arms as far as it was possible for a girl who was beautiful, wealthy and light-hearted. whenever caught she had wriggled out indignantly. from the arm that held her now she made no attempt to escape. a fearsome fascination lay within its embrace. it seemed that he would have but to close the hand that rested on her bosom, and her heart would be in his grip, snatched out of her keeping before she knew it. suddenly it dawned on pansy that if she stayed there much longer she would want to stay for ever. one by one she lifted the sinewy, brown fingers from her dress, holding them in one hand as she went about her task with the other. with a slight smile le breton watched her. but when the last of his fingers was removed, she was still a prisoner, held secure within his arm. then pansy descended to strategy. "mr. le breton, will you lend me your handkerchief?" she asked in a mild tone. "why do you want it?" the voice of the master demanded. "to dip it in the fountain there and wash my arm. it feels all horrid and nasty and clammy where that odious man touched it," she said meekly. the sentiment was one le breton approved of and sympathised with. letting her go, he drew out his handkerchief. taking it, pansy turned towards the fountain. he followed and stood beside her, obviously waiting until her task was finished before carrying the situation further. as pansy scrubbed away at her arm, she kept a rather nervous eye on him. when the task was completed, she screwed the handkerchief up into a loose, wet ball. but she did not throw it on the ground as le breton expected and was waiting for her to do, before taking her into his arms again. instead, she threw it into his face. it took him by surprise; an indignity that had not come his way hitherto. people were not in the habit of throwing wet handkerchiefs with stinging force into the face of the sultan casim ammeh. the force and wetness temporarily blinded him. he was perhaps ten seconds in recovering his sight and his dignity. then he looked for the girl. she was running as fast as she could away from him, down a misty, moonlit path, in her chiffon and diamonds looking a shimmer of moonlight and sparkling dew herself. pansy's only desire just then was to get out of the white, romantic moonlit world with its scents and sighs and seductive murmurs, back to one of electric light and ragtime, where there was no raoul le breton looking at her gravely, with glowing eyes. he had suddenly become a startling menace to her cherished liberty, this big, dark man with his masterful air and high-handed ways. whatever he said she would have to listen to. perhaps even--agree with! chapter xii le breton did not run after the girl. he watched her go, with a feeling that he could afford to bide his time. but at six o'clock the next morning he was round at the hotel waiting for pansy to come for her usual ride. however, there was no sign of her either that morning or the following. in fact, it was not until the afternoon of the second day that he saw anything of her. a tennis tournament was taking place at the hotel. le breton went feeling sure pansy would be there, and incidentally, to find out what captain cameron, the local tennis champion, was like. he saw a fresh-faced youngster, decidedly better-looking than the rest of the men there, but too much like the girl herself ever to be able to hold her. then he looked for pansy. she was seated with a group of acquaintances, awaiting her turn on the courts. on seeing le breton, she vouchsafed him a smile and a nod, but no further attention. after a three days' tournament, cameron emerged victor, but le breton had managed to get no word with pansy. whenever he came within speaking distance she edged away, taking cover behind someone. to catch her was like setting a trap to catch a moonbeam. at the end of the tournament word went round that a rank outsider had challenged the victor. "who is it, bob?" pansy asked when the news reached her. cameron pointed with his racket across the court, to where le breton stood, in panama hat and grey flannels. "that big chap over there," he said. "he's got a nerve, hasn't he?" "and did you accept?" pansy asked. "of course i did. i couldn't let that sort of cheek pass." other people had heard what was happening. an interested crowd collected around the court. for word had gone round that the man who had challenged the english champion was raoul le breton, the french millionaire. captain cameron had not been long on the court before he discovered he had met his equal, if not his superior. with a long, lithe movement le breton was all over the ground, seemingly unhurried, but always there at the right moment, making his opponent's play look like a heated scramble. but le breton's serving was his great point; a lightning stroke that gave no hint as to where the ball would land; sometimes it was just over the net; sometimes just within the furthermost limits of the court. cameron was beaten; a beating he took with a boyish smile, as he congratulated the winner. others crowded round le breton, anxious to add their quota to the praise. when the crowd dispersed pansy approached him, as he stood cool and dignified, despite the strenuous game. "you never told me you could play tennis," she remarked. "there are lots of things about myself i haven't told you," he replied drily. "what are they?" she asked. "you mustn't rouse my curiosity and then not satisfy it." "you needn't worry. i shall tell you some day," he answered. as pansy talked to him she played battledore and shuttlecock with her racket and ball. "when will that day be?" she asked. "the sooner, the better. it's bad for my health to be kept in a state of inquisitive suspense." "the sooner the better will suit me admirably," he said. "for i shall tell you when we are--married." pansy just stared at him. "then i shall never hear," she said, when she had recovered her breath. "for i shall never get married. never. at least, not before i'm forty." there was a brief pause. "why are you avoiding me?" he asked presently. "what a stupid thing to say! aren't i here talking to you now?" "with a whole crowd of people round, yes." she tapped the tennis ball from her racket to his chest, hitting it back and back again, as if he were a wall. for some minutes le breton watched her in an amused manner, as if she were something so favoured that she could do what she liked with him. then he caught the ball and stopped the game. "i've a challenge for you, too, pansy," he said. "will you meet me to-night, after dinner, near the fountain?" "it wouldn't require a great amount of courage to do that." "will you come then?" "you said i wasn't to wander about in the grounds alone at night." "i'll come for you then, since you're so anxious to comply with my desires." "'comply with my desires,'" she repeated mockingly. "that's a nice useful phrase to hurl about." there was an air of unusual and unaccustomed patience about le breton, as he argued with his moonbeam. curious glances were cast in the direction of the couple. miss langham had never been seen to favour a man as she was favouring the french millionaire. "birds of a feather," someone remarked. with some surprise young cameron watched her. another watched her too. the red-faced, fishy-eyed man from whose undesired attentions le breton had rescued her a few nights before. "if you don't come i shall know what to think," le breton said. "that you dare not." a suspicion of a blush deepened the pink in the girl's cheeks. "and if i do come, what shall you think then?" she asked him with a nonchalant air. "it'll be quite time enough to tell you when that comes to pass," he answered. pansy had no intention that it should come to pass. raoul le breton might keep the tryst if he liked, but she would not be there. not if she could help it--a little voice within her added. chapter xiii when night came pansy tried not to think of le breton, but the idea of him out there in the moonlight haunted her. she wondered how long he would wait; patience did not look to be one of his virtues. there was a dance at the hotel again that evening. as she whirled round and round, slim and light, looking in her chiffon and diamonds a creature of mist and dew, her thoughts were with none of her partners. they were out in the garden with the big, masterful man who was so different from all others of his sex who had come into her life. by midnight the gaieties were over. pansy went up to her room. but she did not go to bed. dismissing her maid, she went out on the balcony, and stood there watching the sea, as she had watched it barely a week before, when le breton had come into her life. the world was as white and peaceful as then; the sea a stretch of murmurous silver; the garden vaguely sighing; the little, moist, cool puffs of wind ladened with the scent of roses and the fragrance of foreign flowers. as she watched the scene, an overpowering desire to go and see if le breton were still there seized her; a desire that rapidly became an obsession. of course he would not stay from nine o'clock until after midnight! for all that pansy felt she must go. that she must linger for a moment in the spot where he had lingered. she turned quickly into her room; then out into the corridor; down the stairs and on towards a door that led out into the grounds. once there, the moonlight drew her on towards the fountain. on reaching the trysting-place there was no sign of anybody there. with a feeling of intense disappointment pansy turned towards the sea-wall, and stood there with the soft light shimmering on her, her face wistful as she watched the molten sea. now that she had come, to find le breton gone hurt her. if he really liked her, he would have stayed all night on the chance of her coming. she would, if she were really fond of anybody. a tear came and sparkled on her long, dark lashes. he could not love her very much, or he would not have left. a slight movement in the shadows behind made her face round quickly, her heart giving a sudden bound. "well, pansy," the voice she knew so well said in a caressing tone. she laughed tremulously. "i thought you'd gone hours ago," she said. le breton came to her side, a mocking look in his dark, smouldering eyes as he watched her. "there are two things a man will always wait for if they cut deeply enough," he replied. "love and revenge." "how dramatic you sound! which has kept you on the prowl to-night?" she asked lightly, edging away from him. but his arm went round her quickly, and she was drawn back to his side. "no, my little girl, not this time," he whispered. she tried to free herself from his embrace. "i didn't mean to come. i really didn't," she said breathlessly. he laughed in a tender, masterful fashion. "possibly not, but since you're here i intend that you shall stay." "no, no," she said quickly. "let me go." pansy struggled after a liberty that she saw rapidly vanishing. but he just held her, firmly, strongly, watching her with an amused air. "i shall spoil my dress if i have to wrestle with you like this," she panted presently. "don't wrestle then," he said coolly. "stay where you are, little moonbeam, and no harm will come to the dress." it was fatal to be in his arms again. she stopped struggling and stayed passive within his embrace. with easy strength le breton lifted her. going to a bench, he sat down with her on his knee. "why did you run away from me the other night?" he asked. a slim finger played rather nervously with a black pearl stud in the front of his dress shirt. "i don't know," she said, her eyes avoiding his. then she laughed. "oh, yes, i do," she went on. "because i couldn't do as i liked if i stayed with you." "i could never be a hard taskmaster. not with you," he said softly. "are you with some people?" she asked. le breton thought of the desert kingdom he ruled alone, and he laughed. then he kissed the little mouth so temptingly close to his own; a long, passionate caress that seemed to take all strength from the girl. her head fell on his shoulder, and she lay limp within his arms, watching him in a vague, dreamy manner. for a time there was silence. le breton sat with her pressed against his heart, as if to have her there were all-sufficient. "i feel like jonah," pansy said presently. "all swallowed up. there seems to be nothing in the whole wide world now but you." with a loving hand he caressed her silky curls. "and i, heart's ease, want nothing but you, henceforth and forever." pansy snuggled closer to him. "to think i'm sitting here on your knee," she whispered. "a week ago i didn't know there was any you. and now i only know your name and----" she broke off, a blush deepening the roses on her cheeks. "and what, my darling?" he asked tenderly. "put your ear quite close. it's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." he bent his proud head down, close to the girl's lips. "and that i love you," she whispered. then she kissed the ear the confession had been made into. "and that you will marry me," he added. "perhaps, some day, twenty years hence," she said airily. "when i've had my fling." le breton had never had to wait for any woman he fancied, and he had no intention of waiting now. "no, pansy, you must marry me now, at once," he said firmly. "what a hustler you are, raoul. you must have american blood in you." she said his name as if she loved it: on her lips it was a caress. with a touch of savagery his arms tightened round the girl. even with her in his embrace he guessed that if she knew of the sultan casim ammeh there would be no chance for him. his dark blood would be an efficient barrier; one she would never cross willingly. "say you will marry me next week, my little english flower," he said in a fierce, insistent tone. "i couldn't dream of getting married for ages and ages." he held her closer, kissing the vivid lips that refused him. "say next week, my darling," he whispered passionately. "i shall keep you here until you say next week." pansy looked at him with love and teasing in her eyes. "it's midnight now, or perhaps it's one, or even two in the morning. time flies so when i'm with you. but at six o'clock the gardeners will be here with rakes and brooms, and they'll scratch and sweep us out of our corner. six hours at most you can keep me, but the gardeners won't let you keep me longer than that. good-night, raoul, i'll go to sleep in the meantime." in a pretence of slumber pansy closed her eyes. with a tender smile he watched the little face that looked so peacefully asleep on his shoulder. "wake up, my flower, and say things are to be as i wish," he said presently. one eye opened and looked at him full of love and mischief. "in ten years' time then, raoul. that's a great concession." "in a fortnight. that would seem eternity enough," he replied. "well, five years then," pansy answered, suddenly wide awake. "i could see and do a lot in five years, if i worked hard at it. especially with the thought of you looming ominously in the background." "in three weeks, little girl. i've been waiting for you all my life." pansy stroked his face with a mocking, caressing hand. "poor boy, you don't look like a waiter." he took the small, teasing hand into his own. "never mind what i look like just now," he said. "say in three weeks' time, my darling." "two years. give me two years to get used to the cramped idea of matrimony." "a month. not a day longer, heart's ease, unless you want to drive me quite mad," he said, a note of desperate entreaty in his voice. suddenly pansy could not meet the eyes that watched her with such love and passion in their smouldering depths. this big, dark man who had come into her life so strangely, seemed to leave her nothing but a desire for himself. at that moment she could refuse him nothing. "in a month then, raoul. but it's very weak-minded of me giving in to you this way." he laughed in a tender and triumphant manner. "my darling, i promise you'll never regret it," he said, a slight catch in his strong voice. then he sat on, with pansy pressed close against him. and the latent searching look had gone from his eyes, as if the girl lying on his heart had brought him ease and peace. and pansy was content to stay. just then it was sufficient to be with him; to feel the tender strength of his arms; to listen to the music of his deep, caressing voice; to have his long, passionate kisses. nothing else mattered. even liberty was forgotten. chapter xiv the next morning the sun streaming into pansy's bedroom roused her. she awoke with the feeling of having indulged in some delightful dream, which, like all dreams, must melt with the morning. she thought of the episode with le breton in the garden. a gentle look lingered on her face. he was a darling, the nicest man she had ever met; the only one she had ever liked enough to let kiss her; the only one in whose arms she had been content to stay. but about marrying? a frown came and rested on her white brow. marrying was quite another matter. in a month's time, _impossible_. a thing not to be contemplated. pansy sat up suddenly, hugging her knees as she gazed thoughtfully at the brilliant expanse of dancing, shimmering sea that sparkled at her through the open bedroom window. she, engaged to be married! she who had vowed never to fall in love until forty! it was love pansy had wanted in the moonlit garden with le breton's arms about her. but it was liberty she wanted now, as she sat hugging her knees, amazed at herself and her own behaviour. she had bartered her liberty for a man's arms and a few kisses! pansy could hardly believe herself capable of such folly. she had been swept off her feet--over her depth before she knew it. by daylight her freedom and independence were as sweet to her as le breton's love had been by the romantic light of the moon. in the sober light of morning she tried to struggle back to where she had been before the hot flood of love he had poured over her had made her promise more than she was now prepared to fulfill. "it's a woman's privilege to change her mind." pansy grasped at the old adage; but to her a promise was a promise, not lightly given or lightly snatched away. so she did not derive much comfort from dwelling on the old saw. she was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees and frowning in dire perplexity when her maid came in with the early morning tea. and the frown was there when the woman came to say her bath was ready. a thoughtful mood enveloped her during her dressing. and out of her musing this note was born:-- "my dearest raoul, i can call you that because you are dearer to me than any one on this earth, dearest beyond all things except my liberty. do not be horrid and cross when i say i cannot marry you, in spite of all i promised last night. not for ten years at least. and even then i cannot bind myself in any way, for i might be still hankering after freedom. i do love you really, more than anything in the whole wide world except my independence. you must not be too hard on me, raoul. i am not quite the same as other women. it is not every girl of twenty who is her own mistress, with £ , a year to do what she likes with. it has made life seem so vast, matrimony such a cramped, everyday affair. and i do not want to handicap myself in any way. this letter sounds awfully selfish, i know. i am not selfish really. only i love my liberty. it is the one thing that is dearer to me than you. always your loving pansy." when the letter was written, pansy suddenly remembered she did not know his address. once satisfied that he was disinterested, she had bothered about nothing else. and after that one day spent among the red roses he had become something quite apart from the rest of the world, not to be gossiped about to mere people. however, she knew that twenty pesetas given to the hall-porter would ensure the note reaching its destination. the hotel staff would know where he was staying, even if she did not. because the note was to le breton, pansy took it down herself and gave it to the hall-porter. when this was done she wandered as far as the spot where she had made her fleeting vows, to see how it looked by daylight. she lingered there for some minutes, and then returned to her suite. in the interval a message had come from le breton. it stood on one of the little tables of her sitting-room--a huge gilded wicker basket full of half-blown, red roses. in the midst of the flowers a packet reposed, tied with red ribbon. pansy opened the package. inside was the gold casket she had once refused. it was filled with purple pansies, still wet with dew. on them a ring reposed, with one huge sapphire, deeply blue as her own eyes. there was a note in with the flowers, written in a strong masculine hand. with a flutter about her heart, pansy picked it out and read it:-- "heart's ease, my own dear little girl, this little gift comes to you with all my love, my heart, my soul, my very life indeed, given forever into your keeping. a week ago, if anyone had told me i should write such words to a woman, i should have laughed at them. until meeting you i did not know what love was. i had no idea one woman could be so satisfying. in you i have found the heaven i have been searching for all my life. my one houri, and she all-sufficing--my little english flower, so sweet and winsome, so kind and wayward, so teasing and yet so tender, who has brought a new fragrance into my life, a peace my soul has never known till now, a love and gratitude into my heart that will keep me hers for ever. your devoted lover now and through all eternity. raoul le breton." as pansy read the note her lips trembled. she wished she had never tasted of the sweets of liberty and independence; that the grand-godfather had not left her his millions. she wished she was pansy barclay again, a mere girl, not one with enormous riches luring her towards all sorts of goals where love was not. just pansy barclay, who could have met his love with kisses and not a cruel counter note. chapter xv considering it was nearly two in the morning before le breton would let pansy out of his arms, he did not expect her to be out and about at six o'clock for her usual ride. nevertheless, he looked in at the hotel at that hour and then rode on, indulging in blissful daydreams. he knew pansy had no idea who he really was. he was prepared to marry her according to her creed, for her sake to put aside the fierce profligate religion the late sultan casim ammeh had instilled into him. and he was prepared to do very much more than this. in spite of his colossal pride in his sultanship and his desert kingdom, he knew that if pansy got an inkling of that side of his life his case would be hopeless. his one idea was to keep all knowledge of the supposed arab strain in him from her. the sultanship could go, his kingdom be but a source of income. he would buy a house in paris. they would settle down there, and he would become wholly the european she imagined him to be. full of a future that held nothing but the english girl to whom; he was betrothed, and a desire to keep from her all knowledge of his dark, savage heritage, at least until it would be too late for her to draw back, le breton rode on, rejoicing in the early morning freshness that reminded him of the girl he loved. on returning to the villa he interviewed the head gardener. then he went to the library to write a note and tie up the package he was sending to pansy; and from there down to breakfast, a solitary meal with no companion save a few purple pansies smiling at him from a crystal vase. as he sat at his light repast one of his arab servants entered with a note on a beaten-gold salver. le breton took it. on the envelope was just his name, written in a pretty, girlish hand. although he had never seen pansy's writing before, he guessed it was hers. a tender smile hovered about his hard mouth as he opened it. what had she to say to him, this slim, winsome girl, who held his fierce heart in her small white hands? some fond reply, no doubt, in return for his gifts and flowers. thanks and words of love that she could not keep until he went round to see her. there were many things le breton expected of pansy, but certainly not the news the note contained. he read it through, unable to believe what he saw written before him. and as he read his face lost all its tender, caressing look and took on, instead, a savage, incredulous expression. women had always come to him easily, as easily as pansy herself had come. but they had not withdrawn themselves again: he had done the withdrawing. for some moments he just stared at the note. he, flouted and scorned and played with by a girl! he, to whom all women were but toys! he, the sultan of el-ammeh! le breton was like one plunged suddenly into an icy cold bath. the unexpectedness of it all left him numb. then a surge of hot rage went through him, finally leaving him cold, collected, and furious. she had dared to scorn him, this english girl! dared to hurl his love and protestations back into his teeth. protestations such as he had made to no other woman. it was the greatest shock and surprise le breton had had during the course of his wild life of unquestioned power and limitless money. he was in no mood to see the love her note breathed. he saw only one fact--that he had been cast aside. a woman had dared to act towards him as he had often acted towards women. as he brooded on the note, trying to grasp the almost incredible truth, the cruel look about his mouth deepened. putting the note into his pocket, he poured himself another cup of coffee. then he sat on, staring at the purple pansies, no longer lost in dreams of love and delight, where his one aim was to be all the girl imagined him to be; but in a savage reverie that had love in it, perhaps, but of quite another quality than that which he had already offered. full of anger and injured pride as le breton was, it did not prevent him going over to the hotel and inquiring for miss langham. he learnt that she was out, on board her yacht. and it seemed to him that she had fled from his wrath. but he was wrong. pansy had gone there knowing he would be sure to come and inquire into the meaning of her note. on board her yacht there was more privacy; a privacy she wanted for le breton's sake, not her own. considering his fiery latin temperament, he might not take his _congé_ in the manner of her more stolid nation. there might be a scene. she never imagined he would take her decree calmly. there was an air about him as if he had never been thwarted in any way. she was prepared for some unpleasant minutes--minutes, nevertheless, that she had no intention of shirking, which she knew she had brought upon herself by her impetuous promises. she was sitting alone in her own special sanctum on the yacht. it was a large saloon--boudoir, music-room, and study combined; white and gold and purple, like herself, with a grand piano in one corner, deep chairs upholstered in yellow with purple cushions, a yellow carpet and white walls and ceiling. in the midst of it she sat cool and collected, in a simple white yachting suit. as le breton entered she rose, scanning him quickly. she had never seen him so proud and aloof-looking, his face so set and hard. but there was a look of suppressed suffering in his eyes that cut her to the quick. neither said a word until the door closed behind the steward. then le breton crossed to the girl's side. "what nonsense is this?" he asked in a cold, angry voice, holding her note towards her. "you promised to marry me, and you must carry out your promise. i'm not going to be put lightly to one side in this manner." "i haven't put you lightly to one side," she answered. "i think i explained exactly how things were in my note." "explanations! i'm not here for explanations," he said, with cold impatience; "but to insist that you fulfill your promise." "i couldn't do that," she replied quietly. with the air of still moving in the midst of some incredible truth, he stared at her. "you've been flirting with me," he said presently, a note of savagery and scorn in his voice. "you are a true english _demievierge_. you rouse a man without the least intention of satisfying him." pansy flushed under his contempt. she hated being called "a flirt"; she was not one. she did not know why she had acted as she had done the previous night. but once in his arms, she had wanted to stay. and once he had started talking of love, she wanted to listen. with him she had forgotten all about her own scheme of life and her cherished liberty. she knew she had not played the game with le breton. from the bottom of her heart she was sorry. she did not blame him, but herself. "i'm not a flirt," she said quietly. "i've never let any man kiss me before. i'm very sorry for all that happened last night." he laughed in a harsh, grating manner. "good god, pansy! there are a hundred women and more plotting and scheming to try and make me feel for them what i feel for you. and you say you're sorry!" he broke off, his proud face twisted with pain and chagrin. pansy knew his was no idle boast. an army of women must lie in wait for a man of his wealth combined with good looks and such powers of fascination. "i'm only sorry you picked on me," she said, a note of distress in her voice. "more sorry than i can say. you know i hate giving pain." like one dazed, the sultan casim ammeh listened to a woman saying she was sorry he had favoured her as he had no other of her sex--to an extent he had never imagined he would favour any woman, so that he was ready to change his religion, his whole mode of life, for her sake. "but i couldn't give up my liberty," her voice was saying. "i couldn't get married. and i've a perfect right to change my mind." "it's not a privilege i intend to allow you," he said in a strangled voice. "well, it's one i intend to assert," she answered, suddenly goaded by his imperious attitude. "you've deliberately fooled me," he said savagely. "no, i haven't really," she replied, patient again under the pain in the fierce, restless eyes watching her. "i like you immensely, but not enough to marry you." "i suppose i ought to feel flattered," he said cuttingly. pansy laid a hand on his sleeve with a little soothing, conciliatory gesture. "don't be so horrid, raoul. do try and see things as i see them. i didn't mean to say 'yes' last night; but when you held me in your arms and kissed me there was nothing else i could do." his name on her lips, her touch on his arm, broke through his seethe of cold anger. "and if i held and kissed you again, what then?" he asked, suddenly melting. "here in the 'garish light of day' it wouldn't alter my intention in the least," she said. "there are so many things that call me in the daytime. but last night, raoul, there was only you." he bent over her, dark and handsome, looking the king the sultan casim ammeh had made him. "give me the nights, pansy," he whispered, "and the days i'll leave to you." "oh no, i couldn't. before so long you'd have swallowed up my days too. for there's an air about you as if you wouldn't be satisfied until you had the whole of me. but i shall often think of last night," she went on, a touch of longing in her voice. "in days to come, when we're thousands of miles apart, in the midst of my schemes, when the lights are brightest and the bands their loudest and the fun at its highest, i shall stop all at once with a little pain in my heart and wonder where the nice man is who kissed me under the palms in the grand canary. and i shall say to myself, 'now, if i'd been a marrying sort, i'd have married him.' and twenty years hence, when pleasure palls, i shall wish i had married him; because there'll never be any man i shall like half as much as i like you." as she talked le breton watched her, wild schemes budding and blossoming in his head. "and i? what shall i be thinking?" he asked. "you! oh, you'll have forgotten all about me by next year--perhaps next month, even," she replied, smiling at him rather sadly. "one girl is much the same to you as the next, provided she's equally pretty. and you'll be thinking, 'what an idiotic fuss i made over that girl i met in grand canary. let me see, what _was_ her name? violet or daisy, or some stupid flower name. who said yes in the moonlight, and no in the cool, calm light of day. good lord! but for her sense i should be married now. married! phew, what an escape! for if she'd roped me in there'd have been no gallivanting with other women'!" le breton laughed. "now i'm forgiven," she said quickly. "forgiven, heart's ease, yes. but whilst there's life in me you'll never be forgotten." he paused, looking at her speculatively. "so far as i see, there's nothing between us except that you're too fond of your own way to get married," he remarked presently. "yes. i suppose that's it really." "'if i were a king in babylon and you were a christian slave,'" he quoted, "or, to get down to more modern times, if i were a barbaric sultan somewhere in africa and you a girl i'd fancied and caught and carried off, i'd just take you into my harem and nothing more would be said." "i should fight like a wildcat. you'd get horribly scratched and bitten." "possibly, but--i should win in the end." pansy's face went suddenly crimson under the glowing eyes that watched her with such love and desire in their dark depths. "i think we're talking a lot of nonsense," she remarked. "what is it you english say? 'there's many a true word spoken in jest,'" he replied with curious emphasis. it was not jest to him. even as he stood talking to pansy he was cogitating on how he could best get her into his power, should persuasion fail to bring her back to his arms within a week or two. his yacht was in the harbour. she was in the habit of wandering about alone. he had half a dozen arab servants with him, men who would do without question anything their sultan told them. to abduct her would be an easy matter. once she was in his power, he would take her to el-ammeh and keep her there. as his wife, if she would marry him; as his slave, if she would not. le breton had no desire to do any such thing except as a last resource, but he had no intention of letting pansy go. her voice broke into his broodings. "since you've been so nice about everything, i'm going to keep you and take you for a cruise round the island. i want to have just one day alone with you, so that in years to come i shall know exactly how much i've missed." he smiled in a slightly savage manner. it amused him to hear the girl talking as if he were but a pleasant incident in her life, when he intended to be the biggest fact that had ever been there. "in your way of doing things, pansy, you remind me rather of myself," he remarked. "you're carrying me off, willy nilly, as i might be tempted to carry you." "it must be because we're both millionaires," she replied. "little facts of the sort are apt to make one a trifle high-handed." she touched a bell. when a steward appeared she put le breton into his care. leaving the saloon, she went herself to interview the captain about her plans. she was leaning against the yacht's rail, slim and white, with the breeze blowing her curls when le breton joined her. and she smiled at him in a frank, boyish fashion, as if their little difference of opinion had never been. "what can i do to amuse you?" she asked. "i don't need any amusing when i'm with you," he said. "you're all-sufficing." "you mustn't say things like that, raoul," she replied; "they're apt to make one's decisions wobble." for pansy the morning sped quickly. for le breton it was part of the dream he had dreamt before her note had come and upset his calculations, making him rearrange his plans in a manner that, although it would give him a certain amount of satisfaction, might not be so pleasing to the girl. the vessel skirted the rounded island, bringing glimpses of quiet bays where white houses nestled, rocky cliffs, stony barrancos cut deep into the hill-side, and pine-clad heights. there was a lunch _à deux_, with attentive stewards hovering in the background. afterwards they had coffee and liqueurs and cigarettes on deck. an hour or so was dawdled away there, then pansy took her guest back to her own special sanctum. he went over to the piano, touching a note here and there. "play me something," she said, for he touched the instrument with the hand of a music lover. "i was brought up in the backwoods," he replied, "and i never saw a piano until i was nearly nineteen. after that i was too busy making money and doing what i thought was enjoying myself to have time to go in for anything of the sort. but i'd like to listen to you," he finished. willingly pansy seated herself at the piano. le breton likewise sat himself in a deep chair close by, and gave himself up to the delight of her playing. she wandered from one song to another, quick to see she had an appreciative audience. in the end she paused and glanced at him as he sat quiet, all his restless look gone, as if at peace with himself and the world. "does music 'soothe your savage breast'?" she asked. "it could never be savage where you're concerned, pansy," "you talk as if i were quite different from other people." "so you are. the only woman i've ever loved." "when you talk like that, the wobbling comes on," she remarked. to avoid his reply, she started playing again. getting to his feet, le breton went to the piano. standing behind her, his arms encircling her, he lifted the small, music-making hands from the keys, and holding them, drew her back until her head rested against him. "pansy, suppose i consent to a six months' engagement? the waiting would be purgatory; but i could do it with paradise beyond." "i'm not taking on any engagements. not for the next ten years, at least." he laughed softly and put the slim hands back on the piano with a lingering, careful touch, letting them pursue their way. whether she liked it or not, this lovely, wayward girl would be his before many weeks had passed. then he returned to his chair and sat there deep in some reverie, this time not planning the sort of home he would make for her in paris, but how he would have certain rooms in his palace at el-ammeh furnished for her reception. a steward announcing tea brought him out of his meditations. tea was served on deck, with the sun glinting on the blue water and running in golden cascades down the hill-side. together they watched the sun set and saw night barely shadow the world when the moon rose, filling the scene with silver glory. its white light led them back into harbour, and in its flood the two walked to the hotel together. in the garden le breton paused to take leave of his hostess. "just one kiss, heart's ease, for the sake of last night," he whispered. willingly pansy lifted her flower-like face to his. "just one then, raoul, you darling, since you've been so nice about everything." as le breton stooped to kiss her it seemed to him that he would not have to resort to force in order to get the girl. only a little patience and persuasion were needed, and he would win her in her own, white, english way. chapter xvi along the deserted corridor of the big hotel pansy was hurrying. her outing with le breton had made her late. by the time she was dressed and ready dinner was well started. she went along quickly, still thinking over the events of the day. everything had turned out exactly as she had hoped. she wanted to keep le breton's love, and yet not be tied in any way--to have him in the background to marry if, or when, she felt so disposed. in the full glare of the electric light, going down the wide stairs, she entered the large patio, looking a picture. she was wearing a dress of some yellow, gauzy material that matched her hair, a garment that clung around her like a sunbeam, bright and shimmering. there were gold shoes on her feet, and around her neck a long chain of yellow amber beads. as she crossed the big, empty hall, making towards the dining-room, a man rose from his chair--the short, red-faced man from whom le breton had rescued her a few nights before. there was an air about him as if he had been waiting there to waylay her. pansy saw him and she swerved slightly, but beyond that she gave him no attention. however, he was not so easily avoided. he took up his stand immediately before her, leering at her in a malicious, disagreeable fashion. "you're fond of chucking red-haired women in my teeth," he said. "go and chuck 'em at the fellow you were spooning with outside just now." annoyed that the man should have witnessed her parting with le breton, pansy would have passed without a word; but he dodged, and was in front of her again. "at least, she isn't my fancy woman," he went on. "i don't run a villa for her, even if i do admire her looks." the weight of insinuation in his voice brought the girl to a halt. "what is it? what do you want to say?" she asked coldly. "you mean to tell me you don't know le breton runs that french actress, lucille lemesurier?" pansy did not know. nor did she believe a word the man said. "how dare you say such things about mr. le breton?" she flashed. "hoity-toity! how dare i indeed!" he laughed coarsely. "it isn't only me that's talking about it. everybody knows," he went on. everybody did _not_ know. pansy among the number. "i don't believe a word you say," she said in an angry manner. "don't you? all right. trot along then, and ask the manager. ask anybody. they're all talking about it. you would be, too, except that you're so conceited that you never come and gossip with the crowd. ask who is running that villa for lucille lemesurier, and they'll tell you it's that high and mighty french millionaire chap, le breton, the same as i do." for a moment pansy just stared at him, horror and disbelief on her face; then she turned quickly away. she did not go towards the dining-room, but towards the main entrance of the hotel. she had never troubled to make any inquiries about le breton. she had liked him, and that was enough. pansy could not believe what the man said. for all that, she was going to the fountain-head--to le breton--to hear what he had to say on the subject. chapter xvii a flood of light poured out from le breton's villa, from wide-open french windows on to a moonlit lawn. around the house, palms drooped and bamboos whispered. the night was laden with the scent of roses and syringa, and about the fragrant shrubs fireflies glinted like showers of silver sparks. in one of the apartments opening on the lawn le breton sat at dinner with lucille, over a little round table, sparkling with crystal and gold, where pink-shaded electric lights glowed among banks of flowers. it was a large room, lavishly furnished, with priceless rugs, and furniture that might have come out of some paris museum. there were three arab servants in attendance, deft-handed, silent men, well trained, and observant, who waited upon their master as if their lives held nothing but his wishes and desires. opposite to him lucille sat, in a white satin gown that left none of her charms to the imagination, with the emerald necklace flashing against her dead-white skin. she was talking in a soft, languid voice, sometimes witty, often suggestive, but never at a loss for a subject, as women do talk who are paid well to interest and amuse their masters. le breton did not look either particularly interested or amused. in fact, he looked bored and indifferent, answering her in monosyllables, as if her perpetual chatter interrupted some pleasant reverie of his own. as he sat, intent on his own thoughts, one of the servants came to his side. stooping, he said in a deferential voice in arabic: "there is the english lady your highness deigned to breakfast with in the orange groves of telde." le breton started. he glanced round, his gaze following the arab's to one of the wide french windows opening on the lawn. standing there, light and slight, a graceful, golden reed, was the girl who was now all the world to him. but pansy was not looking in his direction, but at lucille, as if she could not believe what she saw before her. the sight brought le breton quickly to his feet. "pansy!" he exclaimed. his voice and action made lucille glance towards the window. she looked at the girl standing there; then she smiled lazily, a trifle maliciously. lucille saw before her the rival she had suspected, who had changed le breton's lukewarm liking into cutting indifference. with the perception of her kind she realised that pansy was something quite different from herself and the women le breton usually amused himself with. that slim girl with her wide, purple eyes and vivid, flower-like face was no courtesan, no toy; but a woman with a spirit and a soul that could hold and draw a man, apart from her physical attractions; the sort of woman, in fact, that a man like raoul le breton might be tempted to marry. at sound of his voice pansy came into the room, her eyes blazing, her breast heaving, her two hands clutching the long amber chain in an effort to keep herself calm and collected. so it was true! he was living here with that red-haired creature, this man who had come to her vowing she was the only woman he had ever loved! this man whom she had kissed and whom she had allowed to kiss and fondle her! pansy looked at lucille in her white satin and emeralds--lucille, big and voluptuous, her profession written on her face. "who is that woman?" she demanded. lucille did not wait for le breton to answer. one glance at him told her everything. on his face were concern, love, and annoyance; the look that comes to a man's face when the girl he would make his wife and the woman who is his mistress by some unfortunate circumstance chance to meet. her star, never particularly bright, had waned and set within a week, all thanks to this slim girl in the yellow dress. any day she, lucille, might be shipped back to france, with only the emerald necklace to soothe her sore heart. as things were she could lose nothing, and she might have the pleasure of parting le breton from the woman he really loved. the girl looked one who would countenance no backslidings. before he could say anything she said in a languid voice: "my name is lucille lemesurier. i'm an actress. at mr. le breton's invitation i came here with him from paris, to stay until he tires of me or i of him. _comme vous voulez_," she finished, with a shrug. for a moment pansy just stared at the truth confronting her: the truth, lazy, languid, and smiling, in white satin and emeralds. there was a little noise, hard and sharp, like a shower of frozen tears rattling down on the table. the hands clinging to the string of amber beads clung just a thought too hard, for the necklace snapped suddenly. the beads poured down like tears--the tears pansy herself was past shedding. the knowledge of le breton's treachery and deceit had turned her into ice. she cast one look at him of utter contempt and scorn. then, silently as she had come, she turned and went from the room. she did not get far, however, before le breton was at her side. ignoring him, she hurried across the moonlit lawn, her only desire to escape from his presence. "pansy----" he began. like a whirlwind she turned on him. with a hand that shook with rage, she pointed to the open dining-room window. "go! go back to that red-haired creature," she said in a voice that trembled with anger. "i never want to see or speak to you again. never!" at her words le breton's hands clenched and his swarthy face went white. "do you think i'm going to be dismissed in this manner?" he asked in a strangled voice. without a further word pansy would have hurried on; but, before she knew what was happening, he had taken her into his arms. "how dare you touch me! how dare you touch me!" she gasped, struggling furiously after freedom, amazed at his audacity. but he laughed and, crushing her against him, kissed her fiercely. le breton knew his case was hopeless. no amount of persuasion would bring the girl back to his arms. he was no longer a polished man of the world, but the sultan of el-ammeh, a barbaric ruler who knew no law save his own desire. pansy was too furious to be afraid. with all her might she struggled to get away from his arms and the deluge of hot, passionate kisses, not because of the danger oozing from the man, but because she knew he had held and kissed that other woman. but all her struggles were in vain. she was helpless against his strength; crushed within his arms; almost breathless under the force and passion of the kisses she could not escape from. "if you go on behaving in this brutal manner i shall scream," she panted presently. her words sobered him. the road lay not twenty yards away, and her screams might bring a dozen people to her rescue. he remembered that he was in grand canary, where even _he_ had to conform with rules, not in el-ammeh, where none would dare question his doings. he let pansy out of his arms. "look what a state you've put me in!" she flashed the moment she was free, as she endeavoured to tidy her torn and crumpled dress with hands that shook with anger. "you're a brute. a savage. i hate you!" she finished. but le breton just stood and laughed. to-night she might go; but to-morrow----! to-morrow she would be on his yacht, where she might scream to her heart's content without a soul coming to her rescue. his laughter, fierce and fond, followed pansy from the garden. chapter xviii the hotel patio was full of people just out from dinner. in the midst of a crowd of acquaintances captain cameron stood, laughing and talking with those around him. all at once a voice at his elbow said tensely: "bob, i want to speak to you alone for a moment." he turned quickly. then he stood surveying the speaker with surprise, for the girl beside him looked very different from the pansy he knew. there was an almost tortured air about her. her face was set and white; there were deep, dark rings under eyes that were limpid pools of pain. "hello, old pal, what has happened?" he asked, with concern. pansy did not stop to answer him. with impatient hands she led him away from the crowd of listening, staring people into a quiet corner. "i'm going back to england at once. to-night! help me to get off, please," she said. with blank amazement cameron stared at her. "what's got hold of you now?" he managed to ask. "i'm going home," she said, "at once." "but i thought you were staying here until sir george came out?" "well, i've changed my mind," she snapped. "and i'm going back, even if you aren't." all pansy wanted now was to get to the one other man she loved, her father. to get to him as quickly as possible with her bruised and wounded heart. "of course i'll come with you, old girl," cameron said, a trifle helplessly. "i wouldn't dream of leaving you in the lurch. but you have a way of springing surprises on people. i'll send along and tell the captain to get steam up." "yes, do, bob, please," she said gratefully. "and ask miss grainger to see about the packing. and find out where jenkins is, and send him along to the stables. i--i'm past doing anything." cameron scanned the girl quickly, suddenly aware that something more than a whim was at the bottom of her hurried departure. "what is it, pansy?" he asked. "nothing," she answered bravely. "but i get moods when i just feel i must see my old dad." she turned away quickly to avoid any further questions, leaving cameron staring at her receding back. chapter xix the next morning le breton set about his scheme for trapping pansy. the task appeared easy. he would get one of his men to note when she left the hotel and mark which route she took. there were not many roads in the place, and it would not be difficult to guess where she was going. he and his men would follow, and waylay and capture her at some lonely spot. they would take her across the island to a little port on the far side, where his yacht would be waiting. once he had her safely on board, he would start for africa. as he sat at breakfast, savage and brooding, craving for the girl who had flouted him, one of his servants entered. "well?" he asked, glaring at the man. the arab made a deep obeisance. "your highness, the english lady has gone." "gone!" the sultan repeated in an incredulous tone. "gone! where?" "she left the island last night, in her yacht, about two hours after she was here." like one thunderstruck, le breton stared at the arab. this unexpected move of pansy's had upset his calculations altogether. without a word he rose from the table. there and then he went over to the hotel to see the manager, his only idea to find out where the girl had gone. he could not believe that she had escaped him; yet the mere thought that she might have done so filled him with a seething passion. by the time he reached the hotel he had recovered himself in some degree, sufficiently to inquire in a normal tone for the manager. he was taken to the latter's office. "you had an english lady staying here, a miss langham," le breton said the moment he was ushered in. "i wanted to see her rather particularly, but i hear she has left. can you tell me where she's gone?" on seeing who the visitor was, the manager was anxious to give all possible assistance, but he knew little more about pansy than le breton did. "she left rather hurriedly," he said; "and, as far as i could gather, she was going back to england." "do you know her address there?" le breton asked. "no, i don't," the manager said regretfully. "miss langham did not talk much about herself." this was all le breton was able to learn. but he knew one thing--that the girl his fierce heart hungered for had escaped him. that morning his black horse had a hard time, for le breton rode like a madman in a vain endeavour to get away from the whirl of wild love and thwarted hopes that raged within him--the sultan casim ammeh for the first time deprived of the woman he wanted; wanted as he had never wanted any other. he went to the rose-wreathed summer-house where pansy had been pleased to linger with him; to the orange groves at telde where they had breakfasted together. night found him in the hotel gardens, near the fountain where they had met and plighted their troth. his hands clenched at the thought of all she had promised there. phantom-like, she haunted him. her ghost was in his arms, kissing and teasing him, a recollection that was torture. the one real love of his life had proved but dead sea fruit. he would have given his kingdom, all his riches, to have pansy back in his arms as he had had her that night, unresisting, watching him with eyes full of love, wanting him as much as he had wanted her. the one woman who had ever scorned him! chapter xx in his study sir george barclay sat alone. sixteen years had passed since, in far-away gambia, he had had to condemn to death the marauding arab chief. in a few weeks' time he would be returning to the country, not in any minor capacity, but as its governor. although his thoughts just then were in gambia, the incident of the shooting of the sultan casim ammeh had long since gone from his mind. and he never gave a thought nowadays to the boy who, unavailingly, had come to the arab chief's rescue. but he still carried the mark of the youngster's sword upon his cheek. the passing years had changed barclay very little. his hair was grey, his face thinner, and a studious look now lurked in the grey eyes where tragedy had once been. for, in his profession, barclay had found some of the forgetfulness he had set out in search of. as he sat at his desk the door opened suddenly. the manner of opening told him that the daughter he imagined to be a thousand or more miles away was home again. for no one, save this cherished legacy from his lost love, would enter his study with such lack of ceremony. he looked round quickly, as a slim girl in ermine and purple velvet entered. "why, pansy, my darling, i thought you were in grand canary," he said, rising quickly to greet her. "so i was, father, five days ago. and then ... and then----!" she paused, and laughing in a rather forced manner, kissed him affectionately. "father, will you take me out to gambia with you?" she finished. there was very little george barclay ever refused his daughter. on this occasion, he did make some sort of stand. "gambia is no place for you, my darling. there's nothing there to amuse and interest a young girl." "perhaps not," pansy said as she took off her hat and gloves, watching him with a rather set smile. "but i don't care where i go so long as i can be with you and get away from myself." her words made barclay look at her sharply. to want to get away from one's self was a feeling he could understand and sympathise with, only too well. but to hear such a sentiment on his daughter's lips surprised and hurt him. "my little girl, what has happened?" he asked gently. pansy laughed again, but there was a sharp catch of pain in her mirth. "i think my heart is broken, that's all," she said with a would-be casual air. barclay did not wait to hear any more at that moment. he drew her down on to a couch and sat there with his arm about her. "my poor little girl," he whispered. "tell me all about it." pansy laid her head on his shoulder, and smiled at him with lips that trembled woefully. "it's nobody's fault but my own, daddy," she said. "i brought it on myself with my silly, impetuous ways. and it serves me right for hankering after strange men, and not being content with my old father." for all her light talk barclay knew something serious had happened. to him his daughter was but a new edition of a well-read book; the girl was her mother over again. there was a brief pause as sir george sat watching his child, stroking her curls with a thin, affectionate hand, wondering what tragedy had come into this bright, young life. "hearts are silly things, aren't they?" pansy said suddenly. "soft, flabby, squashy sort of things that get hurt easily if you don't keep a sharp eye on them. and i'd so many things to keep an eye on that i forgot all about mine. hearts ought not to be left without protection. they should have iron rails put round them to keep all trespassers off, like the rails we put round the trees in the park to keep the cattle from hurting them." there was a further pause, and a little sniff. then pansy said: "father, lend me your handkerchief, i know it's a nice big one. i believe i'm going to cry. for the first time since it happened. it must be seeing you again. and i shall cry a lot on your coat, and perhaps spoil it. but, since it's me, i know you won't mind." sir george drew out a handkerchief. "i was walking along in heaven with my head up and my nose in the air," the sweet, hurt voice explained, "blissfully happy because he was there. there was a hole in the floor of heaven and i never saw it. and i fell right through, crash, bang, right down to earth again. a rotten old earth with all the fun gone out of it. and i'm awfully sore and bruised, and the shock has injured my heart. it has never been the same since and will never be the same again, because ... because, i did love him, awfully." as she talked sir george watched her with affection and concern, his heart aching for this slim, beautiful daughter of his, to whom love had come as a tragedy. "oh, daddy," she said, tears choking her voice, "why is life so hard?" then the storm broke. sir george listened to her sobs, as with a gentle hand he stroked the golden curls. all the time he wondered who was responsible for her tears, who had broken the heart of his cherished daughter. he went over the multitude of men she knew. but he never gave one thought to the savage boy who, sixteen years before, had scarred his face--the sultan casim ammeh. chapter xxi in a fashionable london hotel a little party of three sat at dinner. the dining-room was a large place, full of well-dressed people. it was bright with electric light, and under a cover of greenery a band played not too loudly. among the crowd of diners none seemed better known than the girl with the short, golden curls who sat with the thin, studious-looking man and the fresh-faced, fair-haired boy. very often lorgnettes were turned in her direction; for, when in town, no girl was more sought after than pansy langham. as pansy sat with her father and captain cameron a man who had been sitting at the far end of the room came to their table, greeting all three with the air of an old acquaintance. afterwards he turned to cameron. "well, and how's tennis? are you still champion in your own little way?" he asked. "to tell you the truth, dennis," cameron answered, "in grand canary one man gave me a thorough licking. and he was a rank outsider too!" "how pleased you must have felt. who was your executioner?" "a man of the name of le breton. a french millionaire." dennis laughed in a disparaging manner. "french he calls himself, does he? that's like his cheek. i met him once in paris, a haughty sort of customer who thinks the whole world is run for him. he's a half-breed really, for all his money and his high-handed ways." the conversation had taken a turn that held a fearsome interest for pansy. but to hear raoul le breton described as a half-breed was a shock and surprise to her. "mr. le breton a half-caste!" she exclaimed. dennis glanced at her. "where did you drop across him?" he asked sharply. "in grand canary also." "well, the less you have to do with 'sich' the better," he said in a brotherly way. "he's a hot lot. the very devil. no sort of a pal for a girl like you." "i thought he was french," pansy said in a strained voice. "he poses as such, but he isn't. he's a nigger cross, french-arab. and what's more he's a mohammedan." "you're a trifle sweeping, dennis," sir george interposed. "if you'd dealt with coloured people as much as i have, you'd know there was a great difference between a nigger and an arab. an arab in his own way is a gentleman. and his religion has a great resemblance to our own. he is not a naked devil-worshipper like the negro." pansy welcomed her father's intervention. at that moment her world was crashing into even greater ruins around her. raoul le breton a half-caste! the man she loved "a nigger"! pansy did not hide from herself the fact that she still loved le breton, but this last piece of news about him put him quite beyond the pale. also it put a new light on the affair of lucille lemesurier. he was of a different race, a different religion, a different colour, with a wholly different outlook. after the first gust of temper was over, pansy had wanted to find some excuse for le breton over the affair of the french actress. it is easy to find excuses for a person when one is anxious to find them. and now it seemed she had one. he was a mohammedan. his religion allowed him four wives, and as many other women as he pleased. no wonder he had been angry at the fuss she had made over lucille lemesurier! according to his code he had done no wrong. now pansy wanted to apologise for her rudeness in invading his villa; for her temper, and the scene that followed. the fault was all hers. she ought to have found out more about him before letting things go so far. she had liked him, and she had troubled about nothing else. she ought never to have encouraged him. for when they had breakfasted together that morning among the red roses, she knew he was in love with her. "there are lots of things about myself i haven't told you." le breton's remark came back to her mind. no wonder he had wanted to marry her at once! before she found out anything about him. pansy tried to feel angry with her erstwhile lover. but, phantom-like, the strength of his arms was around her, his handsome, sunburnt face was close to her own, his voice was whispering words of love and longing, his lips on hers in those passionate kisses that made her forget everything but himself. her eyes went round the room, a brave, tortured look in them. were there other women there, suffering as she was suffering? suffering, and who yet had to go on smiling? the world demanded her smiles, and it should have them, although her heart was bleeding at the tragedy of her own making. not only her heart, but raoul's. because she had encouraged him. she must not blame him. for the odds were all against him. she must try and see things from his point of view--the point of view of a polygamist. that night when pansy got back home, she wrote the following note:-- "dear mr. le breton, i owe you an apology. only to-night i have learnt that you are of another race, another religion than mine. it makes things look quite different. you see things from the point of view of your race, i, of mine. i am sorry i did not know all this sooner; i should have acted very differently. i should not have come to your villa that night and made a stupid fuss, for one thing. about such matters men of your race and religion are quite different from men of my own. i am sorry for all that occurred. for my own bad temper and the annoyance i must have caused you. but i did not know anything about you then. yours regretfully, pansy langham. p.s.--i shall be calling at grand canary in about ten days' time with my father, sir george barclay. i am going out to africa with him. if you care to come on board during the evening i should like to see you and say how sorry i am. p. l." chapter xxii one day when le breton returned from one of the mad rides he frequently indulged in, in a vain effort to assuage the pain and chagrin that raged within him, he found among a pile of letters put aside for his inspection, one with an english stamp. letters from that country rarely came his way. but it was not the novelty that attracted him, making him pick it out from the others, but the writing. he had seen it once before, on a note that had turned his heaven into hell, when for the first time he had learnt what it was to be rejected by a woman. he tore the envelope open, eager for the contents. what had the girl to say to him? why had she written? with a wild throb of hope, he drew out the message. once he had called pansy a little creature of rare surprises. but none equalled the surprise in store for him now. it was not the apologies in the note he saw; nor a girl's desire to try and see things from his point of view; nor the fact that, despite everything, she was unable to break away from him. he saw only one thing. she was sir george barclay's daughter! the girl he loved to distraction was the child of his father's murderer! astounded he stared at the note. he could not believe it. yet it was there, written in pansy's own hand. "with my father, sir george barclay." pansy, the child of the man he hated! that brave, kind, slim, teasing girl, who for one brief week had filled him with a happiness and love and contentment such as he had once deemed impossible. as he brooded on the note a variety of emotions raged within him. a vengeance that had rankled for sixteen years fought with a love that had grown up in a week. then he pulled himself together, as if amazed at his own indecision. he took the note, with its pathos and pleading; a girl's endeavour to meet the view of the man she loved, whose outlook was quite beyond her. deliberately he tore it across and across, into shreds, slowly and with a cruel look on his face, as if it were something alive that he was torturing, and that gave him pleasure to torture. for le breton had decided what his course was to be. the vengeance he had promised long years ago should be carried out, with slight alterations. he had a way now of torturing sir george barclay that would be punishment beyond any death. and pansy was the tool he intended to use. what was more, she was to pay the penalty of her father's crime. for he would mete out to her the measure he had promised sixteen years ago. however, this decision did not prevent le breton from going to pansy's yacht the evening of its arrival in grand canary. after dinner he made his way along the quay towards the white vessel with its flare of light that stood out against the dark night. evidently he was expected. on inquiring for miss langham, he was shown into the cabin where he had had his previous interview with her; and with the feeling that things would go his way, if he had but a little patience: a virtue he had never been called upon to exercise where a woman was concerned. le breton's feelings as he stayed on in the pretty cabin would be difficult to describe. everything was redolent of the girl, touching his heart with fairy fingers; a heart he had hardened against her. but, as he waited there, he despised himself for even having momentarily contemplated letting a woman come between him and his cherished vengeance. once in africa sir george barclay would prove an easy and unsuspecting prey. according to custom, the governor should tour his province. that tour would bring him within six hundred miles of le breton's desert kingdom. the latter intended to keep himself well posted in his enemy's movements. and he knew exactly the spot where he would wait for the governor and his suite--the spot where sixteen years before the sultan casim ammeh had been shot. he, le breton, would wait near there with a troop of his arab soldiers. unsuspecting, the governor would walk into the trap. the whole party would be captured with a completeness and unexpectedness that would leave no trace of what had happened. with his prisoners he would sweep back to the desert. once in el-ammeh, the daughter should be sold as a slave in the public market, to become the property of any arab or negro chief who fancied her. and her father should see her sold. but he should not be killed afterwards. he should live on to brood over his child's fate--a torture worse than any death. "put your ear quite close. it's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." like a sign from the sea, the echo of pansy's voice whispered in his ear, a breath from his one night in heaven. but he would not listen. vengeance had stifled love--vengeance he had waited sixteen years for. he glanced round with set, cold face. it seemed to him no other woman could look so lovely and desirable as the girl entering. pansy was wearing a flounced dress of some soft pink silky material that spread around her like the petals of a flower. the one great diamond sparkled on her breast--a dewdrop in the heart of a half-blown rose. on seeing her le breton caught his breath sharply. this girl the daughter of his father's murderer! this lovely half-blown english rose! what a trick fate had played him! then, ashamed of his momentary craving, he faced her, a cruel smile on his lips. there was a brief silence. pansy looked at him, thinking she had never seen him so handsome, so proud, so aloof, so hard as now. he stood watching her coldly with no word of welcome, no greeting on his lips. he was the first to speak. and he said none of the things pansy was expecting and was prepared for. "why did you tell me your name was langham?" he asked in a peremptory manner. "it is langham," she answered, with some surprise. "how is it, then, that you say sir george barclay is your father?" "he is my father. langham was my godfather's name, my own second name. i had to take it when i inherited his money. that was his one stipulation." another pause ensued. there was a hurt look in pansy's soft eyes as she watched le breton. as he looked back at her a hungry gleam came to his hard ones. "what have you learnt about me?" he demanded presently. "that you're half arab." he had almost expected her to say she had discovered he was the sultan casim ammeh, her own and her father's sworn enemy. "is that all?" he asked, with a savage laugh. "it's quite enough to account for everything," pansy replied. "even for your coming into my arms and letting me kiss and caress you," he said, with biting sarcasm. pansy flushed. "i didn't know anything about you then. and you know i didn't," she said with indignation. "or you wouldn't have listened to a word of love from me." much as he tried to hate the girl, now that he was with her he could not keep the word "love" off his lips. pansy felt she was not shining. she wanted to apologise, but he seemed determined to be disagreeable. what was more, she had a feeling she was dealing with quite a different man from the raoul le breton who had won and broken her heart within a week. she put it down to her own treatment of him and it made her all the more anxious for an understanding. she could not bear to see him looking at her in that hard, cruel way, as if she were his mortal enemy--someone who had injured him past all forgiveness. "it's not that i want to talk about at all," she said desperately. "what do you want to talk about, then?" he asked, his cruel smile deepening. "i want to say how sorry i am that i was angry with you that night. but i ... i didn't know you were ... are----" pansy stopped before she got deeper into the mire. she was going to say "a coloured man," but with him standing before her, her lips refused to form the words. however, le breton finished the sentence for her. "'a nigger.' don't spare my feelings. i've had it cast up at me before by you english." "you know i wouldn't say anything so cruel and untrue." again there was silence. le breton watched her, torturing himself with the thought of what might have been. "if you'd kept your word, you'd be my wife now. the wife of 'a nigger,'" he said presently. "don't be so cruel. i never thought you'd be like this," she cried, her voice full of pain. "and i never thought you would break your word." "in any case, i couldn't have married you, considering you're a mohammedan," she said, goaded out of all patience by his unfriendly attitude. "religion is nothing to me nowadays. i was quite prepared to change to yours." "you couldn't have done that. there would be your ... your wives to consider." "i have no wife by my religion or yours." "but that woman at your villa, wasn't she----" pansy began. "i've half a dozen women in one of my--houses; but none of them are my wives. you're the only woman i've ever asked for in marriage. you!" he laughed in a cruel, hard way, as if at some devil's joke. pansy's hand went to her head--a weary, hopeless gesture. he was beyond her comprehension, this man who calmly confessed to having a half a dozen women in one of his houses, to a woman he would have made his wife. "i'm sorry," she said in a dreary tone, "but i can't understand you. i'd no idea there were men who seemed just like other men and yet behaved in this ... this extraordinary fashion." "i'm not aware that my behaviour is extraordinary. every man in my country has a harem if he can afford it." deliberately he put these facts before the girl in his desire to hurt and hate her as he hated her father. but the look of suffering on her face hurt him as much as he was hurting her. and he hated himself more than he hated her, because uprooting the love he had for her out of his heart was proving such a difficult task. "it's a harem, is it?" pansy said distastefully. "now i'm beginning to understand. but i don't want to hear anything more about it. i see now it was a mistake my asking you here. but i wanted you to know--to know----" she floundered and stopped and started again, anxious to be fair with him in spite of everything. "i wanted you to understand that the fact of your religion and race made your behaviour seem quite different from what it would have been were you a ... a european. i want you to see that i know you have your point of view, that i can't in all fairness blame you for doing what is not wrong according to your standpoint, even if it is according to mine." with his cold, cruel smile deepening, he watched her floundering after excuses for him, endeavouring to see his point of view, to be just and fair. "you're very magnanimous," he said, with biting scorn. "and you are very unkind," she flashed, suddenly out of patience. "you're making everything as hard for me as you possibly can. you're doing it deliberately; and you look as if you enjoyed hurting me. i never thought you'd be like this, raoul. i would have liked to part as friends since ... since anything else is impossible." his name on her lips made a spasm cross le breton's face. as he stood there fighting against himself he knew he was still madly in love with the girl he was determined to hate, and he despised himself for his own weakness. pansy watched him, a look of suppressed suffering shadowing her eyes. she would have given all she possessed--her cherished freedom, her vast riches, her life--to have had him as she once thought him, a man of her own colour, not with this dreadful black barrier between them; a tragedy so ghastly that the fact of lucille lemesurier now seemed a laughing matter. he was lost to her for ever. no amount of love or understanding could pull down that barrier. "good-bye," she said, holding out her hand. "i'm sorry we ever dropped across one another." le breton made no reply. cold and unsmiling, he watched her. there was a brief silence. outside, the sea sobbed and splashed like tears against the vessel's side. but all the tears in the world could not wash the black stain from him. as they stood looking at one another, a verse came and sang like a dirge in pansy's head: what are we waiting for? oh, my heart, kiss me straight on the brow and part: again! again, my heart, my heart what are we waiting for, you and i? a pleading look--a stifled cry-- good-bye for ever. good-bye, good-bye. "good-bye," she said again. then he smiled his cold, cruel smile. "no, pansy. i say--au revoir." ignoring her outstretched hand, he bowed. then, after one long look at her, he turned and was gone. as the door closed behind him pansy blinked back two tears. it had hurt her horribly to see him so set and cold, with that cruel look in his eyes where love once had been. she wished that "the sultan" had killed her that day in the east end of london; or that raoul le breton had been drowned that night in the sea. anything rather than that they should have met to make each other suffer. part iii chapter i over el-ammeh great stars flashed, like silver lamps in the purple dome above the desert city. their light gave a faint, misty white tinge to the scented blueness of the harem garden. there, trees sighed softly, moving vague and shadow-like as a warm breeze stirred them. the walled pleasance was filled with the scent of flowers, of roses, magnolia, heliotrope, mimosa and a hundred other blossoms, for night lay heavy upon the garden. in sunken ponds the stars were mirrored, rocking gently on the surface of the ruffled water. close by one of the silvered pools, a man's figure showed, big and white, in flowing garments. against him a slender girl leant. rayma's eyes rivalled the stars as she gazed up at her sultan and owner. yet in their dark depths a touch of anxiety lurked. a fortnight ago, the sultan had returned to el-ammeh. the first week had been one of blissful happiness for the arab girl. for her master had returned more her lover than ever. but, as the days went on, doubts crept into her heart, vague and haunting. at times it seemed to her he was not quite the same man who left her for paris. for he had a habit now that he had not had before he went away--a disconcerting habit of looking at her with unseeing eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. this mood was on him now. although the night called for nothing but love and caresses, none had fallen to her lot. although she rested against him, she might not have been there for all the notice he took. he appeared to have forgotten her, as he gazed in a brooding, longing manner at the soft, velvety depths of the purple sky--sky as deeply, softly purple as pansies. rayma pressed closer to her lord and sultan, looking at him with love-laden, anxious eyes. "beloved," she whispered softly, "are your thoughts with some woman in paris?" with a start, his attention came back to her. in the starlight he scanned her little face in a fierce, hungry, disappointed manner. for the slight golden girl who now rested upon his heart brought him none of the contentment he had known when pansy had been there. "no, little one," he said gently. "i prefer you to all the women i met in paris." her slim arms went round his neck in a clinging passionate embrace. "oh, my lord," she whispered, "such words are my life. at times i think you do not love me as you once did. you seem not quite the same. for, often, although your arms are around me, you forget that i am there!" a bitter expression crossed his face. he did not forget that she was there. although he had come back to the desert girl he had once loved, it was not her he wanted, but the girl who had scorned and flouted him, his enemy's daughter. and he tried to forget her in the slim, golden arms that held him, with such desire and passion. "no, rayma, i'm not quite the same," he said, stroking the little face that watched him with such love and longing. "for sixteen years and more i have waited to avenge my father's death. and now----" he broke off, and laughed savagely. "and now--my father's murderer is almost within my grip. next week i start out with my men to capture him." revenge was a sentiment the arab girl could understand. "oh, my lord," she whispered, "little wonder that your mind wanders from me, even though i am within your arms. i wept when you went to paris. but i would speed you on this quest for vengeance." the sultan made no reply. deep down in his own heart he knew his excuse was a false one. it was not vengeance that came between him and rayma--but pansy. and now he hated the english girl, for she had robbed all other women of their sweetness. chapter ii over the old fort near the river the british flag drooped limply. many years had passed since it had last hung there. nowadays, the place was not used. the country was too peaceful to need forts, and the district officer lived in a corrugated iron bungalow just beyond the remains of the stockade. it was getting on towards evening. the mist still rose from forest and shadow valley, as it had risen sixteen years before when barclay first came to these parts. and in the stunted cliffs another generation of baboons swarmed. on the roof of the old fort pansy stood with her father, watching as she had often watched during her months in africa, the sunset that each night painted the world with glory. a golden mist draped the horizon, its edge gilded sharply and clearly. across the golden curtain swept great fan-like rays of rose and green and glowing carmine, all radiating from a blurred mass of orange hung on the world's edge where the sun sank slowly behind the veil of gold. the mist rolled up from the wide shallow valley, in banks and tattered ribbons, rainbow tinted. and the lakes that, in the dry season, marked the course of the shrunken river, gleamed like jewels in the flood of light poured out from the heavens. the constant change and variety of the last few months had eased pansy's pain a little. with her father she had toured the colony. she had slept under canvas, in native huts, and iron bungalows. and there were half-a-dozen officers on the governor's staff, all anxious to entertain his daughter. but for the nights, pansy would have enjoyed herself immensely. "give me the nights, pansy, and the days i'll leave to you." very often raoul le breton's words came back to her, as she lay sleepless. it seemed that he had her nights now, that man she loved yet could not marry. often her heart ached with a violence that kept her awake until the morning. pansy tried to make her nights as short as possible. she was always the last to bed and the first to rise, often up and dressed before alice--her plump, pretty, mulatto maid, a mission girl pansy had engaged for her stay in africa--appeared with the early morning tea. and whenever it was possible, she was out and away on her old racehorse, with some member of her father's staff. and the day that followed was generally full of novelty and interest. there were new people to see; a wild country to travel through; some negro chief to interview; a native village to visit. as the journey continued, the europeans grew fewer. until that day, it was nearly a week since pansy had seen a white face, except those of her father's suite. only that afternoon the furthermost point of the tour had been reached. a mile or so beyond was french territory. with her father pansy often went over the maps of the district and the country that lay around it. she knew that beyond the british possessions lay a sparsely populated and but little known district; vast areas, scarcely explored, of scrub and poor grass, that led on to the back of beyond, the limitless expanse of the burning sahara. but, interested as pansy always was in all connected with her father's province, and all that lay about it, she was not thinking of any of these things as she stood on the roof with him, but of her old playmate, captain cameron. the governor, his staff, and the district officer were going the next day to visit some rather important negro chief. pansy was to have been one of the party, but on reaching their journey's end, cameron had suddenly developed a bad attack of malaria. "i don't think i'll go to-morrow, father," she was saying. "i don't like leaving bob. i know his orderly can look after him all right. but he says he feels better when i'm about, so i promised to stay and hold his hand." "just as you like," sir george answered. "in any case the pow-pow will be very similar to a dozen others you've seen. and bob needs keeping cheerful." "he takes it very philosophically," pansy answered. "it's the only way to take life," her father answered, a trifle sadly. pansy rubbed a soft cheek against his in silent sympathy. she loved and understood her quiet, indulgent father more than ever. but the dead girl he still grieved for was only a misty memory to his child. "yes, daddy, i've learnt that too," she said. "it's no use grousing about things. it's far better to laugh in the teeth of fate." george barclay's arm went round his daughter. she had followed out her own precepts, this brave, bright girl of his. as she went about his camp, no one would have guessed her life was a tragedy. and even he knew no more than she had told him on her unexpected return from grand canary. she was fighting her battle alone, as he in past years had fought his, in her own unselfish way, refusing to let her shadows fall on those about her. chapter iii about five miles away from the old fort, deep in the forest, there was a large grassy glade, an unfrequented spot. within it now were encamped what looked to be a large party of arab merchants. there were about a hundred of them, and they had come early that morning, with horses, and camels, and mules, and bales of merchandise. and they outnumbered barclay's party by nearly three to one. his following were not more than forty, including thirty hausa soldiers. immediately on arriving in the glade, two of the arabs, with curios, had been dispatched to the english camp, outwardly to sell their goods, but, in reality, as spies. they had hardly gone, before the rest of the party put aside its peaceful air. out of their bales weapons were produced; guns of the latest pattern and vicious-looking knives. in his tent the sultan casim ammeh sat, in white burnoose, awaiting the return of his spies. with him was edouard, his french doctor, who was watching his royal master with an air of concern. "i shall be glad when this thing is through and done with," he remarked presently, his voice heavy with anxiety. "and all i hope is that the english don't get hold of you. there'll be short shrift for you, if you're caught meddling with their officials." "they'd shoot me, as barclay shot my father," the sultan replied grimly. "but i'm willing to risk that in order to get hold of him." "i wish we were safely back in el-ammeh," the doctor said. "you've never experienced either a deep love or a deep hate, edouard. the surface of things has always satisfied you. you're to be envied." "well i hope that love will never run you into the dangers that this revenge of yours is likely to," edouard replied, getting up. he went from the tent, leaving the sultan alone, awaiting the return of his spies. it was nearly midday when they got back to the glade. at once they were taken into the royal presence. "what have you learnt?" the sultan demanded. the arabs bowed low before their ruler. "your highness, the english party has broken up," one replied. "the chief and his officers, with half the soldiers, have gone to a village that lies about half way between here and the fort. and the white lady, his daughter, is left behind, with but fifteen men to guard her." as le breton listened, the task he had set himself appeared even easier than he had imagined. at the head of his men he would waylay and capture the governor and his party on their return from the village. when this was accomplished he would send off a contingent to seize pansy. with this idea in view, he summoned a couple of native officers into his presence. when they appeared, he gave them various instructions about the matter on hand, and, finally, his plans concerning pansy. "no shot must be fired in the presence of the english lady," he finished. "at all costs she must be captured without injury." with deference the arab officers listened to his instructions, then they bowed and left the royal presence. not long afterwards the glade was practically empty save for the tents and camels and mules. at the head of his men the sultan casim ammeh had gone in quest of the vengeance he had waited quite sixteen years for. chapter iv in the guard-house of the old fort where george barclay had once housed his wounded arab prisoners, captain cameron sat propped up with pillows in a camp bed. it was a cool, dim, white-washed room with thick stone walls, tiny windows high up near the ceiling, and a strong wooden door, that was barred from the inside. beside him pansy sat, pouring out the tea that his orderly had just brought in, and trying to coax an appetite that malaria had left capricious. cameron's fever had burnt itself out in twenty-four hours as such fevers will, but it had left the young man very weak and washed out, scarcely able to stand on his legs. as pansy sat talking and coaxing, trying to make a sick man forget his sickness, into the stillness of the drowsy afternoon there came a sound that neither of them expected. the thunder of horses' hoofs, like a regiment sweeping towards them. as far as cameron knew there were no horses in the district except their own, and they numbered only about half a dozen, not enough to produce anything like that amount of sound. "what on earth can that be?" he asked, suddenly alert. almost as he spoke there was a further sound. a sound of firing. not a single shot, but a volley. it was followed immediately by cries and screams, and a hubbub of native voices. cameron had seen active service. that sound made him forget all about his fever. he knew it for a surprise attack. but who had attacked them, and why, he could not imagine; for the district was peaceful. barefooted and in pyjamas, he scrambled out of bed. swaying, he fumbled under his pillow, and producing a revolver, slipped it into his pocket. then he staggered across to the door, pansy at his heels. when they looked out, it appeared that the stockade was filled with white-robed figures on horseback, lean, brown, hawk-faced men whom pansy immediately recognised for arabs. the surprised hausa soldiers had been driven into one corner of the compound, and back to back were fighting valiantly against overwhelming odds. cameron did not wait to see any more. already a score or more of the wild horsemen were sweeping on towards the old fort where the two stood. quick as thought he shut the guardroom door. with hands that shook with fever, he stooped and picked up one of the two iron bars that held it in position. "lend me a hand, pansy," he said sharply. but pansy did not need any telling. already she had seized the other end of the heavy bar. it was in position just as the horde outside reached the guard-house. there was a rattle of arms, the sound of horses being brought sharply to a halt. then orders shouted in a wild, barbaric language. there followed a shower of heavy blows upon the door. when the second iron bar was in position, the boy and the girl stood for a moment and looked at one another. pansy was the first to speak. "what has happened?" she asked. "it looks like a desert tribe out on some marauding expedition," he replied in as cool a voice as he could muster. "but i'm sure i don't know what they're doing down as far as here." "my father?" pansy said quickly. cameron made no reply. he hoped the governor's party had not fallen foul of the marauders. but the fate of sir george and his staff was not the one that troubled him now. all his thoughts were for the girl he loved, to keep her from falling into the hands of that barbaric horde. and fall she must, dead or alive, before so very long. strong as the door was, it would not be able to withstand the assaults the arabs could put upon it. with a casual air cameron examined his revolver, to make sure that the five cartridges were complete. then he glanced at the girl. she caught his eye, and smiled bravely. she had grasped the situation also. "we all have to die sooner or later," she remarked. "i hope it'll be sooner in my case." cameron's young face grew even whiter and more drawn; this time with something more than fever--the thought of the task before him. "four shots for them, pansy, and the fifth for you," he answered hoarsely. "yes, bob, whatever you do, don't forget the fifth." as they talked, thundering blows were falling on the door, filling the room with constantly recurring echoes. but the wood and iron withstood the assault. the noise stopped suddenly. from outside, voices could be heard, evidently discussing what had better be done next. pansy and cameron crossed to the far side of the room, and stood there side by side, their backs against the wall, waiting. when the blows came again they were different; one heavy, ponderous thud that made the door creak and groan, with a pause between each blow. "they've got a battering-ram to work now, a tree trunk or something," cameron remarked. "that good old door won't be able to stand the strain much longer." then he glanced at the girl, longing in his eyes. "let me give you one kiss, pansy. a good-bye kiss," he whispered. "it's years since i've kissed you. you're such a one for keeping a fellow at arm's length nowadays." with death knocking at the door pansy could not refuse him; this nice boy she had always liked, yet never loved. she thought of the man who had feasted so freely on her lips that night in the moonlit garden in grand canary. she wanted no man's kisses but his, no man's love but his, and his race and colour barred him out from her for ever. "kiss me if you like, bob, for old time's sake. but----" she broke off, listening to the noises from outside, the heavy, regular thud on the iron-bound door, that had now set the stone walls trembling. "now, i shall die a young maid instead of an old one, that's all," she said suddenly. cameron watched her, pain on his face; this girl who could face death with a courage that equalled his own. then he kissed her tenderly. "good-bye, pansy, little pal," he said hoarsely. afterwards there was silence in the room. between the heavy blows flies droned. droned as if all were well with the world. as if nothing untoward were happening. pansy listened to them, a strained look on her face. so they would go on droning after she was dead. how painful the thought would once have been. but the world had grown so tragic since she had met and parted with raoul le breton. life had become so dreary. there was a constant gnawing pain at her heart now, a pain that pansy hoped would not follow her from this world into another. there was a crash of falling timber. the door gave way suddenly, letting in a flood of wild, white-clad men. if cameron thought of anything beyond getting his four shots home among the swarming crowd, it was to wonder why they did not fire, instead of rushing towards him and the girl. but he did not give much time to the problem. within four seconds, four shots had been fired at the onrushing arabs. and with ruthless joy cameron noted that four of them fell. then he turned his weapon on the girl beside him. now that her turn had come, pansy smiled at him bravely with white lips. but, as cameron turned, a shot grazed his hand, fired by the leader of the arabs, who appeared to have grasped what the englishman was about to do. the bullet did not reach pansy's brain as cameron intended. for the pain of his wound sent his hand slightly downwards just as he pulled the trigger. his bullet found a resting-place in her heart, it seemed. with a faint gasp she fell as if dead at his feet, a red stain on the front of her white dress. this contretemps left the onrushing horde aghast. they halted abruptly. in silence they stood staring at the limp form of the prostrate girl, the fear of death upon their swarthy faces. chapter v in his tent the sultan casim ammeh was waiting for the return of the party sent on to the old fort to capture pansy. so far there had been no hitch in his schemes. sir george and his staff had proved an easy prey. already one portion of his arab following, with barclay's officers, had set out on the long journey back to el-ammeh. sir george and pansy, the sultan had arranged to take up himself, as soon as the girl was in his hands. for he had no desire to linger in british territory. but it was not the punishment england would dole out to him if he were caught that filled le breton's mind as he sat cross-legged among the cushions, with the cruel lines about his mouth very much in evidence. his thoughts were all with sir george barclay's daughter. what desert harem would be her future home? what wild chief would call that golden-haired girl his chattel? casim ammeh had determined to carry out his vengeance to the letter, where pansy was concerned. to sell her in the slave-market of his capital; and keep her father alive, tortured by the knowledge of his daughter's fate. what would the girl say when she saw him? when she recognised him for the sultan of el-ammeh, the man her father had wronged past all forgiveness. would that sweet, brave face go white at the knowledge of the fate before her? would she try to plead with him or herself and her father? would----! le breton pulled his straying thoughts up sharply, lest they should go wandering down forbidden ways--ways that led to where love was. he had determined to hate pansy; a hatred he had to keep continually before him, lest he should forget it. the afternoon wore on, bringing long shadows creeping into the glade. and the sultan sat waiting for the full fruit of his vengeance. there might be peace in his heart once the wrong done to his father was righted. peace in the restless heart that throbbed within him, that seemed always searching for a life other than the one he lived; a peace he had known just once or twice when a girl's slight form had rested upon it. his enemy's daughter! the sound of approaching hoofs broke into his thoughts. he knew what they were. those of the party sent on to capture pansy. when the cavalcade halted, his eyes went to the open flap of the big tent, a savage expression in them. he could not see the returned party from there; only the guards posted outside of the royal quarters. presently a couple of men in flowing white robes came into view; the two officers who had headed the expedition. they were challenged by the sentries, then they passed on towards the tent where their sultan was waiting. there was concern upon their faces, that deepened to resignation and despair when the royal gaze rested upon them. "where is the english lady?" their sultan demanded coldly. "your highness, there was a man of her colour with her, and----" one of the officers began. le breton made an impatient gesture. "bring me the girl," he commanded. the officers glanced at one another. then one knelt before the sultan. "the instructions were carried out," he said. "but the english lady is dead." there was a moment of tense silence. a feeling of someone fighting against an incredible truth. pansy dead! impossible! the sultan sat as if turned into stone. the contretemps was one he had never anticipated. "dead," the echoes whispered at him mockingly through the silk-draped tent. "dead," they sighed unto themselves as if in dire pain. and that one tragic word stripped love of its garment of hate, and set it before him, alive and vital. the tent suddenly became charged with suffering, and the feeling of a fierce, proud heart breaking. "dead!" the sultan repeated in a hoarse, incredulous voice. "then allah have pity on the man who killed her, for i shall have none." "your highness, there was a white man with her. he shot her," the kneeling officer explained. le breton hardly heard him. for the first time in his wild, arrogant life he felt regret; regret for a deed of his own doing. the regret that is the forerunner of conscience, as conscience precedes the birth of a soul--the soul he had once laughingly accused pansy of trying to save. his schemes had brought her to her death. morally his was the hand that had killed her. his hand! the thought staggered him. he got to his feet suddenly, reeling slightly, as if in dire agony. the officer kneeling before him bowed his head submissively. he expected the fate of all who bring bad news to a sultan--the sultan's sword upon his neck. but le breton hardly noticed the man. he only saw his own deed before him. love had leapt out of its scabbard of hate. the one fact he had tried to keep hidden from himself was shouting, loud-voiced, at him. in spite of who and what pansy was, he still loved her, madly, ragingly, hopelessly. but it had taken her death to bring the truth home to him. "where is the girl?" he asked, in a stiff, harsh voice. "we brought her so that your highness could see we spoke the truth," the officer replied. "let her be brought in to me then, and laid there," the sultan said, indicating a wide couch full of cushions. glad to escape with their lives the officers hurried out to do the royal bidding. there were no cruel lines about the sultan's mouth as he waited their return, but deep gashes of pain instead. a silent cavalcade entered the tent some minutes later: as silent as the sultan who stood awaiting them; as silent as the girl with the red stain on her breast and the red blood on her lips. a look from the sultan dismissed the men. when they had gone, he crossed to pansy's side, and stood gazing down at her. she lay limp and white, a broken lily before him, his enemy's daughter! this still, white, lovely girl. this pearl among women, whom he had tried to hate. and now----! pain twisted his face. he thought of pansy as he had last seen her, that night on her yacht. she had wanted to bring about an understanding between them. she had tried to see things from his point of view. she was prepared to make allowances, to find excuses for him. and he had treated her with harshness; wilfully set her at a disadvantage; purposely had misunderstood her; deliberately had said all he could to wound her. he had done his best to hate her. he had put vengeance before love. now he had his reward. his wild lust for revenge had stilled that kind heart that had lived to do its best for all. a stifled groan came to his lips. what a trick fate had played upon him! leaning over the couch he took one of her limp, white hands into his strong brown one. the little hand whose touch could always soothe his restless spirit, that had once teased and caressed him, opening out visions of a paradise that his own deeds had now shut out from him for ever. the fruit of the tree of vengeance is bitter. and this le breton realized to the fullest as he gazed at the silent girl. "pansy, don't mock me from beyond the styx," he whispered. "for you know now that my heart is broken. there's nothing but grief for me here and hereafter." then it seemed to the tortured man that a miracle happened. the girl's eyes opened. for a brief second she gazed at him in a dazed, bewildered manner. then her lids dropped weakly, as if even that slight effort were too much for her. chapter vi blue-black night surrounded the arab encampment. here and there a red watch-fire punctuated the darkness. although well past midnight, a light burnt in the sultan's tent. it came from a heavy silver lamp slung from the bar joining the two main supporting poles. the light flickered on the couch where pansy still lay, limp and white among the silken cushions, her curls making a halo about her pain-drawn face. she was no longer clad in her muslin frock, but in a silk nightgown with her namesakes embroidered upon it. a light silk rug covered her up to her waist; on it her hands lay, weak and helpless. on discovering there was a spark of life left in his prisoner, the sultan had sent post-haste to an adjacent tent for edouard. when the doctor arrived, le breton stood silent whilst the patient was examined, in an agony of tortured love awaiting the verdict. "there's no hope unless i can get the bullet out," the doctor had remarked at the end of the examination. "it escaped her heart by about half an inch; but it means constant haemorrhage if it's left in the lungs." "and if it's removed?" the sultan asked hoarsely. edouard shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal manner. "it'll be touch and go, even then. but she might pull through with care and attention. she's young and healthy. but if she survives, she'll feel the effects of that bullet for some time to come." with that edouard left to fetch his instruments, leaving the sultan gazing down at the result of his own mad desire for vengeance--a red, oozing wound on a girl's white breast. when the doctor returned, whilst he probed after the bullet le breton held pansy with firm, careful strength, lest, in pain, she should move and send the instrument into the heart cameron's shot had just missed. but she was unconscious through it all. although the probing brought a further gush of blood, edouard managed to locate the bullet and extract it. after the wound was dressed, and pansy bound and bandaged up, the doctor left. with his departure the sultan sent for pansy's belongings, which his soldiers had brought up as plunder from the raid. there was no woman among his following, so he sent one of the guards to inquire if there was one among the captives. presently pansy's mulatto maid was brought to him. alice was a pretty brown girl of about seventeen, clad in a blue cotton slip, and she wore a yellow silk handkerchief tied around her black curls. with awe she gazed about the sumptuous tent; with admiration at her handsome, kingly captor. he, however, had nothing to say to her, beyond giving her instructions to serve her mistress and warning her to use the utmost care. when alice set about her task he went from the tent to interview edouard. pansy's condition had upset his plans. even if the girl recovered, she could not be moved for a week at least, no matter how carefully her litter was carried. and a force as large as his could not stay a week in the neighbourhood without the fact becoming known. when le breton returned he dismissed alice, and he seated himself by the couch and stayed there watching the unconscious girl. evening shadows crept into the tent, bringing a deft-handed, silent servant, who lighted the heavy silver lamp and withdrew as silently as he had come. dinner appeared; a sumptuous meal that the sultan waved aside impatiently. then edouard came again, to see how the patient was faring; to give an injection and go, after a curious glance at the big, impassive figure of his patron sitting silent and brooding at his captive's side. gradually the noises of the camp died down, until outside there was only the sough of the forest, the whisper of the wind in the tree-tops, the occasional stamp of a horse's hoof, the hoot of an owl in the glade, and, every now and again in the distance, the mocking laugh of hyenas. mocking at him, it seemed to le breton; at a man whose own doings had brought his beloved to death's door. within the tent there was no longer silence. faint little moans whispered through it occasionally, mingling with the rustle of silken curtains and the sparking of the lamp. and every now and again there were weak bouts of coughing; coughs that brought an ominous red stain to pansy's lips; stains the sultan dabbed off carefully with a handkerchief, his strong hand shaking slightly, his arrogant face working strangely, for he knew he was responsible for the life-blood upon her lips. every hour edouard came to give the injection which held the soul back from the grim, bony hands of death that groped after it. once or twice pansy's eyes opened, but they closed almost instantly, as if she had not strength enough to hold them open. but before daybreak her coughs had ceased. an hour passed, then two, without that ominous red stain coming to her lips. edouard nodded to himself in a satisfied way as he left the tent. a little of the strained look left the sultan's face. the haemorrhage had stopped; youth and health were winning the battle. just as the first pink streak of dawn entered the tent pansy's eyes opened again and stayed open, purple wells of pain that rested on the sultan's with a puzzled expression. into the misty world of suffering and weakness in which she moved it seemed to her that raoul le breton had come, looking at her as he had once looked, with love and tenderness in his glowing eyes. she could not make out where she was or how he came to be there. she had no recollection of the horde who had broken into the guardroom where she and cameron had been. she was too full of suffering to give any thought to the problem. raoul le breton was with her, that was enough. a wan smile of recognition trembled for a moment on her lips. "raoul," she said faintly. it was more a sigh than a word. but his name whispered so feebly brought him kneeling beside her couch, bending over her eagerly. "my darling, forgive me," he whispered passionately. he bent his head still lower, with infinite tenderness kissing the white lips that had breathed his name so faintly. pansy's eyes closed again. a look of contentment came to mingle with the suffering on her face. outside the hyenas still laughed mockingly: derisive echoes from a distance. but le breton did not hear them. despite his treatment of her, pansy had smiled upon him. for the first time in his wild life he felt humility and gratitude, both new sensations. when edouard came again he pronounced the girl sleeping, not unconscious. "with care and attention she'll pull through," he said. "thank god!" his patron exclaimed, with unfeigned relief and joy. edouard glanced at his master speculatively. he had heard nothing about pansy's existence until he had been hurriedly summoned to attend her, and he wondered why his friend and patron had made no mention of the girl. "you never told me barclay had a daughter," he commented. "i did not know myself until quite recently," the sultan replied. "is she to share her father's fate?" the doctor asked drily. tenderly the sultan gazed at the small white face on the cushions. "she's not my enemy," he said in a caressing tone. with a feeling of relief, edouard left the tent. it was most evident that the sultan had fallen in love with his beautiful captive. if the girl played her cards well, she would be able to save her father, and prevent his patron doling out death to a british official, thus embroiling himself still further with the english government. after the doctor had left, le breton sat on pansy's couch. yet he had not learnt his lesson. although he loved the daughter, he hated the father as intensely as ever. now he was making other plans; plans that would enable him to keep both love and vengeance. plans, too, that might make the girl forget his colour and give him the love he now craved for so wildly. chapter vii in one of the tents in the glade sir george barclay sat, an arab guard on either side of him. there was an almost stupefied air about him; of a man whose world has suddenly got beyond his control. the previous afternoon, without any warning, his party had been set upon and captured; but by whom, and why, he did not know. there was no rebellious chief in the district; no discontent. yet he was a prisoner in the hands of some wild tribe; captured so suddenly that not one of his men had escaped to take word to the next british outpost and bring up a force to his assistance. there was but one streak of consolation in his broodings--the knowledge that his daughter had not fallen alive into the hands of the barbaric soldiery. some little time after he had been brought a prisoner to the glade he had seen cameron come in, white and shaking with fever. on seeing his chief, the young man had shouted across the space: "thank god! the niggers haven't got pansy alive." they were given no time for further conversation, for one was hustled this way and one that. as barclay sat brooding on the fate that had overtaken his party and trying to find a reason for it, someone entered the tent. in the newcomer he recognised the leader of the force that had waylaid and captured him and his party. "so, george barclay, we meet for a second time," a deep voice said savagely in french. barclay scanned the big man in the white burnoose who stood looking at him with hatred in his dark, fiery eyes. to his knowledge he had never seen him before. "where did we first meet?" he asked quietly. "sixteen years ago, when you murdered my father, the sultan casim ammeh." sir george started violently and scanned the man anew. he had a reason now for the untoward happenings. "do you remember all i promised for you and yours that day you refused to listen to my pleadings?" the savage voice asked. barclay remembered only too well. and as he looked at the ruthless face before him he was more than ever thankful for one thing. "thank god; my daughter is dead!" he said. the sultan smiled, coldly, cruelly. "your daughter is not dead," he replied. "she is alive; just alive. and you may rest assured that she'll have every care and attention." the news left barclay staring in a stricken manner at his captor. "my doctor assures me that she will live," the sultan went on. "and you will live, too, to see her sold as a slave in the public market of my city." sir george said nothing. the thought of pansy's ghastly fate placed him beyond speech. at that moment he could only pray that she might die. chapter viii three days elapsed before pansy returned to full consciousness, and even then the world was a very hazy place. one morning she woke up, almost too weak to move, with a feeling that she must have had a bad attack of fever. she tried to sit up, but alice, her mulatto maid, bent over her quickly, pressing her back gently on the pillows. "no, missy pansy," that familiar, crooning voice said with an air of authority. "de doctor say you stay dere and no move." pansy was not at all anxious to move after that one attempt. the effort had brought knife-like pains cutting through her chest, and she had had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out in agony. all day she lay in silence, sleeping most of the time, when awake, thankful just to lie still, for even to talk hurt her; grateful when alice fed her, because she would rather have gone hungry than have faced the pain that sitting up entailed. sometimes, from outside, came the rattle of harness, the stamp of a hoof, men's voices talking in a strange language. but pansy was used to such sounds now, and thought nothing of them; they had been around her all the time she had been on tour with her father. the next day the mist had cleared considerably. pansy realised she was in a big tent, not an affair of plain green canvas, such as she had lived in quite a lot during her expedition into the wilds, but a place of barbaric splendour. silk hangings draped the canvas walls; rich curtains heavily embroidered with gold. the very poles that held the structure up were of silver, and a heavy silver lamp was suspended from the central bar. priceless rugs covered the ground, and here and there were piles of soft, silk cushions. there were one or two little ebony tables and stools inlaid with silver and ivory. her bed was a low couch of soft silk and down cushions. and on the floor beside her was a beaten gold tray where jewelled cups reposed, and dishes with coloured sherbets and other tempting dainties. pansy's gaze stayed on alice in a puzzling manner. alice looked much the same, as plump and pretty as ever, but with an even more "pleased with herself" expression than usual upon her round smiling face. from her maid pansy glanced towards the entrance of the tent. the flap was fastened back, letting in a flood of fresh, gold-tinged morning air. just outside, two dark-faced, white-robed men were stationed, and, beyond, were others, and a glimpse of trees. pansy's eyes stayed on the arabs guarding her quarters. in a vague way they were familiar. with a rush came back the happenings of the afternoon when she had been having tea with cameron in the old guardroom. men such as those outside had burst in upon them when the brave old door had given way. a wave of sickly fear swept over the girl. was she a prisoner in the hands of that wild horde? but, if so, what was she doing in the midst of all this splendour, this riot of luxury, with the softest of cushions to lie on, the choicest of silk rugs to cover her, and alice sitting contentedly at her side? perhaps bob could give her the key to the situation. "alice," she said weakly, "run and tell captain cameron i want to speak to him." "he no be here, miss pansy," the girl replied. "he go to de sultan casim ammeh's city." alice pronounced the sultan's name with gusto. the desert ruler with his barbaric splendour and troop of wild horsemen had impressed her far more than the english governor and his retinue. she did not at all mind being his prisoner. moreover she was a privileged person, told off specially by the sultan to nurse her mistress. for some moments pansy pondered on what her maid had said. "the sultan casim ammeh," pansy repeated presently, with an air of bewilderment. "dat be him," alice assured her. "a great big, fine man, awful good-looking. i see him. an' my heart go all soft. he so rich and proud and grand. but he no look at me, only at you, miss pansy," she finished, sighing. pansy hardly heard this rhapsody over her captor. his name was familiar but half forgotten, like the fairy tales of her childhood. then she suddenly remembered who and what he was. the youthful sultan who, long years ago, had sworn to kill her father and sell her as a slave! the man alice mentioned must be the boy grown up! it must have been his hordes who had swept down on her and bob that afternoon. but it was not of herself that pansy thought when the truth dawned on her with vivid, sickening force. in anxiety for her father she forgot the fate promised for herself. "my father! what has happened to him?" she asked in quick alarm. "de sultan, he catch sir george too," alice answered coolly. pansy's heart stood still. "is he still alive?" she asked breathlessly, horror clutching at her. "sir george he go also to the city of el-ammeh, de sultan's city." a feeling of overwhelming relief swept over pansy on hearing her father was still alive. for some minutes she lay brooding on the horrible situation and how she could best cope with it, all the time feeling as if she were in some wild nightmare. then she remembered her own vast riches. all these arab chiefs knew the value of money. she might be able to ransom her father, herself, the whole party. "where is the sultan? tell him i want to see him," she said suddenly in a weak, excited way. "he no be here. he go back to el-ammeh. you go, too, miss pansy, an' i go wid you, when doctor edouard say you be fit to move." pansy clutched at the name of edouard. after that of the sultan casim ammeh it had a welcome european sound. "where is doctor edouard? can i speak to him?" she asked quickly. she hardly noticed the pain within herself now, torn as she was with anxiety for her father and friends. alice rose, ready to oblige. "i go fetch him," she said. leaving the tent, she interviewed one of the guards. then she passed on beyond pansy's view. she reappeared some few moments later accompanied by a short, stoutish man with a pointed, black beard, unmistakably of french nationality, who was dressed in a neat white drill suit and a sun helmet. anxiously pansy watched him approach, with no room in her mind to think how he came to be there, a person as european as herself, in this savage sultan's following. "do tell me what has happened!" she said, without any preliminaries, the moment he halted at her bedside. however, edouard did not tell pansy much more than she had already culled for herself. but she learnt that the whole of her father's party were prisoners in the hands of this desert chief and were now on their way back to his capital. "but can't you do something?" she asked in despair. "i'm virtually a prisoner, like yourself," edouard replied in a non-committal tone. he was not a prisoner, but he was paid a good price for his services and his silence; and he had no intention of playing an excellent friend and patron false. "but is there nothing i can do?" pansy asked, aghast at her own utter helplessness. edouard smiled, remembering the sultan's concern for the beautiful captive girl. "yes; there's one thing," he replied in a soothing tone. "don't worry about the matter just at present. but when you get to el-ammeh use all your personal influence with the sultan. in the meantime you can rest assured that no harm will happen to sir george and his staff. afterwards i rather fancy everything depends on you." with this pansy had to be content. chapter ix in bathhurst, the deputy governor awaited news of sir george barclay. more than a month had passed since he had left the town, and during most of the time letters had come through regularly to official headquarters. the deputy knew that the furthermost point of the tour must now be about reached; but nearly a week had passed without any communication, official or otherwise, coming from the party. the fact was not alarming; the part sir george must now be in was the wildest in the colony, and a week might easily pass without any message coming through. but when another day or so passed without bringing any news, the deputy began to wonder what had happened. "the letters must have gone astray," one of the officers remarked. "or some leopard has gobbled up the postman," another suggested. for a couple of days longer the deputy and military officers waited, hourly expecting some message from the governor's party, but none came. there was no reason to think that harm had befallen them, for the colony was in perfect order. then they sent up for news to the next town of any importance, only to hear that nothing had been heard there either. the answer astounded them. an expedition was sent off post-haste to find out what had happened to the party. they were nearly a fortnight in reaching the old fort, the last spot where any message had come from. and there they found the british flag still flying over the official headquarters, but both the bungalow and the fortress were deserted. in the old guardroom and the compound were a few gnawed human bones; but there was no other trace of the missing expedition, although there was every sign that disaster had overtaken it. the officials were aghast. sir george and his staff had completely disappeared. that there had been fighting was evident. the bones in the guardroom and compound told them that much, but all trace of their identity had been gnawed off by prowling hyenas. the country around was scoured, but it brought no clue. the french government was communicated with, but it could throw no light on the affair. when the news reached england it caused a sensation, for society culled that sir george barclay's daughter, the lovely twenty-year-old heiress, pansy langham, was among those missing--dead now, or perhaps worse; the chattel of one of the wild marauders who had fallen so swiftly and silently upon her father's party. and in a pleasant english country house miss grainger wept for the bright, brave girl who had always been such a generous friend and considerate mistress. chapter x by the time the news of the disappearance of sir george barclay's party reached england, pansy was well on her way to el-ammeh. she arrived there one night after dark, a darkness out from which high walls loomed and over them strange sounds came; the thin wail of stringed instruments; a tom-tom throbbing through the blue night; the plaintive song of some itinerant musician, and the shuffle of crowded human life. she was not given much time to dwell upon those things. her escort skirted the high walls. a big horse-shoe arch loomed up, with heavy iron gates; gates that clanged back as they approached. and the flare of torches showed a long passage leading into darkness. into the passage her litter was carried with a swaying, somnolent movement. then the gates closed with a clang behind her, leaving the escort outside; and she and alice were alone with the flaming torches, the black, engulfing passage, and half a dozen huge negroes in gorgeous raiment. with a sickly feeling, pansy slipped from her litter. her journey's end! the journey had lasted over six weeks. under other circumstances pansy would have enjoyed it. it could not have been more comfortable. she had travelled in the cool of the morning and in the cool of the evening. always for the long midday halt the same sumptuous tent was up, awaiting her reception, taken down again after she had departed, and up again before she arrived at the next halting place. the country she travelled through was an interesting one, park-like and grassy at first, as the weeks passed becoming ever more sandy and arid, with occasional patches that were wonderfully fertile. until, finally, like a glowing, yellow sea before her, she had her first glimpse of the sahara on its southern side--billow upon billow of flaming sand, stretching away to a tensely blue sky, with here and there a stunted bush, a twist of coarse grass, or a clump of distorted cacti with red flowers blazing against the heated, shimmering air--a vast solitude where nothing moved. for a week they had journeyed through the desert. late one evening a lake came into view, with fruitful gardens growing around it, where date palms, olives, and clustering vines flourished. on the far side a walled city showed. it lay golden in the misty glow of evening, its minarets standing out against a shadowed sky. even as she approached it had been swallowed by darkness. softly the lake lapped as they skirted it, and the world was filled with a constant hissing sigh, the sound of shifting sand when the wind roamed over it--the voice of the desert. much as pansy dreaded her journey's end, she welcomed it. she lived for nothing now but to see the sultan; to plead with him for her father, her friends, herself. and she buoyed herself up with the hope that her own riches would enable her to ransom them all. but if she failed! she grew sick at the thought. and the thought was with her as she stood in the stone passage, her strained eyes on the gigantic negro guards who had come to escort her to her new quarters. they were attired from head to foot in rich, brightly coloured silks, and they literally blazed with jewels. the man who was their master might have so much money that he would prefer revenge. this thought was in pansy's mind some minutes later when she sat alone with her maid in one of the many apartments in the palace of el-ammeh. it was a big room with walls and floor of gold mosaic, and a domed ceiling of sapphire-blue where cut rock-crystals flashed like stars. five golden lamps hung from it, suspended by golden chains; lamps set with flat emeralds and rubies and sapphires. it was furnished very much as her tent had been, except that there were wide ottomans against the gilded walls, and the tables and stools were of sandalwood. in one corner stood a large bureau of the same sweet-scented wood, beautifully carved. three heavy, pointed doors of sandalwood led into the apartment. the place was heavy with its sensuous odour. in a little alcove draped with curtains of gold tissue the negroes deposited pansy's belongings. then they withdrew, leaving the girl and her maid alone; pansy with the depressing feeling that money might not have much influence with the sultan casim ammeh. two of the doors of her gilded prison were locked, pansy quickly discovered. outside of the one she had entered by a couple of negro guards were stationed, who refused to let her pass. on learning this, she went out into the fretted gallery. below a garden lay. she stood at the head of the steps leading into it, anxious to get away from the dim scented silence of the great room, in touch with the trees and stars and the cool, rose-scented breath of night that she understood. she tried to argue that all the splendour and luxury placed at her disposal boded well for the future, that her captor might not be going to carry out his threats. her gaze turned towards the room, with its wealth and luxury--a fit setting for a sultan's favourite. pansy shivered. what price might she not have to pay for her father's life? then she thought of raoul le breton. the dark blood in him seemed nothing now, compared with the thought of having to become the chattel of this wild, desert chief. slight sounds in the big room roused her from her reverie. she started violently, expecting to see the sultan coming to make his bargain. but only a couple of white-robed servants were there. the biggest of the inlaid tables was set for dinner; a dinner for one, set in a european way. and the meal that followed was the work of a skilled french _chef_. but the sumptuous repast had no charm for a girl worried to death at the thought of her own fate and her father's. to please alice she made some pretence of eating. leaving her maid to revel in the neglected dainties, pansy went back to her vigil in the arches. in course of time, the lamps burning low, alice's prodigious yawns drove her to lie wakeful among the soft cushions of one of the ottomans. from fitful slumbers alice's voice roused her the next morning. alice with the usual early morning tea, a tray of choice fruit, and a basket full of rare and beautiful flowers. distastefully pansy looked at the choice blossoms. she felt they were from the sultan to his unwilling visitor; a silent message of admiration; of homage, perhaps. "take them away, alice," she said quickly. "and put them where i can't see them." with a curious glance at her mistress, the girl obeyed. pansy drank her tea, all the time pondering on her future. if she had to go under, she would go under fighting. if this wild chief were prepared to give her her father's life in exchange for herself, she would see that he got as little pleasure as possible out of his bargain. if he were infatuated with her as alice and dr. edouard seemed to think, so much the better. all the more keenly he would feel the lashes her tongue would be able to give. pansy knew he spoke french, for this fact had come into the story her father had told her in years gone by. in thinking of the cutting things she would be able to lay to her captor, pansy tried to keep at bay the dread she felt. since he was not there to hit at in person, she hit at him with sneers at his race to alice. "i don't suppose there's anywhere i can have a bath," she remarked when her tea was finished. "cleanliness isn't one of the virtues of these arabs." "dere be one," alice assured her. "de most beautifullest one you eber saw." pansy agreed with her maid some minutes later when she was splashing about in its cool waters. alice had pointed out the place to her. in dressing-gown and slippers, pansy had passed through the wide gallery, a lacy prison of stone it seemed to the girl, for although it gave a wide view of the desert, there was not one spot in its carved side that she could have put her hand through. immediately beneath lay a garden, surrounded by a high wall. pansy had seen many gardens, but none to equal the one before her in peace and beauty. it was a dream of roses. in the middle was a sunken pond where water-lilies floated and carp swam and gaped at her with greedy mouths when her shadow fell across them, as if expecting to be fed. vivid green velvety turf surrounded the pond, a rarity in that arid country. there was nothing else in the garden but roses, of every shade and colour. they streamed in cascades over the high walls. they grew in banks by the pond, in trellised alleys and single bushes. the garden was a gem of cool greenness, scent and silence, and over it brooded the shadows of gigantic cypresses. the bath-room lay beneath the stone gallery, with fretted and columned arches where more roses clung and climbed, opening directly on the scented quiet of the garden. it was a huge basin of white marble, about thirty feet across and deep enough to swim in, with a carved edge, delicate as lace. pansy was in no mood to appreciate her fairy-like surroundings. and the beauty of her prison in no way softened her heart towards her captor. as she splashed about in the bath, over the high walls came the sound of bells, like church chimes wrangling in the distance on an english sunday. wistfully pansy stopped and listened to them. she was travelled enough to recognize them as camel bells; some train coming to this barbaric city. when she returned to the dim, gilded room, breakfast was awaiting her; an ordinary continental breakfast. she pecked at it, too sick at heart to eat. then she sat on, awaiting edouard's appearance. he had parted with her the previous night, promising to come and see her when she was installed in the sultan's palace. it was evening before he came. pansy greeted him eagerly. all day she had dreaded that her captor might appear. but she wanted to see him, to satisfy herself about her father. edouard's visits to her were purely professional, and brief. always his idea was to get away, for his conscience pricked him where pansy was concerned. he was used to his patron's wild ways, and he knew the girl's position was not of her own choosing. "will you tell the sultan i want to see him?" she said when he rose to go. "hasn't he paid you a visit yet?" the doctor asked with surprise. "no, and i'm so worried about my father." edouard left, promising to deliver her message. but he came the next day, saying the sultan had refused to grant her an interview. "i wonder why he won't see me," she said drearily. edouard wondered also. that evening he dined with his friend and patron, not in a gorgeous eastern apartment like pansy's, but in one that was decidedly western in its fittings and appointments. and the sultan was attired as pansy had seen him several times in grand canary, in black dress-suit, white pleated shirt and the black pearl studs. dinner was over before edouard approached the subject of the girl-prisoner. "if i were you i'd see miss barclay," he said. "this suspense won't do her any good. she frets all day about her father." "it's not in my plans to see her just yet," the sultan replied. edouard glanced at him. then he did what for him was a bold thing, fat and comfortable and fond of his easy berth as he was. he challenged his royal master concerning his intentions towards the captive girl. "what are your plans with regard to miss barclay?" he ventured. "she's not one of the sort who can be bought with a string of pearls or a diamond bracelet." "i'm going to marry her," the sultan said easily. edouard experienced a feeling of relief, on his own account as much as pansy's. the doctor studied her with renewed interest the next day when he paid her his usual visit. "if i sent a note to the sultan, do you think it would be any use?" pansy asked him anxiously, the moment he had done with professional matters. "it would do no harm at any rate," he replied. pansy got to her feet quickly. she knew edouard was in touch with her captor--a prisoner like herself she imagined, but free to come and go because of his calling. she did not know he was a man so faithful to his master that the latter's smallest wish was carried out to the letter. going into the alcove where her belongings were, pansy seated herself on the edge of a couch, with a writing-pad on her knee. for some minutes she stayed frowning at a blank piece of paper. it was so difficult to know what to say to this savage chief who held the lives of her father and friends in his hands. after some minutes thinking she wrote: "to the sultan casim ammeh. perhaps you do not know that i am very rich. any price you may ask i am prepared to give for my father's life and freedom, for the lives and freedom of my english friends who are also your prisoners, and for my own. the ransom will be paid to you in gold. all you will have to do will be to mention the sum you want, and allow me to send a message through to my bank in england. pansy langham barclay." the note was put into an envelope, sealed, addressed and taken out to edouard. on handing it over, however, pansy suddenly recollected that the sultan, for all his wealth and power, might be ignorant of the arts of reading and writing. "can he read french?" she asked. an amused look came to the doctor's face. "if he can't make it out, i'll read it to him," he replied. it was evening before le breton got the note. le breton again as pansy knew him, in khaki riding-suit, just as he had returned from a ride on her old race-horse, that had been brought to his camp the day of her capture, and was now in the palace stables. the note was lying on his desk, with the name that pansy now hated--the sultan casim ammeh--written on the envelope in her pretty hand. a tender look hovered about his mouth as he picked up the letter and read it. again the girl was "doing her best" for some helpless creatures--his prisoners. although the fact filled him with an even greater admiration for pansy, it did not lessen his hatred for her father. he sat down and dashed off a brief reply in an assumed hand. "all the gold in africa will not buy my vengeance from me. casim ammeh." his answer reached pansy with her dinner, reducing her to despair. it seemed that nothing she could do would have any influence with this savage ruler. hopeless days followed; days that brought her nothing but a series of elaborate meals. yet she knew that life went on around her; a life quite different from any she had been accustomed to. morning and night she heard faint voices wailing from unseen minarets. over the high walls of her garden came the hum of a crowded city. from her screened gallery she saw camel trains loom out of the haze of distance to el-ammeh, with a wrangle of sweet bells; camels that came from some vast unknown. and there was another sound that pansy heard; a sound that hailed from somewhere within the palace; that always came about bedtime, and always set her shivering; the sound of a girl screaming. each morning with her early tea there was a basket of rare flowers, flowers she did not trouble to tell alice to move now; she put them down to some palace custom, nothing that had any bearing on the sultan. she never thought of le breton's words: "still only a few flowers, pansy?" and each evening she sat in the dim, scented room and waited for those muffled screams. she knew where they came from now; from somewhere behind one of the locked doors leading into her room. limp and listless, she dragged through the hot, monotonous days, brooding on her own fate and her father's, envying the ragged black crows that flew, free, like bits of burnt paper, high in the scorching sky. pansy had been about a fortnight in el-ammeh, when something happened. one morning, as she stood by the sunken pond, feeding the greedy carp with rolls she was too miserable to eat, alice came to her round-eyed and startled-looking. "oh, miss pansy, dey hab come for you," she gasped "who?" pansy asked quickly. "de sultan's soldiers." "are they going to take me to him?" she asked, feeling the interview she desired and dreaded was now at hand. "dey take you to de slave market. to be sold. oh, oh!" the girl wailed. alice's hysterical sobs followed pansy down the dim passage some minutes later, when, with strained face and tortured eyes, she went with a guard of eight arab soldiers to meet the fate the sultan casim ammeh had promised for her more than sixteen years before. chapter xi sir george barclay and most of his staff had a knowledge of eastern prisons from the outside. they knew them to be abodes of misery; dark, insanitary dens, alive with vermin, squalid and filthy, filled with a gaunt, ragged crowd who, all day long, held piteous hands through iron bars, begging for food from the passers-by, the only food they were given. the governor's staff did not look forward to a sojourn in el-ammeh. as for sir george himself, he had other matters than his own personal comfort to dwell on. his thoughts were always with pansy, and always in his heart was the prayer that she would succumb to the effects of cameron's bullet, and not have to meet the fate his enemy had in store for her. after the one interview the sultan had ignored barclay. but during the long journey, sir george often saw his enemy, and if he thought of anything outside of his daughter's fate, it was to wonder why casim ammeh looked so different from the wild hordes he ruled. exactly like a man of the well-bred, darker, latin type, certainly not the son of the savage marauder whom he, barclay, had had to condemn to death. on reaching el-ammeh, the europeans found the quarters awaiting them very different from what experience had led them to expect. they were ushered into a large courtyard dotted with trees and surrounded by high walls. into it a dozen little cells opened. within the enclosure they were free to wander as they pleased; a glance around the place showed them why. the walls were twenty feet high, and as smooth as glass, and there were always a dozen arabs stationed by the gate, watching all they did. at night they were each locked in separate cells. it was impossible to bribe the guards, as cameron and his fellow officers discovered before a week had passed. for the imprisoned englishmen the time passed slowly. often they speculated on their own ultimate fate. whether death would be their portion, or whether they would be left there to stew for years, after the manner of more than one european who had had the misfortune to fall into the clutches of some desert chief. they all knew the reason of their capture--merely because they happened to be on the governor's staff. he had told them the story of casim ammeh, and the promised revenge. they never thought of blaming barclay. what the present sultan of el-ammeh called "murder" was the sort of thing any one of them might be called upon to do. a day came when it seemed to barclay that the fate that wild youth had promised him long years ago was at hand. one morning an escort came for him. in their company he was led out of prison, to his execution, he expected. his staff thought so too; for they took a brief, unemotional farewell of him. they expected the same fate themselves at any moment. however, barclay was not led to his death. the escort took him through a twist of narrow streets, into a house and up a flight of dark stairs. he was left alone in an upper room, with a heavily barred window, through which came a hum of wild voices, with an occasional loud, guttural, excited call. he crossed to the window, and stood there, riveted. there was a big square beneath, seething with dark-faced, white-robed men, all gazing in one direction--in the direction of a raised platform where a girl stood. a slim, white girl. it would have been much easier for sir george to have faced death than the sight before him. pansy was on the platform. his daughter! standing there in full view of the wild crowd. being sold as a slave in the market of this desert city. to become the property of one of those savages. barclay's hand went across his anguished face, to try and shut out the horrible sight. it could not be true! it must be some hideous nightmare. yet there she was, with white face and strained eyes, meeting her fate bravely, as his daughter would. pansy, as he had often seen her, in a simple white muslin dress, and a wide white, drooping hat with a long, blue, floating veil. garbed as she had gone about his camp during his fatal tour. even as sir george looked, pansy's tortured eyes met his, and she tried to smile. the sight broke him utterly, bringing a groan to his lips. at the sound a voice said in french, with a note of savage triumph: "now perhaps _you_ understand what _i_ suffered when you shot my father?" standing behind him was a big man in a khaki riding-suit, a european, he looked. for the moment barclay did not know him for his enemy, the sultan casim ammeh. when he recognised him he did for pansy what he would never have done for himself--he begged for mercy. "for god's sake, for the sake of the civilisation you know, don't condemn my child to such a fate!" he entreated in a voice hoarse with agony. "you showed my father no mercy. why should i show you any now?" the sultan asked coldly. "at least have pity on the girl. do what you like with me, but spare my daughter." "did you show me any pity when i begged for my father's life? 'as ye sow, so shall ye reap.' isn't that what you christians say? there is your harvest. a pleasing sight for me, when i think of my father." the sultan's gaze went to the window, but there was more tenderness than anything else in his eyes as they rested on the slim girl who faced the crowd with such white courage. now one figure stood out from the surge, that of a big, lean man in turban and loin-cloth, with long matted hair and beard, the latter foam-flecked. he stood at the foot of the platform, and his eyes never left the girl as he bid up and up against the other competitors; cursing everyone who bid against him, yet always going higher. "look at that wild man from the desert," the sultan said. "i know him. he is a feather merchant. a miser. his home is a squalid tent, yet he has more money than any man who comes to el-ammeh. love has unlocked his heart. he will give all his hoarded wealth to possess that pretty slave on the platform there. he will be a fitting mate for your daughter. think of her in his arms, and remember the man you murdered--my father, the sultan casim ammeh, whom i have now avenged." at the taunts, despite the difference in their years and physique, george barclay turned on his tormentor. "you brute! you devil!" he cried, springing at him. with easy strength the sultan caught and held him. "you misjudge me," he said; "it's justice--merely 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'" then he pushed the older man from him and, turning on his heel, went from the room. chapter xii the market of el-ammeh was situated in the centre of the city. it was surrounded by a huddle of whitewashed houses, of varying heights and shapes, leaning one against the other, with here and there, over some high wall, a glimpse of greenery--the feathery head of a palm, the shiny leaves of a camphor tree, a pomegranate, an orange or a fig tree. on the side overlooking the square the houses were practically without windows, and the few there were were small and iron-barred. under most of the buildings were dim, cave-like shops hung with rare silks and ostrich feathers, or littered with articles in beaten silver, copper, and iron. there was quaint leatherwork and coarse pottery and a good sprinkling of european goods. several narrow, passage-like streets led into the square, entering it, in some cases, under dark archways. sometimes these ways were barred to the mere public--the poorer people who daily sold produce in the square--and only those with special permits were allowed to enter: men of wealth and substance. every month a sale of slaves was held in the market, generally of arab and negro girls; but occasionally something very different figured there--perhaps some black-haired, black-eyed, creamy beauty brought right across the sahara from the barbary states, a thousand miles away; or some half-caste girl from the soudan, even further afield. when this happened there were always plenty of buyers. men of wealth flocked in from hundreds of miles around, for any skin lighter than brown was a rarity. within the last few weeks word had gone round the district, blown hither and thither in the desert, that a girl even more beautiful than those creamy beauties from the barbary states was to be on sale at the next auction--a girl hailing from, allah alone knew, what far land--paradise, if her description were a true one. a girl with a skin white as milk, hair golden as the sunshine, and eyes of a blue deep as desert night; a maid, moreover, not another man's discarded fancy. for days before the sale, as flies are drawn towards a honey-pot, the caravans of wealthy merchants came trickling in from the desert. when the day itself arrived they hurried with their retinues to the square; some to buy, if possible; others, less wealthy, to see if the maid were as beautiful as report said. on one side of the market square was a raised platform. from the house behind a room opened on it, a big, shadowy room, whitewashed and stone-flagged, with a barred window high up near the ceiling. into that room pansy was taken by her escort in a curtained litter. during the journey to the market she had had the sensation of moving in some ghastly nightmare from which she could not wake herself, much as she tried. it could not be possible that she, pansy langham, the fêted and much-courted heiress, was to be sold as one might sell a horse or a cow. she had the horrible feeling of having lost her own identity and taken on someone else's, yet all the time remembering what had happened when she was pansy langham. she felt she must have slipped back hundreds of years to some previous existence, when girls were sold as slaves; for surely this appalling fate could not be happening to her in the twentieth century? a riot of thought ran through the girl's head during the journey from the palace to the market; a riot of numb, sickly terror, the outstanding feature of which was an inability to credit the fate before her. when pansy reached the room she gave up all hope. she knew she was awake--painfully, horribly wide awake, with a future before her that made her shudder to contemplate. there were a dozen or more girls in the room, but they were railed off from pansy by a thick wooden trellis, like sheep in a pen; brown and black girls, the majority attired in nothing more than a cloth reaching from waist to knee. they had been chattering shrilly among themselves at her entry, apparently in no way appalled at the fate before them; but they broke off when she came in, and crowded to the lattice to get a closer view, gazing at the newcomer and giving vent to little exclamations of awe and envy and admiration. pansy's arrival brought a stout, bearded man in white burnoose in from the house behind. his glance ran over the english girl, but he made no attempt to touch her. then he looked at her escort, who had stationed themselves on either side of her. "by allah!" he exclaimed. "this is a houri straight from paradise you have brought me. never have i sold such loveliness. there will be high bidding in the market of el-ammeh this morning." "i, for one, can't understand why the sultan has not kept this pearl for himself," the leader of the escort said. the auctioneer smiled in a peculiar, knowing fashion. "our sultan has been in lands where there are many such," he replied. "now he gives his subjects a chance to revel in delights that have been his." other men appeared from behind, negroes. at a word from their master they opened the door leading out on the platform. then they stood on either side whilst he passed through. through the open door came a blaze of sunshine, the buzz of a multitude, and presently a long declamation in arabic as the auctioneer enlarged upon the quality of his wares. the girls behind the trellis craned their necks to see what was going on, chattering shrilly among themselves. from where pansy stood she could see nothing. she did not want to see anything. the horror would be upon her quite soon enough. one of the negro assistants opened a gate in the trellis and motioned to a girl. as she appeared on the platform, from outside there came a sigh of disappointment, then guttural voices bidding. another and another of the girls passed out, all apparently indifferent to the ordeal before them. then the auctioneer appeared on the threshold. on seeing him pansy felt her turn had come, and the world started reeling around her. she knew she passed from shadow into sunshine, that dead silence greeted her appearance on the dais--a silence that was followed by a din of wild, excited shouting. it seemed to her that the world was nothing but eyes: the eyes of a surging crowd of dark-faced men, watching her with desire and admiration. to pansy, high-bred and fastidious, it was a vision of hell, this swarm of wild men looking at her with covetous desire. the pit gaped at her feet, peopled with demons, any one of which might spring upon her. then the din died down to a subdued hum as men whispered one to another, their eyes still on the golden-haired girl on the dais. there was a horrible sort of despair on the faces of some as they thought of their more wealthy neighbours; lustful triumph on the faces of others as they thought of their own hoarded gold. [illustration: for sale as a common slave at the taureg auction block.....] then out from the crowd a voice made an offer. the sum staggered the auctioneer. it equalled nearly five hundred pounds of english money. no girl, even the creamy barbary beauties, had ever fetched that amount. wild commotion followed. but the price went up and up, doubling itself in ten minutes. to escape for a moment from the sea of covetous eyes, pansy raised her own. there was someone watching her from a window, someone who looked as tortured as herself--another soul condemned to hell. it was a moment before she recognised that drawn, haggard face as her fathers; it looked an old man's. he was there, the father she loved, condemned by his enemy to see her sold. she tried to smile. it was a woeful effort. and when the blur of tears that seeing him brought to her eyes had passed he was gone. it seemed to pansy that for an eternity she stood on the edge of the pit, waiting until one of the devils, more powerful than the rest, should drag her in. the din died down as the sale proceeded, lost in tense excitement. of the twenty or more who had started bidding for her, only three were left now. one of them, mad with lust and excitement, had forced his way up to the edge of the dais and was clinging to it with grimy hands--a lean man in turban and loin-cloth only, with long matted hair and beard, who, foaming at the mouth, was cursing his competitors, yet always bidding higher as he stared at pansy with the glare of a maddened beast. pansy tried not to see him, but he was always there, horrible beyond comprehension, the worst of the demons in the hell surrounding her. presently, over the murmur of the crowd, came the thunder of a horse's hoofs; of someone riding at breakneck speed through one of the resounding arches leading into the market. pansy did not notice this. she realised nothing now but the half-naked, foaming horror at her feet. suddenly another cry rang through the market-place. fortunately for le breton's plans pansy knew no arabic or she would have recognised that cry as: "the sultan! the sultan!" for casim ammeh had had his vengeance, and now had come in pursuit of love. the cry grew to such a roar of sound that it penetrated the world of dumb terror in which pansy moved, and made her raise her eyes. the crowd in the square had opened up, giving way to a khaki-clad man on a huge, prancing black stallion. across the market-place tortured blue eyes met fiery black ones. then it seemed to pansy that she must be dreaming--a vision of heaven beyond this hell. for raoul le breton was there, a god among these demons. some figment of her own creating that must vanish as she gazed. but he did not vanish. he came closer, straight towards her, the crowd receding like a wave before him. raoul le breton, looking more handsome, more arrogant, more of a king than ever; sitting his black horse like a centaur. pansy's hands went to her heart, and the world started spinning around her. like a knight of old, he had come to her rescue. how he could have got there she was in no condition to consider. it was enough that he was there, in time to save her from the pit of hell gaping at her feet. he rode ride up to the dais, reining in at her side. with outstretched arms, he went towards her. "come, heart's ease, my own brave little girl, there's nothing to fear now," he said. swaying slightly, pansy looked at him again as if he were some vision. then, for the first time in her life, she fainted. with a little laugh of tender triumph, he caught her and lifted her on his horse. as he turned to go, grimy, covetous hands clutched pansy's skirts--the hands of the miser feather merchant. with a savage oath, the sultan raised his heavy riding whip and felled the defiler. then he rode off with pansy. but before this happened sir george barclay had been taken from the room overlooking the slave market. he did not see the sultan casim ammeh come in person to save the girl. he did not know that, in pansy's case, at any rate, the auction had been but a pretence. chapter xiii when pansy returned to consciousness she felt she had awakened from some nightmare and was back in her own world, a civilized world; her capture by the sultan casim ammeh and all the subsequent happenings some wild dream, terrifying in its reality as dreams can be. she was lying on a big bed in a shady room, among sheets and pillows of finest linen; a solid brass bedstead such as might have come from any good shop in london, not among silken cushions and rugs on an ottoman. and there was a bedroom suite of some choice grey wood with a litter of gold toilet appointments on the wide dressing-table. an elderly woman, brown skinned and black eyed, dressed in a swathing of white muslin, was seated by the bedside, fanning herself with a gentle, regular movement, and the air was fresh with the scent of eau-de-cologne. beyond the woman--all down one side of the room--ran a series of arches, over which were drawn blinds of split bamboo. with the feeling of fragments of her nightmare still clinging about her, pansy sat up. then, with a rush, came back the scene in the slave market. "where is mr. le breton?" she asked in a dazed manner. she expected the woman to disclaim all knowledge of any such person. however, she rose immediately. "i'll fetch him," she said in french. she made towards a curtained doorway. pansy watched her go. and her gaze stayed anxiously on the spot where the woman had disappeared. a few moments passed and the curtains were drawn aside again. the woman entered. in her wake was a big man in white drill, with sleek, black hair and a close-clipped, black moustache. on seeing him pansy gave a little hysterical cry. "oh, raoul, i was so afraid you were just a dream!" "no, i'm not a dream, but a solid fact," he replied, going towards her. "come quite close. i want to touch you to make sure." nothing loath, he seated himself on the bed. pansy took one of his hands, holding it in a tight, nervous grip. "yes, it is really you," she said. "in the whole wide world there's no one who feels quite the same as you." she had forgotten his coldness and harshness on the occasion of their last meeting in grand canary--his colour, his religion, everything except that he was there and she was safe. he laughed tenderly and put the loose curls back from her face with a lingering, caressing touch. it was pansy as he had never known her, frightened and clinging to him. pansy as he would have her, looking at him with eyes full of love. "so, little girl, you're quite pleased to see me?" "did you buy me?" she asked in a bewildered voice. "how else could i get you?" he asked, smiling slightly. his voice and touch calmed her a little. "but _you_! how did _you_ get here?" she asked. "you know i'm an african merchant, don't you?" he said easily. "this is my special province. i do most of the trading in this part. and el-ammeh is my headquarters." "but how did you know _i_ was here?" she asked in a dazed tone. "you told me you were coming out to africa. i heard the governor of the adjacent english colony was on tour, his ultimate point a spot some six hundred miles or so from here. some weeks ago the sultan went out on a foray, returning with some english prisoners, a girl among them. there are not many blue-eyed, golden-haired girls in these parts, pansy, so i guessed who she was." it all sounded very feasible. and pansy was in no mood to dispute with miracles. "he hates my father; that's why he did it," she began in a weak, wild way. "never mind about that just now," he replied. "fortunately i was there to save you." she clung tighter to the strong, sinewy hand that had snatched her back from the brink of hell. "oh, raoul, what would have happened if you hadn't come?" she whispered. "well, i did come, so there's nothing more for you to worry about," he said tenderly. "there's my father. the sultan has threatened to kill him," she began hysterically. "you mustn't worry about your father, either. leave things to me. you may be sure i'll do my best for him, too." under the tension of the last few weeks and the final reaction pansy broke down completely. in a weak, wild manner she started sobbing, almost as if her brain had snapped under the strain and relief. evidently le breton had expected something of the sort. going to a table, he poured some water into a glass and dropped a couple of cachets into it. when they had melted he came back to the distraught girl. seating himself on the edge of the bed, he slipped an arm around her. "come, drink this up," he said authoritatively; "then, when you've had a good sleep, you can tell me all your adventures." "i daren't go to sleep," she sobbed, "for fear i should wake up in hell!" he drew the golden head on his shoulder with a soothing, protective touch. "i'll stay with you and see that doesn't happen," he said tenderly. at the promise, pansy drank the proffered draught. then she lay back among the pillows. he held the empty glass towards the arab woman. she took it, and would have gone from the room, as she was accustomed to going when the sultan pleased to linger with any one of his slave girls; but his voice stopped her. "there's no need to go, sara," he said. then he stayed, smiling down at the worn little face on the pillows, until the wild blue eyes closed in drugged slumber. afterwards he sat watching pansy in a calculating manner. just then it seemed to le breton that his plans had succeeded; that he was going to have all he wanted. revenge he had had; love now seemed within his grip. a sense of gratitude for her supposed rescue, in conjunction with the love pansy still had for him, would be a strong enough combination to make her forget his colour and bring her into his arms in the way he wanted--of her own free will. yet he was not wholly satisfied, for the method he had used to attain his ends was not one a civilised person would approve of. a huddled heap against one of the fluted columns, old sara sat and watched him. from time to time she muttered to herself and cracked her knuckles for luck and to keep off the "evil eye." she had seen another sultan bewitched by one of these lovely white girls; and she hoped that this girl would prove kinder to the son than the lady annette had been to the father. chapter xiv great stars flashed in a desert sky, a sky deep and soft, like purple velvet. they looked down on a sea of sand over which the wind roamed; and always and ever in its train there followed a sighing hiss, sometimes loud, sometimes soft, but always there, a constant, stealthy menace in the night. in the dark depths, one great curling billow of sand showed, the coarse grass that fringed its crest looking like spray lashing through the night. beneath, a little yellow fire glowed. in the glimmer a few ragged tents stood, patched and squalid dwellings. among them mangy camels lay and groaned and gurgled and snored, with their long necks stretched along the sand, looking like prehistoric beasts. here and there half-naked men and boys slept and gaunt dogs prowled--slinking, furtive shadows through the encampment, nosing about for scraps of the evening meal. there had been no meal for the owner of the caravan that night. a hunger that could not be assuaged with food, and a thirst that no drink could quench, raged within him. now a burning lust kept sleep at bay and sent him prowling like some wild beast into the desert, hoping that there relief might be found. but for him none was to be had there. the blue of the sky was like the eyes of the girl he had lost. her skin had rivalled the stars in its purity. the very fire that burnt outside of his squalid home mocked him. it was golden as her hair. but for the sultan that girl would be his. now! this night. his, to hold within his arms--that milk-white maid! he flung his arms out to the night, then strained them across his chest. but for the sultan all that maddening beauty would lie within his grip. his to crush and caress. his! the thought was torture. "curse him! curse him! curse him!" he cried aloud to the mocking night. then he stretched grimy paws towards a voiceless heaven. "allah, give him into my hands, the sultan casim ammeh, who has robbed me of the flower of my desire. that milk-white maid--a houri of thy sending. guide my step to those who are his enemies. to those who would break him, as he has broken me. surely a man so mighty has others as mighty who hate him. there are always kings ready to make war on other kings. allah, most high, let me find them. allah, most merciful, grant my prayer. like the wind in the desert i will roam--to the east, the west, the north, the south--until i find them.--his enemies. then i will deliver him unto their hands." the mad prayer of a wandering feather merchant against his sultan; the prayer of a man whom, in his wealth and power and arrogance, casim ammeh had not considered. but one which was to bear fruit. chapter xv giving no thought to the grimy wretch out there in the desert, the sultan was seated in one of the deep, open galleries of his palace. some ten feet below a garden sighed, and the soft wind that wandered in and out of the fretted arches was ladened with the scent of a thousand flowers. close at hand a fountain whispered, and from the distance came the gentle lap of the lake. however, he noticed none of these things. there was something of far greater interest close beside him. among the cushions of a wicker lounge pansy lay, her head pillowed on silk and down, a worn look still on her face. night had fallen before she awoke from her drugged slumber. she had found le breton still beside her, and the room full of the soft glow of shaded lamps. once she was fully awake he had left, promising to come again after dinner. she had dined in the gallery. the roofed terrace was lighted by the glow coming from the two rooms behind. one was her bedroom; the other a gorgeously appointed _salon_. but at the end of these two rooms an iron grille went across the gallery, stopping all further investigations. when le breton came he found pansy on the terrace. once he was seated, she told him what had happened to her father's party. then she went back to the beginning, sixteen years before, with the story of the youthful sultan; but she did not mention that she had been wounded and ill, for fear of having to meet a host of anxious enquiries. without comment he listened. when she finished, all he said was: "well, i suppose the sultan has his point of view, since it appears your father was responsible for the death of his." "but it was my father's duty to condemn him. he would hate doing it, for he can't bear to hurt people. it was not 'murder,' as the present sultan seems to think." to this le breton had nothing to say. "you must let the french government know my father is a prisoner here," she went on. "then they'll send an expedition and rescue him and his officers." "i couldn't do that, pansy. you forget i'm half arab. i can't go back on my father's people." pansy had forgotten this fact about him; and it seemed her father's freedom was not quite so close at hand as she had imagined. "could i send my father a note?" she asked anxiously. "that cruel sultan sent him to see me sold. it must have been torture for him; for i'm all he's got, and he's awfully fond of me. i want to say i'm safe here with you. i can't bear to think of him in torment." "write a note if you like, and i'll see what i can do," he replied. at once she got up and went into the _salon_ where she had noticed a writing-table. the place was more like a hall than a room; a spreading columned apartment, with walls and floor and ceiling of white marble, where fountains played into fern-grown basins and palms stood in huge, gilded tubs. there were deep, soft, silk-covered chairs and lounges, a sprinkling of gilded tables, and a large grand piano. some minutes later pansy returned to her host with a letter in her hand. he took it, and then rose to go. "you mustn't sit up too late," he said, looking down at her with an air of possession; "you've had a trying day, and don't worry any more about anything or anybody." so saying, he left her. full of gratitude, pansy watched him go. and her conscience smote her. on the whole she had treated him rather badly. she had promised to marry him, and then had gone back on her word. she did not deserve his kindness and consideration. he had been so cold and harsh that night on her yacht in grand canary. he was none of these things now. he was just as he had been during their one brief week of friendship, but even nicer. pansy sighed, and her face grew wistful. why wasn't he just like other men? why had fate been so unkind? giving her love, but in such a form that pride revolted from taking it. then pansy went to bed, to lie awake for some time, brooding on the miracle the day had brought forth and the black barrier that stood between her and her lover. she was about early the next morning and wandering in the garden. it was a long stretch of shady walks and sunken ponds and splashing fountains, full of tropical trees, scented shrubs, and rare blossoms--a tangle of delights. in one spot she found a tennis court, walled with pink roses. the grounds went on, ending in a wide, flagged terrace, with stone seats and shallow steps leading down to the blue waters of the lake. high walls ran down either side of the spreading garden. behind, a huge building rose in domes and turrets and terraces--the palace of el-ammeh had pansy but known it, of which her new quarters were but a further portion. blissfully ignorant of this fact, she turned her steps from the rippling lake and wandered along a flower-decked path that twisted under shady trees and creeper-grown arches, coming presently to a locked iron gate let into the massive walls. it gave a view of a scorched paddock where a dozen or more horses were browsing. pansy paused and scanned the animals. one was strangely familiar. that gaunt chestnut browsing there could only be "the sultan"! amazed at her discovery, she called the horse by name. at once the brown head was up, and the beast came galloping in her direction. even in the days of her illness and during her imprisonment in the palace, pansy had spared a thought for her protégé. she imagined he had become the property of one of the arab raiders, and she hoped his new master would be kind to him and understand him as she did. through the iron bars pansy caressed her pet. "i never expected to see you again, sultan, old boy," she said. "raoul must have bought you, too." she was standing there talking to and petting the animal when le breton's step roused her. "are you pleased to see him again?" he asked, after greeting her. "pleased isn't the word for it. but how did you manage to get hold of him?" "he was really the cause of my getting hold of you," he replied without hesitation. "i saw him in the possession of one of the soldiers who had come back from that foray. that made me doubly certain who the white girl was whom the sultan was going to put up for sale." "raoul, you must let me give you back all you had to pay for me," she said. "why should you?" he asked, a slight smile hovering about his lips. "you saved my life. now we're 'quits.' isn't that what you called it?" pansy did not argue the point. nevertheless, she determined to repay him once she and her father were back in civilisation. "how long will it take to get my father free?" she asked. "it all depends on the sort of mood i catch the sultan in. with the best of luck, it'll be some weeks." "has he got my note yet, do you think?" she asked anxiously. "he'll go grey with worrying over me. i can't bear to think of the look on his face when he saw me in that ... that awful slave market." le breton had destroyed her message the moment he had reached his own rooms. now he could not meet the beautiful eyes that looked at him with such perfect trust. "i expect the message will get through before the day is out," he answered. "it's merely a matter of 'baksheesh.'" at his words the world became quite a nice place again for pansy, the only shadow in it now the dark blood in her lover. chapter xvi night filled the harem with shadows and scent. the silver lamps cast a soft glow through the huge hall, glinting on wide ottomans and piles of cushions, on little tables set with coffee and sherbet, sweets and fruit and cigarettes. there were perhaps thirty women in the great room, but the majority of them were the attendants of the half-dozen girls lolling on couches and cushions around the splashing fountain. full length on a wide ottoman leonora was stretched, her dark eyes fixed spitefully on an adjacent lounge where the arab girl lay, her face hidden in the cushions, her golden form almost buried in her wealth of black hair. "see, rayma, it's night again," leonora said, malice in her soft, drawling voice. "night! and still our lord casim has not come to visit you." there was a sob from the other girl, but no reply. "how you jeered at me, rayma, when you stole his heart from me," leonora went on. "but now it seems another has stolen his heart from you, since he no longer comes to see you. another whom i shall welcome as a sister." at the taunt rayma sat up suddenly, with a wild gesture pushing the mass of black hair back from her face. "for weeks and weeks he has not been here," she wailed. "oh, my heart it breaks for love of him." leonora laughed, but an elderly woman sitting near laid a soothing hand on the distraught girl. "hush, rayma, my pearl," she said. "haven't i often told you our sultan has had thoughts for nothing but vengeance of late?" "would vengeance keep him away from me all these weeks? it's more than vengeance. it's love. love for some other girl." rayma clutched at the woman with slim, jewelled hands. "tell me, sara, you come and go at will through the palace. is there one?" "my pearl, if there was one, wouldn't she be here in the harem?" sara answered diplomatically. "yes, and so she would," rayma replied more quietly. "and i could measure my beauty against hers." then she started rocking herself to and fro, in an agony of grief. "did he but come, my love, my lord casim, his heart would be mine again," she sobbed. then she stopped wailing suddenly, and faced the old woman anxiously. "sara, tell me quickly, have these weeks of weeping made me less beautiful?" however, she did not wait for any reply. her gaze went to the arches, where night looked in at her mockingly. "look. it is night," she cried. "and my heart is hungry for love. for the love of my lord casim. for his arms. his kisses. again it is night. and he has not come." then through the vaulted room piercing shriek after piercing shriek rang--the shrieks of a lovesick girl in the throes of hysteria. as sara sat patting rayma's hands and trying to soothe her, she thought of the milk-white maid with the wide blue eyes and the golden curls, whom the sultan himself had brought unconscious to his palace, and who was lodged--as no other slave girl had ever been--in his own private suite. and who treated her master--as no other slave had ever treated him--as if she were his equal, even his superior, making him wait on her. a task the sultan seemed to find pleasure in! chapter xvii on the terrace of her quarters, pansy sat at dinner with her host. three days had passed since her rescue from the slave-market; three delightful days for the girl, assured of her own safety, her father's coming freedom and the welfare of her friends. during the time, le breton had been with her almost constantly. from breakfast time until after dinner always at her disposal, ready to fall in with her wishes so long as they did not entail too much exertion on her part. she was anxious to be on "the sultan," and off for a long gallop, but this he vetoed firmly. "it would cause too much of a sensation," he had said. "in this country women don't ride about on horseback. we should have the whole city at our heels." pansy had no desire for this to happen, lest the sultan casim should learn she had fallen into the hands of a friend, and snatch her away from her rescuer, so she did not urge further. but it was on account of her health, and not the idea of a crowd of his own subjects, that made le breton refuse this indulgence; for fear she should not be strong enough to stand the shaking. he was quite willing to take her rowing on the lake, to play croquet with her, or a game of billiards; but most of all willing to sit at her side in the peaceful, scented garden, or in the cool gallery, or the _salon_, watching her; an occupation that pansy, with an extensive knowledge of men and their ways, knew the ultimate end of. an end she was doing her best to keep at bay. but, in spite of everything, she had the feeling of being a prisoner. the iron grilles at either end of the long gallery were never unlocked; nor was the gate into the paddock. there was never a boat at the foot of the steps leading to the lake except when le breton was with her. she had explored her quarters further. beyond the _salon_ there was a combined billiard-room and library, and its one exit led into a sort of big alcove dressing-room. beyond that was her host's bedroom, as to her dismay she had discovered on opening the door. for she had found him there in shirt sleeves and trousers with a dark-faced valet, who, on seeing her, had melted away discreetly. pansy would have melted away also, but it was too late. in a perfectly unperturbed manner, le breton had crossed to her side. "so, pansy, you've come to pay me a visit?" he said teasingly. "that's hardly the sort of thing i'd expected of you." "i'd no idea----" she began in a confused manner. "there's no need to make excuses. you'll find all the roads here lead to mecca. and i'm always pleased to see you," he broke in, in the same teasing strain. "if you'd kept your promise, we should be quite a staid married couple by now. and you'd be free to come and go in my apartments. think of it, pansy." pansy thought of it, and her face went crimson. her blushes made him laugh. to the sound of his laughter, soft and mocking, she retreated, and she did not explore in that direction again. she explored by way of her own bedroom instead, only to find that led into his study. and after that she did no more exploring. for it seemed that all roads did lead to mecca. whichever way she turned, raoul le breton was there, coming between her and the man she feared and hated--the sultan casim ammeh. "i feel like a prisoner," she remarked on one occasion. they were sitting by the lake, under the shade of fragrant trees, with the blue water lapping the marble steps and the sun setting over the desert. a gilded world, where a golden sunset edged the golden sand, one flaming yellow sea above another. "you're a novelty here," he replied. "a pearl of great price. if i didn't keep you well guarded, there would be a hundred ready to steal you. and i flatter myself that, on the whole, you'd rather be with me." he paused, watching her with dark, smouldering eyes. "am i right, heart's ease?" he finished tenderly. pansy coloured slightly under the ardour of his gaze. had he been as other men were, she would not have hesitated in her reply. she would have said in her own impulsive, truthful way: "i'd rather be with you than anyone in the whole wide world." but now his colour and religion were constantly before her. and pride kept any such confession from her lips. so instead she said: "no one could have been kinder than you, raoul. i can never be grateful enough." his kindness had been before her that night when she dressed for dinner. pansy had no clothes except the ones in which he had brought her. but, within three days, there was an elaborate wardrobe at her disposal; the frocks fashioned like those she had worn in grand canary. in one of these dresses she now sat at dinner with him; a misty robe of chiffon, but there were no diamonds sparkling like dew upon it. all her jewels had been left behind in the dim, gilded room in the palace of el-ammeh. when dinner was over, as they sat together in the _salon_, le breton remarked on the fact. "they've stolen all your pretty jewels, pansy," he said. "you must let me give you some others." "you've done quite enough for me already," she replied promptly. "i can manage without jewels until i get back to england." at her words his eyes narrowed. "couldn't you be content to stay here?" he asked in a rather abrupt manner. "for a few weeks, perhaps, then i should be craving change and variety. 'the light of the harem' act isn't one that would satisfy me for long." then pansy was sorry she had spoken. she remembered that he had admitted to having a harem, probably somewhere in this very house. but she had spoken with the idea of letting him see his case was hopeless; of saving him the pain of refusal. "considering how ill you've been, the 'light of the harem act,' as you call it, would be the best sort of life for you for some time to come." "how do you know i've been ill?" she asked quickly. le breton saw he had made a slip, but he covered it up smartly. "gossip told me," he said coolly. there was silence for a time, during which he sat with his gaze on her. "why don't you smoke?" pansy asked suddenly, anxious to get something between herself and him. "when you're about i don't need any soothing syrups," he replied. he was approaching dangerous ground again. to ward him off pansy rose and went to the piano. seating herself there, she wandered from one item to another, with scarcely a pause between. but the feeling of his eyes never off her made her stop all at once and laugh hysterically. a crisis had to be faced sooner or later. things might as well come to a head now as to-morrow or next week. at that moment pansy remembered the man who had held her with such fierce strength and passion in the moon-lit garden of the villa. and she wondered, not without a touch of alarm, how he would take her refusal. she got up and went to his side. "i must give you something else to do than just watching me. it makes me nervous," she said. from a box on a table near she took a cigarette and placed it between his lips. then she struck a match and held it towards him. in a lazy, contented manner, he let her do it. but when the cigarette was lighted, he did not give her time to draw her hand away. he caught her wrist, and drawing her hand a little closer, blew out the match. when this was done, he did not let her hand go. instead, he took one or two puffs at the cigarette, all the time watching her closely. "i didn't give you my hand 'for keeps,'" she said. "i want it back again, please." it was hint enough for any man, but le breton did not take it. in a deliberate manner, and with her still a prisoner, he got to his feet, and put the cigarette on the table. pansy did not try to free herself. the situation had to be faced. when the cigarette was laid down, he took the other delicate wrist into his keeping. then he drew the girl right up to him, until her hands were resting on his chest. "pansy, suppose i ask you to redeem your promise?" he said. "oh no, i couldn't," she answered, a trifle breathlessly. "why not? i'm exactly the same man now that i was when you promised to marry me. a much better man, if you only knew it. thanks to meeting you." "i didn't know anything about you then." "but you knew you loved me." "i do now, raoul," she said. "does the fact of my arab blood make marriage between us impossible?" there was no reply. in her silence le breton read his answer. his hands tightened on her wrists, and a baulked look crossed his face. so the black barrier was one that neither love nor gratitude would make her cross willingly. there were some bitter moments for him, as he realised this. for all his wealth and power, for all his scheming, despite the fact that pansy confessed to loving him, she refused to be his wife. it seemed that nothing he could do would bring her into his arms in the willing way he wanted. pansy was the first to speak. in that crushing grip on her wrists, she read an agony of pain and disappointment, that her one desire now was to soothe. "it's not you, raoul. it's the idea," she said in a low voice. "so the idea of marrying me is repugnant. and yet you love me?" she nodded. loosing her wrists he turned to the table, and took another cigarette. this, however, he lighted for himself. pansy watched him, marvelling at the cool way he had taken her refusal. considering the fire and temper in the man and his air of never having been thwarted in any way, it was hardly what she had expected. she put it down to the fact that she was completely at his mercy, alone and helpless in this barbaric city. her heart ached at the thought that through no fault of his own she could only give him pain in return for all his kindness. going to his side, she laid a slim hand on his sleeve. "raoul, i hope you know you're awful nice about things," she said. he glanced at her. at the beautiful eyes raised to his with infinite gentleness in their velvety depths. and he laughed. "am i?" he said. then he laughed again. and his mirth was a mingling of bitterness and savagery. chapter xviii pansy saw nothing of her host until the following afternoon. almost immediately after his declaration le breton left her. most of his time had been spent in contemplating the truth now before him. his scheming had failed. a sense of gratitude had not made the girl forget his colour. after a sleepless night, he was up and away, riding madly along one of the sandy tracks that served his kingdom as roads, in a vain endeavour to escape from his chagrin and disappointment, and trying to decide on his next move. he was surprised at his own hesitation. having failed to attain his object, he was astonished that he should pause before doing what was obviously the only course left open to him. just take the girl, whether she liked it or not. but he knew why he hesitated. pansy loved him in her own way, as she might love a man of her own nationality. if he took her in his high-handed fashion, that love might be swept from him. and the idea was one that he could not bear to contemplate. he returned from his wild ride still undecided on the next move. in this frame of mind he came upon pansy, in the midst of a solitary afternoon tea, set in a shady corner of the tennis court. she greeted him as if the episode of the previous afternoon had never been. "what have you been doing with yourself all day?" she asked, as she handed him a cup of tea. "i've been trying to ride off my disappointment," he replied. pansy, too, had been fighting a battle of her own. most of her night had been spent in arguing with temptation. she was rich and independent. why shouldn't she marry the man she loved, even if it were going against all the canons of her society? she was wealthy enough to defy society. she owed more than her life to him. gratitude as well as love urged her towards him. why should she make him suffer through no fault of his own? why should she suffer herself? why should she shut herself up from the man she loved because he happened to be a--a---- "a nigger." the echo of dennis's voice shouted the word at her, as it had seemed to shout that night in the london hotel, when le breton's name had been mentioned. pansy looked at her host as he lolled beside her; a picture of strength and handsomeness. she wished his dark blood were more in evidence. that he did not look exactly like some of the big french, spanish, and italian men she had seen occasionally in various places on the continent. so absolutely european was he that it was impossible to think he was half-arab. "i wish you weren't so nice and handsome, raoul," she said impulsively. he cast a quick, speculative glance at her. perhaps, after all, a little more patience was all that was needed--patience combined with his own presence. when tea was over, pansy got up in a restless way. "i feel i must do something active, or else go mad," she remarked. the feeling was one he could sympathise with. "we'll have a game of tennis then, if you promise to go easy." pansy remembered the way he had played that afternoon in grand canary. "you'll simply mop the floor with me," she said. "i'll play you left-handed." only too anxious to get away from her own thoughts and the temptation they brought, pansy turned towards the court. when the game started he handled his opponent carefully, putting the balls where she could get them without any effort. at the end of the first set pansy objected to his methods. "you're not really trying, you're only playing with me," she said. "it wouldn't be fair for me to pit all my strength against yours, would it now?" he asked. "well, do make a game of it. if you go on like this, i could sit down comfortably in the middle of the court and win. you needn't put the balls on my racket. i can stretch an inch or so around without fatal results." the next game was more strenuous. but, as it went on, pansy, getting excited, forgot caution. a long stretch and an upward spring to intercept one of her opponent's balls, brought cutting, knife-like pains tearing at her chest. the racket dropped from her grip. she stood, white and swaying, her hand on her heart. in a moment he had vaulted the net, and was at her side, his arm about her, concern on his face. "it's nothing," she gasped. "it's that accursed bullet," he said, conscience-stricken. "when edouard extracted it, he warned me you'd feel the effects for some time." he spoke without thinking, the sight of her suffering making him forget his double rôle. at the moment pansy was too full of pain to grasp what he had said. half leading, half carrying her, he took her to the nearest chair, settling her there with a cushion at her head. with white lips she smiled at him; her only desire to allay his concern. "there's nothing to worry about," she said faintly. "i'm a long way from being dead." "it's all my fault," he said hoarsely. "oh no, you always said i mustn't be too strenuous," she contradicted. le breton let it stay at that, aware that he had said more than he intended to say, and hoping the girl had not grasped all that lay within his comment. for some minutes pansy sat quiet, and, as her pain receded, her companion's sentence came more to the fore. "it's that accursed bullet. when edouard extracted it he warned me you'd feel the effects for some time." from alice, pansy had learnt that the bullet had been extracted on the day she was brought into her enemy's camp. then raoul must have been there! with the sultan's forces! but why hadn't he told her? why had he pretended that he only had _guessed_ she was the girl captured? why had he never mentioned dr. edouard before? why had dr. edouard never mentioned him? it looked as if he had not wanted her to know. but why hadn't he wanted her to know? as pansy pondered on the problem, mingled with the sweetness of the roses came another scent she knew--one that had greeted her every morning during her stay in the palace. above the screening trellis of roses, a tree grew, covered with great bunches of pink flowers, like apple blossom but more vivid, filling the air with fragrance. pansy had seen the flower before; among the blossoms that used to come to her every morning in the dim, gilded chamber. "still only a few flowers, pansy?" le breton's remark in the orange groves at telde suddenly flashed across her mind. she remembered also his array of arab servants, how obsequious they had been to their master on that occasion; and his wealth and magnificence; a splendour that was almost regal. close to where she sat, the tea-table stood. among the assortment of cakes were one or two of a kind she had seen previous to her rescue. tiny, diamond-shaped dainties, made from layers of sponge cake and marzipan with chocolate icing on the top. often, in those long, hopeless days in the gilded prison, a similar morsel was all she had been able to eat for her tea. sixteen years ago a boy of about fourteen had sworn to kill her father. he would be thirty now. the same age as----! and the sultan spoke french too! they were little things, but they all pointed in one and the same direction. and, as pansy brooded on them, an incredulous expression came to her eyes, and, with it, a look as if she were fighting to keep some horrible, impossible truth at bay. her gaze went to le breton. "a great, big, fine man, awful good-looking." alice's description of the sultan casim ammeh came back to her. words that fitted her host exactly. as she looked at him, from the paddock came the stamp of a horse's hoof. she was here. her favourite horse was here. raoul le breton was here. all of them in this desert city hundreds of miles from civilisation. such a combination could not be unless---- "if i were a king in babylon and you were a christian slave. or to get down to more modern times. if i were a barbaric sultan somewhere in africa and you a girl i'd fancied and caught and carried off..." his own words came echoing through her head; condemning words. then she recollected with what unpleasant emphasis he had said "au revoir," on parting with her that night on her yacht. all at once pansy's miracle exploded. she wondered how she could have been such a fool as not to have guessed sooner. this was the sultan casim ammeh! this man standing before her! he caught her gaze and smiled; it seemed to the girl, mockingly. "well, heart's ease, are you feeling better?" he asked. "after this you'll agree with me that 'the light of the harem' act is the most suitable life for you just at present." it seemed to pansy that he was gibing her.--at her trust, her belief, her incredulous folly. what a blind fool she had been! it was all as plain as daylight now. raoul le breton was the sultan casim ammeh. it was her father's enemy she had confessed to loving; had wept in front of, clung to, trusted, displaying a weakness that had fallen to no man's lot, save her father's. at the thought pansy's soul writhed within her. how could she have been such a fool! how he must have laughed at her! raoul le breton had condemned her to the unspeakable ordeal of the slave market in order to torture her father. he had done it! raoul le breton! the man she loved. pansy did not love him now. she hated him. for a moment she was too stunned by her discovery to say or do anything. then she said in a voice that wild anger stifled somewhat: "so _you_ are the sultan casim ammeh." as pansy spoke she got to her feet, her eyes blazing. there was no mistaking what was on her face. she had guessed the truth. on realising this, he made no attempt at further deception. "_i_ am the sultan casim ammeh," he said, smiling. "and, my little slave, _you_ are my most cherished possession. more to me than my kingdom." his cool confession staggered her. as he stood there, unabashed and unrepentant, she looked round quickly, in search of something to strike him with. for the knowledge of his deceit and duplicity had made her beside herself with rage. since there was no weapon at hand, she set off rapidly across the lawn, heedless of where she went, her only desire to get away from him. she had not gone very far, however, before he was at her side. "where are you going, pansy?" he asked with a masterful air. that he should dare to follow her; dare to call her by her name enraged her beyond all bounds. and his words added to her fury. they made her realise there was nowhere she could go to escape him. like a whirlwind she turned upon him. "i wish ... i wish i could kill you," she gasped. there was a tennis racket lying at her feet. as if to carry out this design, she stooped and picked it up; her only desire now to send it crashing into the mocking, masterful face. but he guessed her intention. in a moment he had grasped the racket and wrested it away. "no, pansy," he said. "no one has ever struck me, and you're not going to. for i don't quite know what the consequences might be." there was a brief, tense silence. as he looked at the girl, it seemed that fate had decided the next move for him. "we may as well come to an understanding," he went on. "i hate your father, but i love you. and you've got to have me, whether you like it or not. i'd prefer to marry you in your english way. but if you won't consent to that, then--i shall take you, in mine. the choice is with you." there was only one part of his ultimatum that pansy thoroughly grasped. and there seemed no limit to his audacity. "i'd rather die than marry you," she flamed. "for i hate you. do you hear? i hate you more than anything on this earth." he heard right enough, and his face blanched at her words. then, before he had recovered from this blow, pansy struck him across the mouth, with all her strength, bringing blood to the lips that dared to talk of love to _her_. chapter xix there was a new slave in the sultan's harem, a dazed girl who looked as if she moved in dreams. she was not reclining on a lounge or cushions, as the other girls around the fountain were. she half sat, half knelt upon her cushions, her slim bare legs beneath her, her hands lying listlessly on her knee, staring straight ahead as if in a trance. since that episode on the tennis court, pansy felt as if she were living in the midst of some wild story, in which raoul le breton and the sultan casim ammeh had got mixed. the sultan wanted to marry her. and she had refused. then----! then, infuriated with the sense of her own helplessness and his complete power, she had struck him. she could see him now, with the blood oozing on his lips, his face white with rage, his eyes flaming, looking as if he could kill her. and she had wished he would. then there would have been an end of it all. she would have done with him, herself, her own folly, and the hatred that raged like a fire within her. but he had not touched her. white with passion he had just stood and looked at her. and she had looked back, waiting for the end that had not come. instead, three women had come. and she had been taken out of his presence. through the big _salon_ and along dim passages, past silk-clad, jewelled guards, and into a little room, with an ottoman and cushions and a tiny window, all fretted like lace, impossible to get out of. then the women had undressed her. they were three to one. it was useless to struggle: dignity seemed all that was left to her. there was not much of that even when the women had done with her. they put her into a white silk slip that reached only to her knees, and with nothing more than a strap of pearls on either shoulder. they would have heaped more pearls upon her, string upon string about her neck. but she would not have that. she tore them off, so angrily that the slender threads snapped and they fell like frozen tears upon the marble floor, as her amber beads had fallen that night in his villa! what a minor thing lucille lemesurier was now! forgivable when she had learnt his race and religion. not like this gigantic deception. a deception that had forced her into saying she loved the sultan casim ammeh--the man who had tortured her father. leaving the women grovelling after the scattered pearls pansy had rushed from the room, her only desire to seek some way of escape. she had gone in her short slip and short curls, looking like some lovely, rebellious child. her steps had taken her into a big room like a hall, where a crowd of women were gathered; half a dozen of them, girls dressed in a similar style to herself. then pansy's strength went from her suddenly. she realized where she was. in the sultan's harem! and she knew there would be no escape. sara had come to her, and had led her towards a pile of cushions set by a fountain where the other girls were. and the woman had said sharp words to the assembly, who had risen as if to crowd around her--words that had kept them at bay. when she was seated they had stayed looking at her, most of them with curiosity and friendliness. but there was one face that pansy, for all her numbness, saw was hostile; the face of a beautiful, golden-skinned girl. there was one girl, too, who was more than specially friendly, who said to her in a soft, cooing voice: "where do you come from, sister, for your skin is whiter than mine?" pansy did not answer leonora's question. she was wondering herself where she came from. from another world, it seemed. it was incredible that she, pansy langham, could be a slave in a sultan's harem, garbed as these other slave girls were. incredible that only that afternoon she had been playing tennis with raoul le breton, as she might have played with any man in her own place in england. what ages ago it was! yet perhaps it was only an hour. like a beautiful dream that had vanished. there was no raoul le breton. no big, masterful man whom she had had to love, in spite of everything. there was only this barbaric sultan who hated her father. who, because she refused to marry him, had sent her to this strange room. his harem! and she was his slave! she pansy langham, who had never obeyed any will except her own. her hands clenched. how she hated him! he was so supremely master. any moment he might come to pick whichever of his slaves he fancied. and--he might pick her. the ignominy of it! just to be a man's chattel. and, hitherto, all men had been _her_ abject and willing slaves. heedless alike of leonora's cooing advances, and rayma's dark scowls, pansy sat down. the shadows gathered. the lamps were lit. then dinner time came. a conglomeration of sweets and fruit and dainties set out on silver trays, with only a spoon to eat with. again leonora's voice broke into pansy's broodings. "come, won't you eat, my sister?" she coaxed, pushing one of the trays closer. but pansy felt as if she could never eat a bite again. rayma ate nothing either. with angry eyes, she studied the newcomer. pansy was very beautiful in her way, but no more beautiful than rayma was in hers. and what was more, she was not perfect. there was an ugly red scar on one of her milk-white arms. and the lord casim hated flaw or blemish on a woman. would this new slave's presence bring him to the harem? if he came----! rayma clenched her little white teeth. then there would be a battle royal between this white girl and herself for his favors. but she would not let his heart go lightly. stretched full length on her couch, her elbows on the soft cushions, her pointed chin in the cup of her hands, the arab girl lay watching her rival and waiting. the evening wore on. the lamps burnt low, and started to flare and crackle, without any sign of the sultan coming. presently, shriek after shriek, echoing through the vaulted hall, roused pansy from her broodings, making her look round in a quick, startled manner. the shrieks were familiar. muffled they had reached her every evening in that dim, gilded chamber. "it's only rayma," leonora said indifferently. "she has hysterics every night because the sultan does not come. he has not been to the harem now for three months or longer. not since he left the city on some foray. she fears some other girl has stolen his heart from her." leonora paused, her great eyes on the new-comer. "is it you, my sister?" she finished inquisitively. "for, if so, i shall love you." but pansy had nothing to say. at that moment she was wondering why rayma shrieked because the sultan had not come. there seemed to her more reason to shriek if he did come. chapter xx on one of the terraces of his palace the sultan sat and brooded, his face hard and savage, as he glowered at the scene ahead of him; a harmless scene where night shadows settled on a scented garden with the glint of a lake beyond. never in his life had such an indignity been put upon him. never had anyone dared dispute his right to do what he pleased. never! until this english girl had come into his life. and she had struck him. the sultan! as if he were some erring menial whose ways had annoyed her. under the recollection the man's untamed soul writhed. she had done as she liked all her life. all that money of hers had given her ideas no woman ought to have. now she had to learn that he was her master. she was in the harem now. and there she could stay. a spell there would cool her temper and make her more amenable to his wishes. the trees in the garden sighed faintly. the soft wind brought the scent of roses and the splash of a fountain. his mind went back to another garden, in far-away grand canary. the echoes of a girl's voice whispered: "put your ear quite close. it's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." she had shouted loud enough that she hated him. she had not whispered that fact. a spasm of pain crossed his face. why did she fight against him? this slender, lovely, helpless girl, whom he could break with one hand. she fought bravely, with all the odds against her. and she had dared to do what no one else in the place dared do. what no one had ever done in the whole of his wild, unbridled life. she had dared to strike him, fair and square, with all her strength, across the mouth. then suddenly his anger melted. a smile came and played about his scarred lips. surely no man could be angry for long with a girl so brave and helpless. he deserved it for his deception. just as he had deserved her scorn and contempt over lucille. she was always giving him what he deserved, this little english flower of his. more than he deserved, a struggling conscience breathed. for he had never deserved those three words she had once whispered in his ear: "i love you." chapter xxi all the following day rayma waited for the sultan's coming. pansy waited, also. by now she realised more fully what she had done: struck and infuriated the man who held her father's life in his hand. however, nothing was seen of the sultan either that day or the next. for pansy the days were the longest she had ever spent in her life. she could not doze away her time as the other girls did, with coffee and sherbet and cigarettes; their greatest exertion a bath, or making sweetmeats over a charcoal brazier, or doing intricate embroidery. she kept out of their way as much as possible, in her own room, or wandering aimlessly in the garden, looking at walls impossible for her to scale, wondering what had happened to her father and her friends, and what would happen to herself. but even the garden was barred to her except in the very early morning, and the brief space after sunset. if she tried to go at other times there were twenty women to stop her. the order was the sultan's, she was told, lest to escape him she should wander in the tropic heat and make herself ill. all her meals had to be taken in the harem, and for bathing there was only the harem bathroom. that was a vast underground tank, approached by marble steps, cool and still and dim, its silence only broken by the dip of water. there the girls disported themselves several times a day. but pansy was not used to company when she bathed. and to avoid them, she rose very early, when she was sure of having the great marble tank to herself. during the afternoon of the third day the sultan came. pansy was not in the harem at the time, but lying on the lounge in her own room. sara's entrance roused her. "my pearl, the sultan is here," she said cajolingly. "and he desires to see you." "i prefer to stay where i am," was the cold response. the woman looked at her, speculating on the relations between this girl and the sultan. they had once been so fond of one another, always together. and now the girl had been sent to the harem, and for three days the sultan had not come near her. "it's useless to resist, my pearl," sara explained. "if you don't come when the sultan commands, servants will be sent to fetch you." pansy had no wish to be dragged into her captor's presence. since she had to go, she might as well go with dignity. however, she did not go very far. only just beyond the door of her own quarters. once there she sank down quickly on a pile of cushions, in her usual position, half sitting, half kneeling; a position that made the scantiness of her garment not quite so obvious. at once she knew who the man in the white burnoose was, although she had never seen him in anything but civilised attire before. he was sitting on an ottoman near the fountain, with the girls clustered around him, fawning on him like dogs round a loved master. pansy turned a slender, disdainful shoulder on the scene. but if she did not look in the direction of the group, there was one at least who kept a sharp suspicious eye on her. by the sultan's side rayma sat, with her pointed chin resting upon his knee. "why haven't you come sooner to see that new slave of yours, casim beloved?" she asked, pointing a slim finger at the distant girl. "i've had other things than women to think about," he replied evasively. a bitter reminiscent smile curved his lips as he spoke. some words of pansy's were in his mind. "so long as it's 'women,' it's all right. the trouble starts when it comes to 'woman.'" certainly for him the trouble had started when it came to "woman"; when this slender, wayward, golden-haired girl came into his life. for she had robbed all other women of their sweetness. with longing his gaze rested on pansy. what a fool he was not to take her.--to let her whim come between himself and his desires. but there was something more than a girl's whim had he but realised it; a feeble new self that pansy was responsible for: the man he might have been but for his profligate training. rayma saw where his gaze was. to get his eyes away from pansy, she took one of his hands and pressed it on her bosom. "when first i came here, my lord," she whispered, "there was nothing else you could think of." his attention came back to her. "you were very pretty, rayma," he said a trifle absently. "and am i not beautiful still?" she asked quickly. "you're always a picture," he answered. he talked as if to a spoilt child who bored him. rayma hitched herself closer, until her soft breast pressed against his knee. but he remained silent, without look or caress, his gaze still on the distant girl. he was wondering whether he would take pansy out of her present surroundings, or if a spell in the harem might not make her realise to the fullest her own helplessness and his complete supremacy. leonora watched her master, her dark eyes full of joy and malice. "there are some people who never know when they're not wanted," she remarked _sotto voce_, and to no one in particular. rayma cast a venomous look at her. but leonora only smiled at her dagger-like glances. "can she dance, this new slave of yours?" the arab girl asked suddenly. "she dances very nicely," he answered in an indifferent manner. "as well as i do?" she asked jealously. he thought of the snake-like writhing rayma called "dancing." "she dances quite differently from you." "let us both dance before you then, so that you may judge which is the better of us," she said quickly. [illustration: "let us both dance for you, so that you may judge between us" .....] however, he vetoed this neat arrangement. "the girl has been wounded. and she's still not strong enough for much exertion." rayma brooded on this fact, and the more she thought about it, the less she liked it. "did you capture her on that foray?" she asked presently. "she was part of my booty," he said, a lingering tenderness in his voice. again rayma was silent. very quickly she put two and two together. the sultan had not been near the harem since his return from that quest for vengeance. and this new slave had been captured during that foray. so this was the girl who had stolen the sultan's heart! who had kept him away from the harem all these dreary weeks. the girl sitting there by the distant doorway. the girl who would not come near him; whom he watched, yet did not go to. rayma scowled at pansy's back. then she turned to one of the women attendants sitting near. "fetch that girl to me," she said, pointing to pansy. the woman rose, ready and anxious to do a favourite's bidding. but the sultan motioned her down again. "she comes at no one's bidding, except mine," he said firmly. pouting, rayma wriggled closer to him. "may _i_ not even call her?" she asked softly. "the rule applies to all here," he replied. somewhat impatiently he pushed rayma aside. then he got to his feet, and went towards pansy. his step behind her made the girl's heart start beating violently. he was coming to issue some further ultimatum. perhaps not an ultimatum even, but an order. pansy had wanted to see her captor, to plead for her father. now that he was there, the words refused to pass her lips. to have asked any favour of him would have choked her. "well, pansy, are you going to marry me?" he asked. he might not have been there, for all the notice she took of him. "come," he went on, in an authoritative manner, "you must realise that i'm supreme, and that you must obey me." pansy realised this to the fullest, and the sense of her own helplessness only infuriated her. since she had no weapon she could turn on him except her tongue, she hit at him with that. and she hit her very hardest on the spot she knew would hurt the most. "english women don't marry niggers," she said contemptuously. the word cut deep into his proud spirit; all the deeper for coming from her lips. although he whitened under the insult, the knowledge of his own complete supremacy held his fiery temper in check. "the marrying is just as you like," he replied. "forms and ceremonies are nothing to me, but i'd an idea you preferred them." there was a brief silence. with her face turned away pansy sat ignoring him entirely, leaving him only a slender white neck, a small ear and part of a rose-tinted cheek to study. and the sultan studied them, amused that anything so helpless should dare to defy him. "you've not only yourself to consider when you set me at defiance in this manner," he remarked presently. "there's your father, and your english friends." his words brought pansy's eyes to him, fear in their velvety depths. at her look he laughed. "your kind heart has given me some hostages, pansy," he said. "but nothing will happen to them for another week. i'll give you that much time to make up your mind. not longer. for my patience is wearing very thin. and i've had a lot where you're concerned. more than i ever dreamt i was capable of. in the meantime, my little girl, try and remember i'm not quite the hopeless villain you think me, or you wouldn't have liked me, even for a day." but just then it seemed to pansy there was no greater villain on earth than the sultan casim ammeh. chapter xxii early the next morning when pansy was splashing about in the great underground tank, a voice made her look up in a startled fashion. so far no one had intruded on her ablutions. it was a soft, purring, malicious little voice that said in lisping french: "now i see why you always come here early. why you don't bathe with me and the other girls." on the broad marble steps rayma stood, looking down at her rival spitefully. "i come early because i'm not used to bathing before people," pansy replied, hoping the other would take the hint and go. but rayma did not go. she seated herself on the steps and stayed there, her black eyes fixed on the graceful girl in the water. "has the sultan seen those scars?" she asked, pointing a slim disparaging finger at the network of red marks and ridges on pansy's thigh and side. pansy flushed at the question. "of course not," she cried indignantly. "when he bought me i stood before him with only my hair for a covering. and i stood gladly, for i knew i was perfect." rayma finished, as if the fact gave her pleasure. pansy had no desire to discuss the sultan's likes and dislikes. to avoid further conversation, she swam out to the far end of the great bath and stayed there until rayma had gone. all that day, whenever the arab girl's eyes met hers, there was a look of malicious triumph in them. and when the two girls came within speaking distance that purring, little voice whispered spitefully: "only wait until the sultan comes. i shall find a way of taking his love from you." despondently pansy wished this would come to pass. she was between the upper and nether millstones, her father on one side, her captor on the other. several days passed without anything being seen of the sultan. then, one night, he came, when the girls were gathered in the harem, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes after dinner. pansy, was in the group, and the sight of his big, white-clad figure brought her to her feet sharply, with a feeling of choking alarm. then she stayed where she was, fully aware that escape was impossible. he seated himself at her side. she would have edged away, but his voice stopped her. "no, pansy, stay where you are," he said quickly. "and since i don't smoke 'bubble bubbles' like the men in 'eastern pictures and on cigar-box lids' you once mentioned, you can give me a cigarette, and light it, if you like," he added, with a touch of teasing. pansy did not like. she stood slim and straight and defiant, ignoring his request, conscious that all eyes were upon them, all ears listening to what was said. since she refused to do the sultan's bidding, and since he made no attempt to force obedience, there were half a dozen pairs of hands ready and eager to do the task pansy scorned. rayma's gaze rested jealously on the english girl, "is it always what she likes, casim, my lord, and never what you wish?" "she has been ill, and i humour her," he replied shortly. "ill or not she should be only too pleased to do your bidding. are you not her sultan and her master? _i_ have no will except your wishes. _i_ have no secrets hidden from you." there was a world of insinuation in rayma's voice. and it made the sultan glance at pansy in a quick, suspicious manner. the only thing he suspected her of doing was trying to escape. he failed to see how she could get out of her present quarters, but the mere idea of losing her sent a chill through him. "what are you hiding from me, pansy?" he asked presently. his close scrutiny brought a flush to her face, not through any sense of guilt, but because of her unaccustomed and scanty attire. he saw the flush and his suspicions deepened. she was capable of doing herself some injury in order to get away from him. "what do you mean, rayma?" he asked, as pansy refused to answer. the arab girl sidled up to pansy, malice and triumph in her eyes. "do you really want to know, my lord?" she asked, smiling at him softly. he nodded. before pansy realised what was happening, there was a feeling of cold steel at her breast. totally unprepared, it seemed that rayma was going to stab her. she moved back quickly. as she moved there was the sharp snip of scissors, a rending sound, a quick jerk, and her one garment was dragged from her. the arab girl retreated quickly, holding the silk slip behind her, leaving pansy nothing but her curls to cover her; a covering that reached no further than the nape of her neck. with a heart-broken cry she sank on the floor, and crouched there, her face hidden in her hands, flushed with shame from head to foot. laughing triumphantly rayma pointed a scornful finger at her rival. "look, casim, look, beloved," she cried, "that is the secret she would hide from you. those ugly scars. and she bathes early in the morning when none of us are there, so that we shall not see them and tell you. for she knows that you would not love a woman so flawed." the other women looked at pansy in an unconcerned manner. clothing was of no great consequence to them. moreover, it was just as well not to interfere when rayma chose to play her tricks and amuse their master. but he did not look at all amused. what was more, his gaze did not go to the slim bare girl crouched on the floor. he looked instead at rayma. "give the girl back her garment," he said in an ominously quiet tone. "look, casim. look, my lord. a girl so blemished is not worthy of _you_. often you have said no woman has a form as perfect as mine. but look and compare. then say which of us is more deserving of your favour." she snatched off her own light garment, and stood before him, slim and perfect, a golden statue, a model for an artist. the sultan's eyes were fixed on her still. but there was no appreciation in them, only anger. "give the girl back her garment," he said again. "when you have looked at her, and not before," rayma cried, defiant in the surety of her own perfections. "give it back when i tell you," he said in a savage voice. a tense silence followed. the girls and women glanced at one another, and waited for what they had seen happen from time to time--the fall of a favourite. rayma's "coup" had fallen surprisingly, ominously flat. the sultan refused to look at the girl whose blemishes had been unveiled for his inspection. rayma knew it too. and as she gazed at the cold, angry face of her master, she saw her star had set. she threw the silk slip at pansy who still crouched on the floor, paralysed with shame. beside herself with jealous rage the arab girl then stooped and picking up a heavy silver goblet hurled it at her rival. fortunately it missed its aim and went skimming and crashing along the marble floor. this attempted assault was the last straw. a savage, merciless expression came to her master's face. at this look rayma fell prostrate at his feet. "casim, love me a little, and i ask for nothing else," she wailed. a gong stood at his side. ignoring her, he struck it angrily. its musical notes echoed through the room. a moment later a couple of negroes appeared in the doorway of the harem. the sultan gave a sharp order in arabic. what it was pansy did not know. she was now the centre of a group of women who, with brooch and jewelled pin, were adjusting her silk slip. they were all anxious to gain her good graces, since there was no doubt now who was the sultan's favourite. in her ear leonora was whispering: "there's no need to be ashamed, my sister. our lord casim never once glanced at you. his eyes and his anger were all for rayma. thanks to you, she now feels what i once felt. and her heart is breaking." but if pansy did not know what the sultan said, the crowd around her did. they whispered affrightedly among themselves, and edged further away from their master. for the sultan in a temper was a person to be avoided. and rayma knew what was going to happen. she started up with dilated eyes and screaming, then clung piteously to his feet. "casim, my lord, beloved, not that," she cried, her little face frantic. "not that, i entreat you, for the sake of the nights that have been." there was no pity on his face, only savagery. all mercy had been swept out of him by her attempt to shame and injure pansy. the guards returned, bringing whips. on seeing them rayma's screams broke out afresh. piteous little pleas for mercy, wild promises never to offend again, that he ignored completely. then she fell a sobbing, golden statue at the sultan's feet. rayma's cries, terror-stricken and helpless, reached pansy in the midst of her own dazed shame, making her glance in the direction of the man she hoped never to have to face again. she saw the huge negroes with their whips, awaiting the sultan's order. the sobbing, helpless girl at his feet, and on his face a look she had never seen before--the look of an angered and pitiless despot. for a moment she stood aghast, not able to credit the scene before her. as she looked the sultan nodded. the guards raised their whips. and they fell with cruel, stinging force. but they did not fall on rayma. there was one in the harem who dared come between the sultan and his wrath. the whips fell on white shoulders, not golden ones, bringing the blood oozing to satin-smooth skin. the weight and pain brought pansy to her knees before her captor. "raoul," she gasped, "i can't let you do this dreadful thing." the whips fell from the negroes' hands. aghast, they stared at the girl before them. it was not their fault the lashes had fallen on the new favourite and not on the culprit. but they would be held responsible, and doubtless beaten nevertheless. the women and girls started to scream and wail. their master might turn on them for letting the new slave get within reach of the whips. but who was to know she would dare come between the sultan and a girl he thought well to punish. he paid no heed to the frightened stares of the guards, the wails of the scared women, to rayma still sobbing, with fright, not pain. he had thoughts and eyes for nothing but the girl on her knees before him, with the red weals on her shoulders, horror and entreaty in her eyes--pansy calling him once again by name. with a fierce, possessive movement, he stooped and gathered her into his arms, crushing her against him, until she was almost lost in his voluminous robes. "my little english flower, you can't quite hate me," he whispered passionately. "or you wouldn't try to keep me what you once thought me. you wouldn't try to come between me and the man i am." with the girl in his arms, he rose. scared eyes watched him as he crossed the big hall, and disappeared behind the silken curtains. then the girls started to whisper among themselves. for the sultan had taken this new slave to the gilded chamber of their desires. chapter xxiii through the open arches of the gilded chamber the moonlight dripped, making silver ponds on the golden floor, filling the place with a vague shimmering glow. one bar of moonlight fell on a couch where pansy lay, her face buried in the cushions. by her side the sultan knelt, one arm across her, watching her with glowing, passionate eyes. the last few minutes had been a haze to the girl; a blur of great negroes with whips; of rayma, sobbing and helpless; of raoul le breton, cruel, as she had always felt he might be. he had come back into her life suddenly, that lover with the strong arms and the deep, caressing voice, the big, half-tamed, arrogant man, whom from the first she had liked and had never been afraid of. "what dare i hope? what dare i think?" his voice was saying. "dare i think that you don't quite hate me? look at me, my little slave, and let me see what is in your eyes." but pansy did not look at him. she was too full of shame and confusion, despite leonora's assurance; a shame and confusion that the sultan guessed at, for he stayed caressing her golden curls with a soothing touch. for a time there was silence. through the room the wind strayed, its soft, rose-ladened breath mingling with the subtle scent of sandalwood. somewhere in the garden an owl hooted. a peevish wail in the night, came the cry of jackals prowling around the city walls. under that firm, strong, soothing hand, pansy's shame subsided a little. for the girl there was always magic in his touch, except when anger raged within her. there was no anger now, only a sense of her own helplessness, and the knowledge of the lives he held in his power. under the silence and his soothing hand, a question trembled to her lips, born of her own helplessness and the dire straits of her father and friends. "if ... if i marry you, will you send my father and friends safely back to gambia?" she asked, in a low voice. he laughed tenderly. "if i were as big a villain as you think me, i'd say 'yes,' and then break faith with you, pansy--as you broke faith with me. if i sent them back, my little flower, do you know what would happen? your english friends would complain to the french government. an expedition would be sent up here, and they would dole out to me the fate your father doled out to mine." his words made pansy realise for the first time that his summary abduction of his father's party had brought him foul of two governments. horrified, she gazed at him; her father and friends all forgotten at the thought of the fate awaiting her captor. they would shoot him, this big, fierce man. all fire would die out of those flashing eyes. that handsome face would be stiff and stark in death. never again would that hard mouth curve into lines of tenderness when he smiled at her. there would be no strength left in his arms. no deep, passionate, caressing voice. no untamed, masterful man, using all his power to bend her to his will. it was one thing for pansy to want to kill him herself, but quite another for other people to set about it. at that moment she realised that, in spite of everything, she did not hate the sultan casim ammeh. and what was more he knew it too. for he bent over her, laughing softly. "so, heart's ease, you don't quite hate me," he said. "that fact will keep me patient for quite a little time. and you will be whispering 'yes' in my ear, as i would have you whisper it--of your own free will, as you whispered 'i love you,' on that sweet night six months ago." he bent still lower, and kissed the little face that watched him with such strained anxiety. "good night, my darling," he said fondly. long after he had gone pansy lay trying to crush the truth back into its hiding-place in her heart. and his voice, tender and triumphant, seemed to echo back mockingly from the jewelled ceiling. for surely she could not love a man so cruel, so barbaric, so profligate as the sultan casim ammeh. chapter xxiv the next morning pansy awoke to find herself back in her gilded prison, and alice beside her with the customary morning tea, a dish of fruit and a basket of flowers, all as if the last ten days had never been. she knew now the flowers were from the sultan. but she did not tell alice to take them away. instead, as she drank her tea and ate some fruit, she looked at them in a meditating manner. and alice looked at her mistress in an inquisitive way, wondering what had happened to her during the last few days. "de sultan, he no sell you den, miss pansy?" "no," pansy replied in an absent manner. "since you go i lib wid de oder servants in anoder part ob de palace. dere be hundreds ob dem," the girl continued, her eyes round with awe at her captor's wealth and power. she spoke, too, as if anxious for an exchange of confidences. however, pansy said nothing. she stayed with her gaze on the flowers, despising herself for having been so upset at the thought of the sultan's demise. that morning alice dressed her in her usual civilised attire. in spite of this, pansy found she was still a prisoner, still within the precincts of the harem. the rose garden was hers to wander in at will. but the guards were still stationed outside one of the sandalwood doors, as they had been on the day of her arrival at the palace. however, one of the two other doors was unlocked. pansy opened it, hoping some way of escape might lay beyond. a dim flight of stairs led downwards. she descended, only to find herself in the harem. the girls and women greeted her with an awed and servile air. to them now she was the sultan's first wife; the most envied and most honoured woman in the province of el-ammeh. curious glances were cast at her attire. leonora appeared most at her ease. for she fingered pansy's garments with soft, slow, indolent hands. "it's quite ten years since i've seen a woman dressed as you are," she remarked. "not since i lived in tangier, before my uncle sold me to an arab merchant." pansy knew leonora's history. it did not sound a pretty one to civilised ears. sold at the age of fourteen, she had been handed from one desert chief to another, until finally she had appeared in the slave market of el-ammeh and had taken the sultan's fancy. "what an awful life you've had," pansy said, pity in her voice. leonora's languid eyes opened with surprise. "me! oh, no. i'm beautiful, and most of my masters have been kind. but none so kind and generous as the sultan casim. besides, now my travels are at an end. when the sultan tires of a slave, he does not sell her. she is given in marriage to one of his officers, with a good dowry. and she is then a woman with an established position. he is always generous to a woman who has pleased him. how lucky for you to be picked for his first wife! you'll find him almost always kind. i've been here more than a year and i know. he is never harsh without a reason. he is never hard and unjust like some of the masters i've known." as pansy listened to this eulogy on her captor, she was surprised and ashamed of herself for having a scrap of liking left for him. all her instincts revolted at his doings, but much as she tried she could not make them revolt at the man himself. "he was hard enough last night," she remarked. "but he had a reason. rayma would have shamed and injured you. she could not see what i saw--that the sultan has eyes and thoughts and heart for no one but you now. she is a stupid girl, that rayma. because he loved her for a month or two, she thought he would love her for ever. he was her first master. he bought her but a few weeks before he last went to paris. and he is so angry now that he will sell her again, not give her in marriage to one of his officers, making her a woman of importance." leonora's remarks made pansy glance sharply round the big hall, suddenly aware that rayma was not present. already she saw the arab girl having to face that dreadful sea of eyes, as she, herself, had faced it. "where is rayma?" she asked quickly. "the guards took her away last night," leonora answered indifferently. "she'll trouble you no more." hastily pansy got to her feet, and went to the big door leading out of the harem. she knew what lay beyond; a large vestibule where, day and night, half a dozen eunuchs lounged. seeing pansy on the threshold, brought them to their feet, barring her exit. "i must see the sultan," she said. although she made the request, she hardly expected to have it granted, for the sultan came when he felt disposed. "lady, i'll inform the sultan of your desires," one of the guards replied. with that he left the vestibule. pansy waited, conscious of the servility and overwhelming desire to please that oozed from these menials. before long the messenger returned. it appeared that the girl's wish was to be granted. with a negro on either side of her pansy was taken through an intricate maze of corridors, past closed doors, open arches and arabesque windows, to a further door that her escort opened. pansy found herself in a room that looked more like a sumptuous office than anything else, with a balcony that jutted over the lake. at a large desk a man was seated in a white drill suit with a black cummerbund, who rose at her entry and smiled at her, as if the last week had never been; as if he were still raoul le breton and there had been no unveiling. "well, pansy, it's flattering to think you want to see me," he remarked. pansy did not waste any time before stating the reason of her visit. "is it true you're going to sell rayma?" she asked in a horror-stricken tone. the mere mention of her name made a savage expression flit across his face. "what i'm going to do with her is my own concern." "how can you be such a brute, such a savage, so abominably cruel?" she cried, distress in her voice. "do you know, my little slave, that you're the only person in the place who dare take me to task about my doings?" he remarked. pansy did not know, or care; her only desire was to save him from himself. "i shall stay here until you premise not to sell her," she said tensely. "if you stay until doomsday, it won't worry me," he replied. "you must find some other threat." pansy could have shaken him for daring to poke fun at her, when her only desire was to keep him from slave-dealing. "how can you even contemplate such a ghastly thing," she gasped. "as what?" he asked in an unconcerned manner. "don't you know that slave-dealing is an abomination?" "it may be in your country, but it isn't in mine." "i can't bear to think of you doing anything so dreadful," she said in a strained voice. he glanced at her, a soft, mocking light in his eyes. "should you like me any better if i didn't sell rayma?" "i should hate you if you did." "i couldn't run such a risk a second time," he replied. "i'll send her back to the harem, and keep her there until i can find a suitable husband, if that'll please you better." pansy experienced a feeling of relief. the victory was easier than she had expected. there was a brief pause. then he said: "so you're still returning good for evil, pansy. your power of forgiveness is astonishing. rayma deserved punishment for her treatment of you." "if anyone deserves punishment it's you," pansy retorted. "how do you make that out?" "for trifling with her." for a moment he was too astonished to speak. "if you call that trifling, then i must have trifled with at least a hundred women in my day," he remarked at length. "how can you stand there and say such dreadful things?" she gasped. "there's nothing dreadful about it from my point of view." pansy said nothing. she just stared at him, as if at some fascinating horror. under her gaze he began to find excuses and explanations for himself and his behaviour. "don't you remember telling me in that letter of yours that you were not quite the same as other girls, putting that forward as a sufficient reason for breaking faith with me? well, pansy, i'm not quite the same as the other men you've known. to begin with, my religion is different. in my own small way i'm a king. i rule absolutely within a radius of more than a hundred miles round here. then, i'm a millionaire, and my trading extends far beyond my kingdom, as far as st. louis, in fact. and millionaires, more especially if they're men and unmarried, are fêted and welcomed everywhere. and, like kings, millionaires can do no wrong. then i'm half-arab, half-french, which you must agree is a wild combination. such a mixture doesn't tend to make a man exactly virtuous. i've done exactly what i liked, practically ever since i was born. everybody, except my mother, did their best to spoil me. she was the only one who ever tried to keep me in order in any way, but she died when i was ten years old. at fourteen i was sultan here in my own right. and no one ever dared, or troubled, to criticise my doings until you came along. and now you're expecting me to be a better man than ever fate or nature intended me to be." pansy said nothing; she still looked at him, trying now to see his point of view. "_i_ call 'trifling' what you've done with me. promising to marry me and then drawing back. i've never trifled with you. and if you can believe such a thing, and if you'll try and see it in my light, i've been faithful to you. i never had a thought for another woman since the night you came into my life, until i learnt you were barclay's daughter. then i tried to hate you, and went back to my old life. but when you were brought to me, dead, as i thought, i knew i didn't hate you. and since that day, pansy, there's been no other woman but you. and you'll satisfy me for the rest of my life." pansy listened to him, trying to see things as he saw them, knowing she ought to be disgusted with him. instead, she was intensely sorry because there had never been anyone at hand to check or train him, except a mother who had died twenty years ago. but his speech brought her father's plight before her again. it seemed hardly feasible that the sultan would have sent her letter to the man he desired to punish. "did you give that note of mine to my father?" she asked. a trifle askance, he glanced at her. "no, i didn't," he confessed. pansy was past being angry with him; she was just sorely wounded in soul and mind at his doings. this must have showed on her face, for he went on quickly: "you can send another and i promise it'll be delivered. not only that, but that your father and friends will be well treated. among other things, pansy, you've taken the edge off my vengeance." he paused, leaning over her he said: "i'm granting you all these favours, but what are you going to do for me?" pansy wanted nothing now but to get away from him, right away, beyond his reach, but not because she hated him. "just for a moment, my little english flower, will you rest upon my heart?" he asked in a soft, caressing voice. "there's no savagery left in me when you're there of your own accord." he held out his arms, waiting to complete the bargain. but she moved away quickly. "oh, no," she said, alarm in her voice. he laughed. "you've never been afraid of me before, why are you now, pansy? are you afraid you might love me?" "how could i love anyone so depraved?" she asked. but her voice was quavering, not scornful as she intended it to be. "depraved! so that's what i am now, is it? well, it's all point of view, i suppose. and it's one degree better than saying you hate me." he turned towards the desk, and drew out paper and envelopes. "write your letter, my little girl," he finished. pansy sat down. as she wrote to her father, in her heart was a wish that she had been left undisturbed in her fool's paradise, that she had married raoul le breton at the end of a month, knowing nothing about him except that she loved him. once he was her husband, if she had learnt the truth, she would not have had to fight against herself and him. there would have been only one course left open to her--to do her utmost to make a better man of him. and circumstances had shown her that in her hands the task would have been an easy one. chapter xxv when sir george barclay returned to prison, he was a broken man. his officers were surprised to see him back alive, and anxious to hear what had occurred. but a day or two passed before he was able to talk about what had happened. and always before him was the bestial figure of the miser feather merchant, into whose hands he imagined his daughter had fallen. when he told the story of her sale a strained silence fell on his officers. a silence that cameron broke. "the damned brute," he said in a wild, heart-broken way, "and he knew her in grand canary." the fact of pansy's acquaintance with the sultan casim ammeh, barclay had learnt from cameron in the early days of their capture. the younger man immediately had recognised the sultan as the raoul le breton, who when out of africa posed as a french millionaire. "he's worse than a savage," one of the other officers put in, "since he knows better." sir george had nothing to say, once the story was told. pansy's fate was always before him; an agony that chased him into dreams, compared with which his own death would have been as nothing. one morning about ten days after the sale of slaves, one of the arab guards brought him a letter. to his amazement, he saw his daughter's writing on the envelope. with trembling fingers he opened it, wondering how she had managed to get a message through to him, with a prayer in his heart that by some miracle she might have escaped her horrible fate. "no one knows better than i how you must have suffered on my account. i tried to get a letter through to you before, but i have just heard it never reached you, so i am sending another. i was not sold that day in the slave-market. the sultan never intended to sell me. he only sent me there and made a pretence of selling me in order to hurt you. i am in the palace here, and no one could be better treated than i am. i asked the sultan to let you all go back to gambia, but he will not consent to that. but he has promised that you all will be well treated. you must not worry because of me. it is not as if the sultan and i were strangers. i met him in grand canary, but i did not know who he really was then--he was passing under a french name. it is very difficult to know what to say to cheer you up. i know you will worry whatever i say. i am quite safe here, and no harm will happen to me. i cannot bear to think of you worrying, and you must try not to do so for my sake. your loving daughter, pansy." as george barclay read through the letter, it seemed to him that he knew what had happened. the girl had bartered herself in exchange for his life and the lives of her friends. he tried to gather what cold comfort he could by keeping the picture of the sultan before him as he had last seen him, big and handsome, in his khaki riding suit, looking thoroughly european. at least the man who had his daughter was a king, if a barbaric one, and civilised to a certain extent. she had not fallen into the clutches of that grimy, naked, foaming wretch, as he had imagined. and the knowledge eased his tortured spirit considerably. chapter xxvi after that interview with her captor pansy's life rapidly developed into one long struggle between inclination and upbringing. she knew she loved the sultan, but all her standards revolted against marrying him. she could not bear to think about the wild past that was his, but she equally could not bear to think that he might fall into sin again when hers was the power to prevent him. what was more, she knew he had guessed her love for him, and was doing his best to make her succumb to his attractions. after that one interview she was not allowed out of the sensual, scented precincts of the harem. she had no occupation, no amusements, no books even. nothing to do all day except just think about her lover and fight her battle. and he made the battle all the harder. never a day passed but what he was there, big and handsome and fascinating. he would come upon her in the little walled garden, and linger with her among the roses. by the hour he would sit with her in the wide gallery overlooking the desert. very often he dined with her in the gilded chamber, and stayed on afterwards in the dim light of the shaded lamps, watching her with soft, mocking eyes. and very often he would say: "well, pansy, have you made up your mind whether you are going to marry me or not?" it seemed to the girl that the whole world was combining to drive her into the arms of a man she ought to turn from with contempt and disgust. at the end of a fortnight he said: "pansy, you're the first woman who has ever fought against her love for me. it's an amusing sight, but i'm beginning to wish you weren't such a determined fighter." at the end of a month some of the mockery had gone out of his eyes, giving place to a hungry gleam. for the girl had not succumbed to his fascinations, although her face was growing white and weary with close confinement and the ceaseless battle that went on within herself. and the man who acknowledged no law except his own appetites, and who, up till now, had lived for nothing else, loved the girl all the more deeply because she did not succumb to his attractions, because she had a soul above her senses, and tried to live up to her own ideals, refusing to come down to his level. at times he felt he must try and grope his way up to the heights, and unconsciously he was rising from the depths. "water can always reach the level it rises from," pansy had once said. although a wild craving for his girl-prisoner often kept him wakeful, although there was none to stop him, and only a short length of passage and a locked door, to which he alone had the key, lay between him and his desire, the passage was never crossed, the door never unlocked. to escape his presence as much as possible, pansy spent a lot of her time in the big hall of the harem with the other girls. but one by one they disappeared, to become the wives of various men of importance in the place, until only rayma was left. a quiet, subdued rayma who watched pansy and the sultan with longing, envious gaze. "how happy you must be now you are his wife, and you know that he can't thrust you from him should another woman take his fancy," the arab girl sighed one day to her rival. pansy was not his wife, and she had no intention of being. in her desire to escape from temptation she grew absolutely reckless. "i should be much happier if i could get right away from him," she said in response to rayma's remark. "don't you love him?" rayma exclaimed. "i hate him," pansy said, lying to her heart. "i never want to see him again," she went on in a hysterical way. "i only want to escape from him and this place, once and for ever." astonished, rayma gazed at her supplanter. then a look of hope darted into her dark eyes. if only this strange girl were out of the way, the sultan's heart might return to her. chapter xxvii outside a little french military settlement several ragged tents had been pitched. in the largest of them the miser feather merchant was sitting, cross-legged, on a pile of dirty cushions. as chance would have it, his caravan had gone to the south-west, and that night he had halted within three hundred miles of st. louis. with him was an arab friend, a nomad like himself, who chanced also to be encamped outside the little settlement. a year had passed since their last meeting. after the first exchange of compliments, as the two sat smoking together, the new-comer remarked to the miser: "in your hunger for gold you grow ever thinner and more haggard." a wild look came into the feather merchant's eyes. "it is not hunger for gold that has robbed my bones of their flesh," he replied. "but another hunger, far more raging." his friend puffed away in silence, and as he puffed, he had in mind an arab proverb wherein it is said that a man can fall madly in love with the shadow of a woman's heel. "then it's the shadow of some woman's heel," he remarked. "more than her shadow," the miser replied in a parched voice. "i saw her before me, as plainly as i see you. a houri from paradise." his friend made no reply. considering a woman was under discussion it was bad manners to ask questions. he waited, knowing that silence on his part would be the most likely way of hearing the story. the miser's bony hands clenched, and his tongue went round his bearded lips. "there was a girl i desired," he began presently. "a milk-white maid, more beautiful than the morning, with hair golden as the sun, and eyes deep blue as desert night. she was a slave, and with my wealth i would have bought her. she was more to me than my gold. but there was another more rich and powerful. and he took her--may his soul perish in hell." as the miser talked, an amazed look crossed his friend's face. "and where did you see her, this milk-white maid, with the hair of gold, and deep blue eyes?" he asked quickly. "in a desert city, a month's journey or more from here." "and how did she come to be there?" "she was captured by the sultan who rules there. allah curse him!" "so!" his friend ejaculated. then he stayed for some moments ruminating on the matter. "such a maid was stolen three months or more ago, from a mighty white nation whose territory lies far beyond the senegal," he began presently. "and that white nation has made great stir and commotion with our rulers, the french. for the maid is one of great wealth and importance in her own country, possessed of undreamt-of riches, a fortune in gold pieces more numerous than the grains of sand in the sahara. a month ago i was in the town of st. louis, and the people there talked of nothing else. the white officers here search for her in all directions. and great will be the reward of the man who can lead them to her abductor. and great also will be the punishment of that desert ruler--even death." tensely the feather merchant listened. then he started up with a wild cry. "allah be praised!" he shouted. "for my prayer has been granted. i have found those who are the enemies of the sultan casim ammeh. the nation most mighty of all on this earth. and they will break him, as he has broken me." then he darted from the tent, running like a madman in the direction of the french military quarters. chapter xxviii one day when pansy was in the large hall of the harem, rayma came to her, a look of feverish excitement in her eyes. "do you still wish to escape?" she asked, watching her supplanter as if she could not believe such a desire could lie in the heart of any woman the sultan pleased to favour. for pansy her struggle became daily more difficult. it was an obsession now, her wish to escape from her captor. "how can i? whichever way i turn someone is there to stop me." "there is one who will not stop you. not if he is paid well enough," rayma said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "who is that?" pansy asked quickly. "one of the eunuchs who guards your room at night. he loves jewels beyond all things on earth. and surely the sultan has given you plenty, although you never wear them." the sultan had given pansy none, because he knew she would not accept them. but she had jewels of her own; one that would be bribe enough for anybody--the great diamond that had aroused her lover's comments one night in the moonlit garden of grand canary. pansy clutched at the mere idea of escape. where she would escape to, she did not pause to consider. to escape she forgot his colour, his religion, his wild life, his treatment of her father, everything, except her own love for him. "how do you know he'll let himself be bribed?" she asked. "one of the women told me. he is her brother. i've spent days in trying to help you get away." "oh, rayma, i can never thank you enough," pansy said, hysterically grateful. the arab girl cast a spiteful glance at her, wondering why the other could not guess that it was her, rayma's, one desire to get rid of her rival. "each night after dark you must open your door," the arab girl went on. "there will come a night when only one of the guards will be here. then, if you bribe him enough, he will let you pass." rayma did not imagine that pansy would escape. she expected and hoped that she would be caught in the attempt. judging by her desert standards, death would be the portion of any slave-girl who dared attempt to fly from her owner. after that, every night when she was alone, pansy opened the sandalwood door leading into the long, dark passage by which she had first entered the palace. then, one evening, she found only one of the jewelled guards there. on seeing this, she closed the door again, and going to her jewel case got out the one big diamond. from the gallery of her sumptuous prison she had gathered that beyond the rose garden lay the grounds of the sultan's own quarters, where she had spent those three days prior to his unveiling. during that brief time she had noticed that, at night and during the heat of the day, the horses that browsed in the sun-scorched paddock were stabled in a long, low building at the far end of the scanty field. and she knew, too, that the iron gates by which she had entered the palace could not lie so very far away from the paddock. with trembling hands and almost sick with anxiety and excitement, pansy opened the door of her prison. she said nothing to the guard there. she merely held the gem towards him. on seeing it, his eyes glittered covetously. without a word he took the diamond. pansy passed down the dim passage. she hardly knew how her feet took her along its ill-lit length. every moment she expected to meet someone, or that one of the several doors leading into it would open, and her flight be brought to an abrupt end. however, unchallenged she reached the iron gates. a lamp flickering in a niche close by, showed her that one of the doors was slightly ajar. with shaking hands she pulled it further open and slipped out. outside all was silence and whiteness. like a sea, the desert stretched away to a milky horizon. in a luminous vault the moon hung, a great round molten mass, that filled the world with a shimmer of silver. finding herself really beyond the palace precincts, took all strength from the girl. hardly daring to breathe, she crept a few steps further, and leant against the city wall, to recover a little and get her bearings. then, furtive as a shadow, she made her way towards a long, low building that showed up like a huge ebony block in the whiteness. there were others as furtive as pansy prowling round the city walls; jackals searching for offal, snarled at her as she passed along, slinking away and showing teeth that gleamed like ivory in the moonlight. the first sound of them made her start violently, for she felt the sultan's hand upon her, drawing her back to himself and captivity. but when she saw the prowlers were four-footed, she passed on, heedless of them, until the paddock fence was reached. to climb over was a simple task. then she ran swiftly across the grassy space; suddenly deadly afraid, not of the loneliness, but that the stable doors might be locked and she would not be able to carry out her project. however, in el-ammeh there were no thieves daring enough to steal the sultan's horses, so the doors were never locked. they creaked ominously when pansy opened them, filling the still night with harsh sounds--sounds that she felt must reach her captor's ears. inside, the stables were vaguely light with the rays of the moon that dripped in from high little windows. fortunately for pansy's plan it was the hour for the palace servants' evening meal, or there might have been half a dozen men in the building. as it was, there was only a long row of horses, each in separate stalls. pansy knew that if her protégé were there, he would answer to her call. "sultan," she said softly. there was a whinny from a stall some twenty yards away. guided by the sound she went in that direction. it was the work of a few moments to unfasten the animal. but to pansy it seemed an age. her hands trembled as she fumbled at the halter, for she heard pursuit in every sound. then she led the animal out of the building, into the moonlight, and closed the door behind her. she was an expert bare-back rider. leading the horse to the fence, she mounted. then she trotted him back to the middle of the enclosure, and with voice and hand urged him towards the fence again. in his old steeplechasing days, a hurdle the height of the rails had presented no difficulties to "the sultan." and, even now, he took the fence at an easy bound. once over, it seemed to pansy that the last obstacle between herself and freedom had been circumvented. she leant forward, patting her horse encouragingly. "oh, sultan," she said hysterically. "i don't mind where you take me, so long as i can get away from here." left to itself, after the manner of horses, the animal picked the route it knew the best; the sandy track along which the sultan casim generally took it for exercise. for the first mile or so pansy was conscious of nothing except that she had escaped--escaped from a love she could not conquer, a man she could not hate. white and billowy the world lay around her, an undulating sea of sand with only one dark patch upon it, the city of el-ammeh. the track the horse followed wound through tufted hillocks, mounds of silver in the moonlight. here and there a stunted shrub cast black lines on the all-prevailing whiteness. at the end of an hour pansy discovered she was not the rider she once was. her months of confinement had left her sadly "out of form." she was worn out with the exertion and the excitement of escape. it took all her skill to keep her seat on the horse. and the animal knew, for it slackened speed as a good horse will when conscious of a tired rider. others, also, seemed aware that something weak and helpless was abroad, and with the strange magnetism of the wild they were drawn towards the girl. here and there in the melting, misty distance, a dark form appeared, lopping along at a safe range, keeping pace with the old horse and its rider, every now and again glancing at the two with glaring green eyes, and calling one to another with shrieks of maniacal laughter. pansy hardly heard the hyenas. she was too intent on keeping her seat. but the horse heard them and he snorted with rage and fear. as the miles sped by, the girl was aware of nothing except a desire to get further and further away from her lover, and to keep her seat on the horse. then she became aware of something else. for the horse halted and she fell off, flat on the soft sand. shaken, but not hurt, she sat up and gazed around. a little oasis had been reached, where date palms stood black against the all-prevailing silver, and a tiny spring bubbled with cheerful whisper. when the sultan took his namesake out for exercise, this was the extreme limit of their ride--the horse had been there once already that day--and in the shade of the date palms the man and the horse would rest awhile before returning to the city. but pansy knew none of these things. she only knew that valuable time was being lost sitting there on the ground. but it was such an effort to get up. green eyes had seen her fall as if dead. the hyenas crept stealthily forward to feast upon what lay helpless in the sand. but when she sat up they retreated, to squat on their haunches at a safe distance, and fill the night with demoniacal laughter. the sound brought pansy to her feet, swaying with fatigue. she had heard it before, around her father's camp in gambia. but it was one thing to hear the hyenas when there were thirty or more people between herself and them, and another now that she was quite alone in the desert, with no one to come to her aid. the chorus of mad, mocking mirth brought fear clutching at her, a fear that the horse's wild snorts increased. she looked round sharply to find there were at least a dozen of the brutes on her trail. it was not pansy's nature to show fear, even though she felt it. going to the spring, she picked up several large stones, and threw them at the hyenas. a note of fear crept into their hideous voices. they beat a swift retreat, melting away into distance. there was too much life left in the girl and horse for them to attack as yet. gathering her tired self together pansy looked round for a rock high enough to enable her to mount by. as it happened there was none handy. taking her horse by the mane, she led him from the oasis. somewhat protestingly he went. pansy had to stagger on for nearly a mile on foot, in the deep, fatiguing sand, before she could find a tussock high enough to mount by. once on, she left the route to her horse. to the uninitiated, one portion of the desert looks very similar to another. and the girl had no idea that the horse was retracing his steps, making his way slowly and laboriously back to el-ammeh. she had not the strength left even to look around her. the hot night, the long ride, the sickly excitement attached to escaping, the thirst that now raged within her, and the final tiring walk, after months of inactivity, had told upon her. utterly worn out, she just managed to keep her seat, in a world that had become a place of aching weariness, through which there rang occasional wild shrieks of laughter. then it became impossible to cling on any longer. all at once, she fell off and stayed in the sand, half stunned by her fall, conscious of nothing except that she had escaped from the sultan casim ammeh. when she fell the horse stopped. he stretched a long neck and sniffed and sniffed at her. but since she did not get up, he did not leave her. he waited until she was ready to start off again, quite glad of the rest himself. however, there was not to be much rest for him. a shriek of diabolical laughter rang out at his very heels. with a snort of fear and rage, he lashed out. the laughter turned into a howl of pain, and one of the hyenas retreated on three legs, with a broken shoulder. but there were twenty or more of them now, against one old horse and a girl too utterly exhausted to know even that her life was in danger. and each of the hyenas had a strength of jaw that could break the thigh of an ox, and a cowardice of heart equalled only by their strength. for sometime they circled round, watching their prey with ravenous, glaring green eyes, and every now and again one or the other made a forward rush, only to find those iron heels between it and its meal. the horse understood being baited in this manner, by foes just beyond his reach. it had been part of the hell the girl he guarded had rescued him from. as time went on, the hyenas grew bolder. once they rushed in a body. but they retreated. one with a broken jaw, one with a mouthful of live flesh torn from "the sultan's" flank, and one did not retreat at all. it lay with its skull smashed in, its brains bespattering the horse's hoofs--hoofs over which now a red stream oozed, filling the hot night air with the smell of live blood. a desperate battle raged in the lonely desert under the white light of the moon. a battle that filled the night with the mad mirth of hyenas, and the wild shrieks of a frightened, hurt, infuriated horse--"the sultan"--fighting as he had fought that day in the east end of london when pansy had first come across him. but fighting for her life as well as his own, against the cowards that beset him. chapter xxix the sound of that desperate conflict rang through the stillness of the night, reaching the ears of a man who was riding at break-neck speed along the sandy track leading in the direction of the oasis. those diabolical shrieks of laughter filled him with a torture of mind almost past bearing. in them he heard the voices of hyenas mangling the girl he loved. le breton had always known pansy would run away if an opportunity occurred. but he had imagined that he had made escape impossible. after dinner, he went to the gilded room, to pay an evening visit to his prisoner, since business affairs had kept him from dining with her. however, she was not there. experience had taught him that it would be no use looking for her in the moonlit, rose-scented garden. she never went there after sunset, for fear he should come across her, and the beauty and romance of it all, combined with his presence, should force the surrender he was waiting for. not finding pansy in her own private quarters, he went into the big hall of the harem, only to be told she had not been there since well before dinner. on learning this he set the women searching in every corner of the harem. but pansy was nowhere to be found. beyond a doubt, she had managed to escape. for a moment the news dazed him. he did not waste time in trying to discover how she had escaped, or who was responsible for her getting away. she had gone. that one fact glared at him. no one knew better than the sultan himself the dangers awaiting the girl once she strayed beyond his care. within a few minutes all his servants and soldiers were out looking for the fugitive, scouring the city, with threats of the dire fate awaiting anyone who dared either hide or injure the sultan's wife. a hasty search brought no trace of the girl, but one of the search parties learnt that a horse was missing from the royal stables. on hearing this the sultan went at once to the stables, looking for a clue there. the missing horse was pansy's. the discovery sent a sudden glow of hope coursing through him. it argued that somehow or other she had managed to reach the stables and had set out into the desert. the sultan understood horses, even better, it seemed to him now, than he understood women. left to its own devices the old horse would go the way it knew the best; the way he generally took it. and left to itself it was almost certain to be, since its rider had no knowledge of any of the sandy tracks that lay around the city. within a few moments he was on the swiftest of his own horses, riding with all speed towards the oasis; but not before leaving orders with his officers to scour the desert in every direction. he had ridden perhaps five miles when into the stealthy hiss of the sand another sound came. at first so far away that it was but a distant moan in the night. as he tore on rapidly it grew louder, developing into a chorus of hideous laughter, the cry of hyenas howling round their prey. desert reared, instinctively he knew there must be at least twenty of them. when, above the mêlée he heard the terrorized screams of a horse, a deadly fear clutched him. where the horse was, the girl was. and the sound told him the two had been attacked. around pansy the ghastly conflict was raging. around her mangled corpse, perhaps. he suffered all the tortures of the damned, as with spur and crop he urged the great stallion onwards, until the animal was a lather of sweat and foam. the hyenas heard the throb of those approaching hoofs, and fear gripped their cowardly hearts. the disconcerting noise grew speedily louder. on the whiteness of the lonely desert a dark patch appeared; a patch that rapidly became bigger and headed straight towards them. it was one thing to attack a tired old horse and a half-stunned girl, but another to face a huge black stallion and the big man in the white burnoose who rode it. the hyenas did not face the combination. with a weird howl of disappointment, they turned tail suddenly and scuttled away into the desert, leaving the old horse shivering with relief and pain and exhaustion. the feeling of someone touching her made pansy open her eyes. into her hazy world her captor's face intruded. he was half-kneeling on the sand beside her, examining her limbs, feeling her heart, to see if she were injured in any way. for a moment pansy could not believe her eyes. then she put out a weak hand to push him away. but a push did not remove him. he was still there, in white cloak and hood; a desert chief who wanted to marry her. big and solid he knelt beside her, a fact not to be escaped from. and his hand was on her bosom as if to steal the heart she would not give him. satisfied pansy was not hurt in any way, the sultan got to his feet, and turned towards the horse. it needed more attention than the girl. he petted and patted the worn-out shivering animal, talking to it in a deep, caressing voice, as he bound up its gaping wounds with lengths torn from his own white garments. then he lifted the girl on his own horse, and, mounting himself, set out on a slow walk towards his city. pansy made a feeble struggle when she found herself in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, held in a tight, possessive grip. "so, little flower, you would still try to escape from me," he said in a fierce, fond manner. "but i don't let love go so lightly." he ignored her struggles as he talked to and encouraged the old horse that hobbled along by their side, with stiff, painful steps. as the slow journey went on, pansy fell asleep against the strength that held her. the sultan was quick to note this, and he smiled at the small tired face on his shoulder. he knew the nature of the girl he held. it would be impossible for her to go to sleep in any man's arms except those of the man she loved. she was very foolish to fight against him, but fight she would until he used his strength and ended the battle. an uneven contest the last round would be, with no doubt as to who would be the victor. chapter xxx on a wide ottoman in her room pansy lay. the golden lamps were burning low, casting black shadows on the gilded walls of her cage. through the open arches the moonlight streamed, pouring in from a misty, mystic world where trees sighed vaguely in a silvered air. early that morning the sultan had brought pansy back to the palace. since then she had seen nothing of him. she brooded on her attempt to escape, which had only ended in her being more of a prisoner than ever. the guards about the entrance of her quarters had been doubled. the door leading into the harem was locked. alice had been removed, her place taken by an arab woman who would not or could not understand a word pansy said to her. sleepless she lay among the silken cushions, brooding on the life that had once been hers; a life so remote from her present one that it might never have been. it was impossible to believe that far beyond this desert city there lay a place called london, where she had been free as air, where she could come and go as she pleased, where she had dined and danced and lunched and visited. a world of dreams, remote, unreal, lost to her for ever, where she had been pansy langham, fêted and courted, with society at her feet. now she was a sultan's slave, a chattel, her very life dependent on a barbaric ruler's whim. on what punishment would be doled out to her for her attempt to get away, she next brooded. there had been such a set, determined expression on her captor's face when he brought her back to her prison. the sound of someone coming towards her apartment broke in on her dreary reverie. it was close on midnight. she had never been disturbed at that hour before. she looked up quickly. the third door of her room was opening; one that had never opened before; a door the harem girls had told her led to the sultan's private suite. and the sultan, himself, was entering. the sultan attired as she had never seen him before--in silk pyjamas. pansy started to her feet. she stood slight and white and silken-clad against the golden walls; her heart beating with a sickly force that almost choked her; her eyes wide with fear. the end had come with a suddenness she was not prepared for. he crossed to her side; tenderness and determination on his face; love and passion in his eyes. for a moment there was silence. "so, pansy," he said at length. "you've tried to solve the problem your way. now i'm going to solve it mine. you've fought against love quite long enough, against yourself and against me. i'm going to end the fight between us. to-night, my little slave, you sleep within my arms and learn all that love means." at his words a flood of crimson swept over her strained face. she had but a vague idea of what was before her, but instinct told her it was something she must fight against. her gaze went to the arches, as if in search of some way of escape there. there was none. only the white stars looked in coldly, and night breathed on her, soft and sensuous. he knew where her thoughts were, and he laughed softly. "there's no escape this time, pansy," he said. the fear in her eyes deepened. wildly she searched round in her head for a way of getting rid of him for the time being. and only one course presented itself. "i ... i'll marry you," she stammered. "we'll be married by all means, if you wish, as soon as i can find a man to do the job. but you've been just a little too long in making up your mind. my patience is worn out." in her determination to live up to her own standards--standards that had no value in this desert city:--pansy saw she had tried this half-tamed man too far. he came closer, and held out his arms. "come, my little flower," he whispered passionately. quickly she moved further away from the arms that would have held her. "won't you come willingly?" he asked, in soft, caressing tones. "do you still refuse me the love i want, and which i know is mine?" "i don't want you or your love," she cried wildly, frantic at the knowledge of her own helplessness. he laughed with a touch of fierceness. "what cruel words to throw at your lover! but since you won't come, my little slave, then--i must take you." he would have taken her there and then, but with a swift movement she avoided him. then pansy ran, as she had run from him once before, like a white wraith in the moonlight. but this time he followed. there were no electric lights and ragtime band to run to now. only a moonlit garden full of the scent of roses. there was no crowd of people to give her shelter, only the deep shadows of the cypresses. in the darkness she paused, out of breath, hoping he would not see her. a vain hope. his eyes had learnt to pierce the gloom. she was in his arms almost before she knew it. there was a brief, uneven struggle, as pansy fought against a man who knew no law except his own desires. weak and weeping she collapsed against him, on a heart that leapt to meet her. there was a stone seat near. on it the sultan seated himself, the girl in his arms. and in the scented, sighing silence he tried to soothe the tears his methods had roused. and trembling she lay against the passion and power that held her, refusing to be comforted. "there's nothing to weep about, my darling," he whispered. "sooner or later you have to learn that i'm your master. just as you've taught me that all women are not ripe fruit, willing and anxious to fall into my hands. and i must have some closer tie between us since love alone won't keep you from running away from me." pansy's tears fell all the faster. for now it seemed her own doings were responsible for this crisis. he sat on, waiting until the storm was over. the tremors of the slight form that lay against his heart, so helpless yet so anxious not to do wrong, struck through the fire and passion in the man, to what lay beneath--true love and protection. presently he kissed the strained, tear-stained face pillowed against his shoulder. "it's like old times to be sitting in the moonlight and among the roses, with you in my arms," he said, all at once. "do you remember, pansy, that sweet night in grand canary? but you were not weeping then. why are you now, my little slave? because a sultan loves you more than his life? more than anything that has been in his life. you're not very flattering. but then, you never were." he paused for a moment, watching her tenderly. "yet you paid me the greatest compliment i ever had in my life. when you said you loved me. there could be no sweeter music that those words. and the choicest gift life has ever given me was a kiss from your lips, given willingly." he bent his head. "won't you give me another, pansy?" but the girl's strained face was turned away from the proud, passionate one so close to her own. "no, my little flower? will you make a thief of your sultan? will you give him nothing willingly now? i know i don't deserve it. but still--i want it. and my wants have been my only law so far." again he paused, stroking her curls with a loving hand. "just now, as man and woman together, pansy, i know i don't deserve you. i know i'm not worthy of you. but i want my soul, although i've only a blackened body to offer it. and the soul will have to do the best it can with the grimy accommodation. for i must have you, my darling. you've taken everything out of my life, but a desire for you." from a tangle of trees in an adjacent garden a nightingale burst into song, filling the night with liquid melody. at the sound the sultan's arms tightened around the slender figure he held. "no man appreciates virtue so much as the one who has had his fill of vice," he continued presently. "and i was born into it, steeped and sodden in it from my earliest recollection, until i didn't realise it was vice until i met you. and then it seemed to me i had run off the lines, and pretty badly." as he sat talking and caressing her, pansy's sobs died down. there was always magic in his touch, happiness within his arms. with throbbing heart she lay against him, watching him anxiously. he smiled into the tired, purple eyes. "no, perhaps, i won't be a thief," he said. "perhaps i shall climb up and up with many a stumble to the clear heights where you are, my darling. what would you say if you saw me there? 'here is a poor wretch who has climbed painfully upwards to touch the feet of his ideal,' you would say to yourself. and to me you would say, 'as a reward, will you come and have breakfast with me?' and i should come, like a shot. and i should want lunch and tea and dinner and--you. just you, my soul, always and for ever." after this outburst, he was quiet. passive within his arms pansy waited for the last hopeless struggle for right against wrong. he sat on, as if at peace with himself and the world. the restless look that always lurked in his eyes had gone; in its place was one of happiness and contentment. pansy's shivers roused him from his reverie. not shivers of fear, but of chilliness. a heavy dew had started falling, bringing a sudden coolness into the night. "why, heart's ease," he said, full of concern. "i'm keeping you out here when you ought to be indoors. but with you in my arms, i forget everything but you." getting to his feet, he took her back to the gilded room. the lamps had burnt out. it was a place of deep shadows, and here and there the silver of the moon patched its golden richness. once within its dimness pansy started struggling again. he took the slim white hands into one of his own, and kissed them. "there's no need for you to fight against me with weak little hands," he whispered. "there's another fighting for you, far stronger than you are. a new raoul le breton of your making, pansy. a man strong enough to wait until we're really married." laying his burden on a couch, he bent his head until his ear almost touched the girl's lips. "say 'yes,' pansy, and i'll go, 'nicely and quietly like a good boy,' still remembering 'your reputation,'" he said in a teasing tone. into his ear "yes" trembled. he kissed the lips that at last had consented to his wishes. "good night, my little girl, and if you go on at this rate you'll make a white man of me yet." long after he had gone pansy stayed brooding on his words. the battle between them was over at last. chapter xxxi on one of the terraces of his palace the sultan sat at breakfast. as he lingered in the sweet cool air of early morning, he pondered on the happenings of the night before. at last he had wrung a reluctant consent from his cherished prisoner. there was a flaw in his victory that he tried not to see. that "yes" would not have come except that the girl had been absolutely cornered. the word had not come from her lips spontaneously as those three words, "i love you," had. he tried to forget this fact, as he thought out the best means of bringing about a speedy wedding. there was no minister of her faith in el-ammeh. the nearest christian mission lay at least two hundred miles distant. it would be risky work bringing a white missionary to his city. the safest course would be to take her down to a mission station and marry her there. no one would know then where they had come from. and the journey back would make a delightful honeymoon. on the delights of that honeymoon he pondered. from his reverie he was rudely aroused by a sound which made marriage seem very remote, and death much more likely to be his portion. there was a sudden shriek high above the city, followed by a deafening roar, as a shell exploded over el-ammeh--a command for its surrender. the sultan started to his feet, his face reckless and savage. the cup was at his lips only to be dashed away. he knew what had happened. somehow or other the french government must have heard that he was responsible for the capture of the english governor; and an expedition had been sent up to punish him for his marauding ways. that same death-dealing sound startled pansy as she stood by the sunken pond in the rose garden, feeding the carp. wondering what had happened, she looked up at the smoke that lay like a little cloud between the city and the sky. she did not wonder for very long. present another shell came shrieking out of the distance. then she guessed what had occurred, and her face blanched. swiftly she went to her room; her only idea to reach the sultan and save him from his enemies. but all the doors of her prison were locked, and neither knocks nor shouts produced any answer. she went back to the fretted gallery, to see what could be seen from there. a mile or so away, like a dark snake on the desert, she saw the relief party. as she watched, a white-robed force left el-ammeh; an array of arab soldiers. on recognising their leader, her soul went sick within her. he was there. her lover. the man she ought to hate. going out to fight the men who had come to her rescue. if the french officers heading the expeditionary force imagined the sultan of el-ammeh had come out to surrender, they quickly discovered their mistake. he had come out to fight; and what was more, fight well and recklessly against a force that, if inferior in numbers, was vastly superior in arms. presently the shells no longer shrieked above el-ammeh. they were aimed at it. from her gallery pansy saw the two forces meet. then she could look no longer. men fell in the sand and rose no more. and any one of them might be her lover. she went back to her room and crouched there in terror; her father and friends all forgotten at the thought of the man who might be lying dead in the sand. as the morning wore on, the din of battle grew nearer. every now and again a shell got home. there were screams of terrified people; the heavy fall of masonry; the moans and cries of the injured. once pansy thought her end had come. a shell struck the palace. the place rocked to its foundations. there was the thunder of falling masonry as if the four walls of her room were crashing down upon her. she closed her eyes and waited. a few moments later she opened them, and was surprised to find her gilded prison very little damaged. it was badly cracked, and several blocks of stone had crashed down from the ceiling, one on the sandalwood bureau near where she crouched, smashing it to splinters and scattering the contents about her feet. more than once pansy had rummaged in its scented recesses, until she knew its contents by heart. she had found nothing but a few quills, sheets of paper yellow with age, and quaint, cut-crystal bottles in which the coloured inks had dried. she knew the desk had belonged to the sultan's mother. just as she knew the gilded room had been the french girl's prison. as she gazed at the debris at her feet, it seemed she could not have searched thoroughly. among the splinters was something she had not seen before. a few sheets of paper folded flat and tied with a strand of silk, that must have been hidden behind one of the many drawers. more to get her thoughts away from the battle raging round her than anything else, pansy picked up the tiny packet. untying the silk, she opened the faded, scented sheets and glanced at them. after the first glance, she stayed riveted. and as she read on, she forgot everything except what the letter said. it was in french, in a woman's hand, and the date was now more than twenty years old; a statement written by annette le breton before she died, proclaiming her son's real identity, and left by her in the bureau. some servant rummaging in the desk for trinkets, after her mistress's death, must have let it slip behind one of the numerous drawers. pansy read of colonel raoul le breton's ill-fated expedition to the north-east; how he and his little force had been murdered by the sultan casim ammeh. she learnt of annette le breton's fate at the hands of her savage captor. of the son who had come nearly nine months after her husband's death--the son the sultan casim ammeh imagined to be his. "raoul is not the son of the sultan casim ammeh," the faint handwriting declared. "he is the son of my murdered husband, colonel raoul le breton. i know, for every day he grows more like his dear, dead father. yet he imagines the sultan to be his father. and i dare not tell him the truth. for if the sultan learnt the boy was not his, he would kill him. for raoul's sake i must let the deception go on. for the sake of my son who is all i have to live for. and my heart breaks, for daily my boy grows more and more to love that savage chief who murdered his real father." pansy read of annette's dreary years in the harem of her captor. "years that have no light in them, save my son. years that i should not have endured except for my child, my boy, the son of my brave raoul." it was a heart-breaking story of love and sacrifice, of a mother tortured to save her child from the fate that had befallen his father. "the sultan will make my boy like himself," the letter went on. "for there is no one at hand to stop him. daily my influence grows less, and his stronger. the boy admires and copies the man he deems his father. he is too young to know the sultan for what he really is. he sees only a man, bold and picturesque. and the sultan spoils him utterly, he encourages him to be cruel and arrogant, he fosters all that is bad in the boy. it is useless for me to try and check him, for my own son laughs at me now." the writing grew more feeble as the letter went on; the wild entreaty of a mother who had no life outside of her son, and who saw him being ruined by his own father's murderer. "whoever finds this be kind to my boy, my raoul, for the sake of a woman who has suffered much, for the sake of his martyred father, colonel raoul le breton. do not judge my son by what he is, but by what he might have been. in the sultan casim he has a bad example, a savage teacher, a wild, profligate, cruel man, who would make the boy as barbarous as he is himself." the writing grew even more feeble, a faint scrawl on the yellow paper. "i am dying, and my son is far away. i shall not live until my boy returns. and he will be left with no influence but the sultan's. o fate, deal kindly with my boy, my raoul, left alone with savages in this barbaric city. i have only endured these dreadful years for the sake of my son. in the name of pity be kind to him. he will have no chance in the hands of his present teacher. have mercy for the sake of his tortured mother, and his father, that brave soldier who gave his life for france. annette le breton." pansy read the sheets through without once raising her eyes. she was ravenous for the contents. at that moment it seemed as if the dim, gilded room were full of tears and sorrows; the faint, sweet fragrance of the girl who had lived there long years ago, suffering and enduring for the sake of her boy. it was not in pansy's kind heart to refuse that tragic mother pleading for her son. then she remembered that colonel le breton's son was out there fighting against his own people. if, indeed, he were still left alive to fight. her lips moved in silent prayer. she kissed the faded, scented sheets and tucked them against her heart. she was not going to fail annette. all she wanted now was to be at the side of the dead girl's son, to help him to build up a new character according to the best white codes and standards. then she sat on, listening to the battle that raged around the desert city. if raoul le breton were spared, there was another battle before her--a battle with two governments for his life. but she had not many qualms about the result, with annette's letter, her own wealth, and her father on her side; as he would be, once she had explained the situation. morning dragged on into afternoon, and the sound of the conflict died down somewhat. all at once, as if muffled by distance, she heard her lover's voice calling hoarsely: "pansy." she started to her feet. before she could answer, there was a sound of fighting just beyond her quarters. then she heard her father's voice, strained and anxious: "pansy, are you in there?" "oh, father," she called back frantically. "don't let them kill the sultan." there came more muffled voices. then the sound of masonry being shifted, as the men outside her prison started clearing away the debris that blocked the door. chapter xxxii evening shadows were settling over el-ammeh; deep, grey shadows that, for all their gloomy darkness, were not as dark and gloomy as the thoughts of a man who was a prisoner in one of the rooms of his own palace. against a fluted column the sultan stood watching night settle on the lake; a night that would soon settle on him for ever. the day had gone against him. outmatched, he had been driven back to his city walls. even then he could have escaped with a handful of his following, and have started life afresh as a desert marauder, but there was one treasure in his palace--the greatest treasure of his life--that he wanted to take with him. in a vain effort to secure pansy before he fled, he had been captured. with his enemies close at his heels, he had made a dash for the palace, to fetch the girl. on arriving outside of her prison, he found a fall of masonry had blocked the doorway. before he could retrace his steps and try another entrance, his pursuers were upon him. the french were already in possession of that part of the city where the englishmen had been imprisoned. immediately they were released, sir george barclay and his officers, supplemented by a few senegalese soldiers, had gone hot-foot to the palace, to pansy's rescue. there they had found the sultan. a brief struggle against overpowering odds ensued, and once more the so-called casim ammeh was a prisoner in the hands of george barclay. with the shadows gathering round him, the sultan stood, in white burnoose, a bitter expression on his arrogant face. he had nothing now, neither wealth, nor power, nor his kingdom, nor the girl he had risked all for in a vain attempt to win. to-morrow he would have even less. there was short shrift for such as he. to-morrow his life would have been taken from him. a life that had become empty as he had grown older and pleasures palled, until pansy had come into it, filling it with freshness and innocence. the battle between them was over at last. death would end it. his death. a european entered. a man he knew. george barclay. the man he hated more than ever; the man responsible for his capture. barclay ordered one of the soldiers to light the lamp. then he dismissed his escort. there were half a dozen senegalese soldiers mounting guard over the sultan. the englishman dismissed them also, leaving himself alone with the prisoner. "you're doing a bold thing, barclay, leaving the two of us together like this," the sultan remarked. "it will give me great pleasure to wring your neck, before i'm sent the way of my father." as if to carry out this design, he took a step towards the governor. from his pocket, barclay drew out a few sheets of faded, scented paper. "read this," he said quietly, handing them to the prisoner. with some surprise, the sultan took them. on opening the letter, he started, for he recognised his mother's writing. as he read on, his bronzed face whitened, and a dazed look came to his eyes, like a man reeling under a tremendous blow. in a critical, but not unfriendly manner, barclay studied his companion. he knew now why the sultan of el-ammeh differed so in appearance from the wild people he ruled. on reaching pansy, he had had annette le breton's letter thrust into his hands. his daughter had had no greeting for him, only wild entreaties for him to save the sultan. when barclay read the tragic confession he was quite ready to do his best. then pansy had told him more. how raoul le breton was the man she loved. but she did not say that lucille lemesurier was responsible for their parting. she led her father to believe that the discovery of the supposed black blood in her lover had been her "hole in the floor of heaven." barclay did not trouble his daughter with many questions. it was enough that she was safe. what was more, he knew she would marry the man of her choice, no matter what obstacles were put in her way, as the first pansy had married him--with the world against her. all he wanted now was to save the man his daughter had set her heart on; that death should not blight her life as it had blighted his. when the conflict was over, and the french and english officers met again, barclay had shown the letter to the commander of the expeditionary force--the man who held the sultan's life in his hand. the officer had read annette le breton's statement through in silence. considering the contents, it did not need pansy's lovely, anxious face or her father's pleadings to make him promise them life and liberty for colonel le breton's son. more he could not promise. the two governments would want an indemnity that would swallow up most of the kingdom of el-ammeh. but his life was all pansy wanted. his life, and to be at his side when the blow fell. for a blow it was bound to be, to a man as proud and fierce as her lover. a shock and then a relief. as raoul le breton read the letter, his old world crashed in ruins about him. now he understood his dead mother's hatred of the sultan casim. her endeavours to mould him on european lines. her pleadings and entreaties for him not to forget the white side. that poor, frail, tortured little mother who had suffered so much for his sake! his hand went across his anguished face. he had not forgotten the white side. he had done worse. he had just ignored it. knowing good, he had preferred evil. he had gone his way as barbaric and licentious as the savage who had murdered his father. with tortured eyes he glanced at barclay. this man whom he had hated so bitterly for sixteen years and more was his best friend, not his enemy. for barclay had shot the savage chief who had murdered his father and outraged his mother. like a whisper through the chaos surrounding him, le breton heard barclay talking, telling him pansy had found the letter. on account of its contents the french commander was not going to push the case against him. he would be given his life and freedom, but an indemnity would have to be paid, and the price would leave him only a shadow of his wealth. le breton knew that again pansy had saved his worthless life. for worthless it seemed, judging from his new standpoint. "i owe you thanks, not hatred," he said to barclay, his voice hoarse with suffering. "and i owe you thanks too," the governor replied. "my daughter tells me you treated her with every kindness and consideration." it seemed to le breton that he had been anything but kind and considerate; that no woman could forgive such dealings as his had been with her. he had taken a girl used to a free and active life and had shut her up in a scented, sensual prison, trying to make her fall a victim to himself and her own senses; until she had grown morbid and hysterical, seeking death in preference to himself and the sort of life he had forced her to lead. "i don't know that i should call myself exactly kind or considerate to your daughter," he remarked. "not after reading this letter. or to you either," he finished. "i wouldn't worry too much about the past, if i were you," barclay replied. "you've plenty of time ahead of you to 'make good' in." le breton said nothing. he stayed brooding on the ruins around him, hating himself and the savage chief who had been his teacher. all his old world had been swept away from him. lost and alone, he would have to start afresh, according to new lights and new ideals, and without a hand to guide him. he had nothing, neither wealth nor kingdom. not his pride even. unknowingly he had been a renegade, fighting against his own nation. he was utterly broken. but he did not look it--only unutterably dreary. as he pondered on his past life, he realised to the fullest what he must look like to pansy. no wonder she had fought against her love for him! any decent woman would. he did not hear barclay go, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the deepening shadows. he was aware of nothing except his own wild career, and how he had run foul of all white ideals. the door opened, but he did not hear that either. he was too full of suffering and repentance. then another whisper penetrated the whirl in which he moved. "raoul," a girl's voice said gently. he looked at pansy as a man dying of thirst in a desert would look at a mirage of lakes and fountains--a vision of torturing desire that he knew was not for him. no apologies could condone for his behaviour. love he dared not mention; not with a past like his; not to this innocent, high-principled girl. pansy came to his side. "stoop down a bit, raoul," she said. "i want to say something." he bent his dark head. into his ear "i love you" was whispered shyly, as it had been that night months ago in a moonlit garden in grand canary. at her whispered words his face started working strangely. "i don't deserve such love, such forgiveness," he said in a broken voice. she laughed--the laughter that kept tears at bay--and slipping her arms about his neck, tip-toed, and kissed the lips that dared not touch her now. "and i want to marry you at once. i want to be with you always." at her words his arms went round her in their old possessive manner. then he remembered that all his wealth had been swept from him; that now he had the girl, he had nothing left to give her. "i've nothing to offer you," he said, his voice bitter, "except a love that's not worth having." with soft, gentle hands pansy stroked the lines of bitterness from the proud face that watched her with such love and longing. "you can have all that's mine. i don't want anything but you." he kissed the lips that were held up to his so willingly. "my darling, help me to grope back to your white ways," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "you won't have to grope. you got there last night when you 'remembered my reputation' and 'went nicely and quietly like a good boy.'" he laughed, but there was a slight catch in his laughter, and pressed the girl closer to the heart she could always ease. there were no shadows now, no ruins. for the greatest treasure of his life was left to him. the end. another tremendous success by the author of "desert love" the hawk of egypt joan conquest's exotic story of the love-madness with which mysterious egypt drugs the souls of men and women. _its realism will thrill you_ you will see: cairo, the native quarter, the bazaars, the flaming desert, the love tryst in the temple of ammon, zulannah, the dancing girl--the jewelled siren of the nile, damaris, the beautiful english heroine, kelham, the lion hunter and hugh carden ali, the man who sold his life for one hour of love _here are two pages selected at random, from_ the hawk of egypt _a love story without asterisks_ damaris bowed her head so that the curls danced and glistened in the light, as the torrent of his words, in the egyptian tongue, swept about her like a flood. "hast thou come to me in love, thou dove from the nest? nay, what knowest thou of love? i ask it not of thee--yet--but the seed i shall plant within thee shall grow in the passing of the days and the nights and the months and the years, until it is as a grove of perfumed flowers which shall change to golden fruit ready to the plucking of my hand." he pressed her little hands back against her breast so that the light fell full upon her face, and he held her thuswise, watching the colour rise and fade. "allah!" he whispered. "allah! god of all, what have i done to deserve such signs of thy great goodness? wilt thou love me?" he laughed gently. "canst thou look into mine eyes and shake thy golden head which shall be pillowed upon my heart--my wife--the mother of my children? look at me! look at me! ah! thine eyes, which were as the pools of lebanon at night, are as a sun-kissed sea of love. thou know'st it not, but love is within thee--for me, thy master." and was there not truth in what he said? may there not have been love in the heart of the girl? not, maybe, the love which stands sweet and sturdy like the stocky hyacinth, to bloom afresh, no matter how often the flowers be struck, or the leaves be bruised, from the humdrum bulb deep in the soil of quiet content. but the god-given, iridescent love of youth for youth, with its passion so swift, so sweet; a love like the rose-bud which hangs half-closed over the door in the dawn; which is wide-flung to the sun at noon; which scatters its petals at dusk. the rose! she has filled your days with the memory of her fragrance; her leaves still scent the night from out the sealed crystal vase which is your heart. but an' you would attain the priceless boon of peace, see to it that a humdrum bulb be planted in the brown flower-pot which is your home. and because of this god-given love of youth which was causing her heart to thud and the blood to race through her veins, she did not withdraw her hands when he held and kissed them and pressed his forehead upon them. "lotus-flower," he whispered so that she could scarcely hear. "bud of innocence! ivory tower of womanhood! temple of love! beloved, beloved, i am at thy feet." and he knelt and kissed the little feet in the heelless little slippers; then, rising, took both her hands and led her to the door; and his eyes were filled with a great sadness, in spite of the joy which sang in his heart as he took her into the shelter of his arms. "i love thee too well," he said, as he bent and kissed the riotous curls so near his mouth. "yes, i love thee too well to snatch thee even as a hungry dog snatches his food, though, verily, i be more near to starving than any hungry dog. what dost thou know of love, of life, in the strange countries of the east? for thy life will _they were alone...._ the magic of the desert night had closed about them. cairo, friends,--civilization as she knew it--were left far behind. she, an unbeliever, was in the heart of the trackless wastes with a man whose word was more than law. and yet, he was her slave! "i shall ask nothing of you until you shall love me," he promised. "you shall draw your curtains, and until you call, you shall go undisturbed." and she believed him! do you want to see luxury beyond your imagination to conjure,--feel the softness of silks finer than the gossamer web of the spider--hear the night voices of the throbbing desert, or sway to the jolting of the clanking caravan? egypt, arabia pass before your eyes. the impatient cursing of the camel men comes to your ears. your nostrils quiver in the acrid smoke of the little fires of dung that flare in the darkness when the caravan halts. the night has shut off prying eyes. yashmaks are lowered. white flesh gleams against burnished bands of gold. the children of allah are at home. and the promise he had given her? ... let joan conquest, who knows and loves the east, tell you in desert love _for sale wherever books are sold, or from_ the macaulay company publishers - w. th st., new york a beautifully illustrated edition of three weeks the famous romantic novel by elinor glyn now ready at the same price as "beyond the rocks" the world has felt upon its hot lips the perfumed kisses of the beautiful heroine of "three weeks." the brilliant flame that was her life has blazed a path into every corner of the globe. it is a world-renowned novel of consuming emotion that has made the name of its author, elinor glyn, the most discussed of all writers of modern fiction. what the critics have said about it percival pollard in _town topics_: "it is a book to make one forget that the world is gray. be as sad, as sane as you like, for all the other days of your life, but steal one mad day, i adjure you, and read 'three weeks.'" _the western christian advocate_: "the power and beauty of its descriptions and the pathos of its scenes are undeniable." _the brooklyn eagle_: "a cleverly told tale, full of dainty sentiment, of poetic dreaming and dramatic incident." _the san francisco argonaut_: "we feel inclined to throw at her (the heroine) neither stones nor laurels, but rather to congratulate the author upon a powerful story that lays a grip upon the mind and heart." _the detroit free press_: "no wonder that 'three weeks' is one of the best sellers." a beautifully illustrated edition of beyond the rocks by elinor glyn now ready at the same price as "three weeks" a flaming romance as only the author of "three weeks" could write it; as only gloria swanson, with dashing rodolph valentino playing the lover, could make it live in all its ardent splendor. the story of a passionate young heart bound by society's conventions, struggling and risking all for happiness. --of gay nights of revelry in the parisian world of fashion. --of intrigue and coquetry in the gilded resorts of london high society. never before have such dramatic love-scenes, such spectacular adventure been placed before the public. the love-drama with all the thrills and luxury of a life-time! the one book and picture you'll never forget! famous novels by victoria cross life's shop window it tears the garments of conventionality from woman, presenting her as she must appear to the divine eye. hilda against the world fancy a married man, denied divorce by law, falling desperately in love with a charming maiden waiting for love. a girl of the klondike a stirring story of love, intrigue and adventure, woven about a proud, reckless heroine. six women a half-dozen of the most vivid love stories that ever lit up the dusk of a tired civilization. the night of temptation the self-sacrifice of woman in love. regina, the heroine, gives herself to a man for his own sake. the world, however, exacts a severe price for her unconventional conduct. six chapters of a man's life a bold, brilliant, defiant presentation of the relations of men and women who find themselves in situations never before conceived. to-morrow a daring innovation of great strength and almost photographic intensity, that appeals to the lovers of sensational fiction; wise, witty, yet touchingly pathetic. daughters of heaven as life cannot be described, but must be lived, so this book cannot be revealed--it must be read. its daring situations and tense moments will thrill you. over life's edge no one but victoria cross could have written this thrilling tale of a girl who left the gayeties of london to dwell in a lonely cavern until the man, who loved her with the passion of impetuous youth, found her. the life sentence a beautifully written story, full of life, nature, passion and pathos. the weaknesses of a proud, cultured woman lead to a strange climax. the macaulay company - west th street, new york send for free illustrated catalog [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: faster and faster danced ned rector.] the pony rider boys in the alkali or finding a key to the desert maze by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, etc., etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio -------- new york made in u. s. a. copyright mcmx by the saalfield publishing company contents chapter. i. the desert's mystic spell ii. the first night in camp iii. twisted by a twister iv. the charge of the light brigade v. stalking big game by moonlight vi. bagged by lucky shots vii. chunky comes to grief viii. nearly drowned in an alkali sink ix. the boys discover a river x. a cowboy takes a header xi. a piece of human sandpaper xii. running down the trail xiii. coyotes join in the chorus xiv. fun in the foothills xv. bud promises some excitement xvi. the battle of the stallions xvii. on a wild-horse hunt xviii. roped by rough riders xix. winning their reward xx. visited by a halo xxi. off on a dry trail xxii. in the hermit's cave xxiii. lost in the desert maze xxiv. conclusion the pony rider boys in the alkali chapter i the desert's mystic spell "if this is the desert, then i think i prefer mountains," decided stacy brown. "it is not the desert. we have not reached it yet. this is the diamond range," replied tom parry, who was to guide the pony rider boys across the great nevada desert. "we shall soon be there, however." "you'll know the place when you see it, chunky," said ned rector. "and feel it, too, i guess," added tad butler under his breath. "we have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide. "were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert." "then, if we're so near, why not get out in the open, instead of floundering through these hills?" questioned stacy. "i'm thinking you'll wish you were back in the hills before many days," laughed the guide. "mr. parry has his own reasons for following this trail, master stacy," interposed professor zepplin. "we are entirely in his hands and it is not for us to question the wisdom of his decision." the guide nodded. parry was a splendid type of the plainsman of the great west. tall, straight, clear-eyed, his bronzed cheeks fairly glistening in the sunlight, he would have attracted attention anywhere. at present, he sat on his pony motionless, the broad sombrero tilted upward above his forehead as he peered into the amber haze that hung over the western horizon. "yes, we shall reach the desert soon enough. we are heading for the newark valley now, and should be there in time to make camp this afternoon, providing the weather is satisfactory," announced parry, more to himself than to the others. "weather--weather?" stammered professor zepplin. "what's the matter with the weather?" "one hundred in the shade. isn't that matter enough?" grunted stacy. "how do you know, chunky? you haven't seen any shade to-day," demanded ned rector. "there isn't a patch of shade as large as a man's hand in this whole country, so far as i have been able to observe." "and still less in the country we are about to enter," added the guide. tad butler, however, had been observing the guide keenly. though the lad had asked no questions, he had caught a note of anxiety in the tone, as well as in the apprehensive glances that parry kept continually casting to the westward. the guide, catching tad's inquiring look, smiled and nodded. "you should always keep your eyes on the weather in this country, especially when on the alkali," he told the boy after the party had started on again. "why more there than elsewhere, mr. parry?" "because storms here are frequently attended with no little peril. you'll see some of them, no doubt, before we reach the end of our journey, and you will wish you hadn't." "but there's no sign of storm now," protested tad. "perhaps not to you, young man. do you see that haze settling down like a fog on the western horizon?" "yes, i've been looking at it--a golden fog." the guide smiled grimly. "i wouldn't call it exactly golden. i should call it fiery," said the guide. "has it any particular meaning?" "may mean most anything. means storm of some kind--perhaps rain, and maybe wind. if it passes, we'll drop out of here and make camp on the desert to-night." "that will be fine," said tad. "we are all crazy for the desert. since we started out on our trips, last spring, we have experienced almost everything that could happen to us on mountain and plain----" "but not including the desert?" "no." "you'll find it different; very different." "i suppose you know every foot of it--in fact its every mood, do you not?" questioned tad. the guide, for the moment lost in thought, finally turned to the lad again. "moods, did you say? well, that describes it. the desert is as moody as an old hen with a brood of chickens. know the nevada desert? sometimes i think i do; then again, i know i don't." "but you could not get lost----" "i have," smiled the guide. "i've been wandering about the alkali for days without being able to find my way back. if you are able to read trails and the droop of the scattering sage brush you will have made a long stride toward knowing your way about the desert." "i don't understand," wondered the lad. "no; of course not. it's a long story, but when we have time i will initiate you into the mysteries of reading the desert signs. the west is clearing up. that's good," the guide exclaimed in a relieved tone. "which means that we go on?" "yes." "are we turning off into the desert, did you say?" asked walter perkins, with sparkling eyes. "well, not just yet, master walter. we shall have to refill our water-bags before leaving the range. i take it, you boys would not care to be without water?" "no, i guess not. but where are you going to get it?" asked ned. "about a mile further on there should be a mountain stream. there will not be much water in it just now, but we shall be able to fill our bags and water the stock, i guess." "hooray!" shouted the boys. "the call of the desert is stronger than ever," averred tad. "you are not the first ones who have felt that way, young man. 'the call of the desert,' as you put it, has lured many a poor victim to his death. water is the all important thing when on a journey of this kind, and we shall have to be vigilant that we do not allow ourselves to be without it." as the guide had said, the stream, when they finally came up with it more than two hours later, was a mere rivulet. "call that a stream?" sniffed stacy. "no, it's a freshet," replied ned rector. "you might take a swim in it were it not for the danger of drowning." "how are we going to get any water unless we dip it up with a spoon?" asked tad. "i'll show you," smiled the guide, dismounting. already the stock had sniffed the presence of water, even though there was so little of it. the ponies chafed at their bits and snorted, while the burros of the pack train tossed their heads in their impatience. "i used to have a plaything that worked just like the heads of those lazy burros," stacy informed his companions wisely. "that's about your gait," growled ned. "you didn't think so when he saved our lives in the ruby mountain," reminded tad. "that's right, ned," confirmed walter. "don't be ungrateful for small favors." "i apologize, master chunky," announced ned, removing his sombrero and unbending in a ceremonious bow to the fat boy. "we will now make a water hole. come along if you wish to know how it is done," called the guide. leading the ponies and pack animals down along the slender water course until they had reached a natural pocket, the guide halted. with a rubber blanket he formed a basin in the depression in the rocks through which the water had been trickling and losing itself far down in the earth. two of the pony rider boys held the blanket in place while it was slowly filling with water. "now, master stacy, if you will be good enough to fetch one of your pails we will water the stock first." stacy did so. to save time, walter brought another pail, so that this could be filled while his companion was giving the water to one of their animals. it was a slow process; and, by the time the six ponies and four burros had drunk their fill, something more than an hour had passed. by this time the rubber blanket had been thoroughly cleaned by constant rubbing. "bring on the canteens and water-bags," directed tom parry. "we'll have water enough to carry us through a few days of desert life, at any rate. load the burros down." the animals now having satisfied their thirst were nibbling gingerly at the scant growth of sage brush. it was not a tender morsel at any time, but from that time on they would be obliged to subsist almost entirely on the bitter stuff. "have you boys filled up?" asked tom, looking about. "better drink enough to last you for the rest of the day. we shall have to use our water sparingly for a time now. take on a supply while you have the chance." "how about you, chunky?" laughed ned rector. "think i'm a camel?" demanded stacy, with an air of indignation. "now, will you be good, ned rector?" laughed tad. even the stolid face of the guide relaxed in a broad smile of amusement. "then, if you are all supplied, we had better be on our way. if we are going to camp on the alkali to-night we shall have to make time between this and sundown. it's about three hours high." with a whoop and a hurrah, the boys swung into their saddles, heading joyously for the newark valley and the silent, mysterious desert that in the dim, misty past had been a great inland sea. readers of the preceding volumes of this series will recall how the pony rider boys came to spend their summer vacation on horseback, under the guardianship of walter perkins' tutor, professor zepplin. with a capable mountain guide, their first journey was through the wildest part of the rocky mountains, where they met with a series of rousing adventures and hair-breadth escapes--experiences calculated to try the stoutest hearts. it was here that the young explorers hunted big game--here that they discovered a valuable mine that had been the goal of prospectors for many years past. all this was outlined in the first volume of the series, "the pony rider boys in the rockies." in the second volume, "the pony rider boys in texas," was narrated how the four lads joined in a cattle drive across the plains of texas, becoming real cowboys. being by this time well hardened physically, they were able to do men's work in rounding up the stampeding cattle, which led them into many thrilling adventures. it will be recalled, too, how, during a visit to the mysterious church of san miguel, the pony rider boys solved the veiled riddle of the plains, which marked the end of the most eventful journey of their lives. in the third volume, "the pony rider boys in montana," we find the plucky lads following the old custer trail over mountain and plain. it will be remembered how tad butler, while chasing a bear that had disturbed their camp, overheard a plot to stampede and slaughter the herd of sheep belonging to a rancher whom they knew; how the lad managed to escape from the men who sought his life; his eventual capture by the blackfeet indians, his escape, and the final solving of the mystery of the old custer trail, during which the boys were in the thick of a battle between cowboys and sheep herders. in the volume preceding the present one the pony rider boys were once more in the saddle in search of further adventure. in "the pony rider boys in the ozarks," they met with a series of disasters and exciting experiences which tested their courage almost to the breaking point. they were beset by a band of robbers, who stole their ponies. nearly all the party, one by one, was lost in the fastnesses of the ozark wilderness. it will be recalled how the boys, during a visit to the red star mine, were caught in a wreck far underground; how a car of dynamite exploded, making them prisoners in a rocky tomb, and how, after being rescued by a mountain girl, they discovered the real secret of the ruby mountain, narrowly escaping with their lives in doing so. no sooner had they brought this eventful trip to a close than they set out to face the perils of the great, silent desert of nevada. they were almost upon it now. its spell was upon them and the lads fell silent as they waited anxiously for the first sight of the land which they had journeyed so far to gaze upon. they had not long to wait after leaving the water hole where they had replenished their supply. the guide at last rode out upon a rocky promontory, where he halted, waiting for the others of the party to come up with him. "where's the desert--is that it?" demanded ned, riding up beside him. the guide raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. "the desert lies before you," he answered, his eyes traveling meditatively over the miles of waste and mottled landscape. a brazen glare lay over the scene, while up from the white alkali flats rose a wave of heat that was suffocating. old, dried-up water sinks lay white and glistening here and there, framed by vast areas of sage brush, while on beyond in the blue distance lay miles and miles of monotonous, billowing hills and mountains. "whew!" gasped chunky, mopping the perspiration from his brow. "this is somewhat hotter than chillicothe, missouri. i wish i had a cake of ice to put under my hat." "beautiful! grand!" murmured professor zepplin. "reminds me of a turkish bath i was in once in st. louis," added ned. tad butler was silent. he was too profoundly impressed even to speak; and even the guide, familiar as he was with the scene, was silent and thoughtful, too. he understood full well the perils, the pitfalls for the unwary, that lay along the pathway of those who sought to traverse that barren waste. at last he turned to professor zepplin. "shall we move?" he asked. the professor nodded. "one of you boys get behind the burros and start them along, please," requested the guide. stacy brown complied gleefully. no more pleasant task could have been assigned to him than that of prodding the lazy pack-bearers. "forward!" commanded tom parry. the boys clucked to their ponies. not an animal moved. surprised, the lads brought their spurs against the flanks that they could feel were trembling a little. a strange, unlooked for thing occurred. with whinnies of terror the little animals reared and plunged. before their puzzled riders could control them every pony in the outfit had whirled suddenly and began plunging along on the back trail. a chorus of "whoa's" rose from the pony rider boys. quirt and spur were used freely, and firm hands on the bridle reins quickly checked the sudden rush. by dint of force and persuasion the boys finally succeeded in forcing their mounts back. that is, all had done so save stacy brown. his pony was spinning like a top, while stacy red-faced and perspiring was uttering loud, angry shouts, driving in spur and raining quick, short blows on the animal's rump. the burros had moved just far enough away to be out of reach of stacy's plunging animal. at last it threw itself violently to the ground. stacy, by a remarkably lively jump, cleared his falling mount, but not a second too soon to save himself from being pinned beneath it. he sat down on the animal's head, puffing from his exertions. after a minute, during which the other boys laughed so heartily that their own ponies nearly got the better of them again, stacy rose and began prodding his mount with the end of the quirt, urging it to get up again. but the pony refused to budge. "he's 'hog-tied,'" nodded the guide, riding up. "let him stay there till he gets ready to move. no use trying to hurry the beast. he's too much scared." "scared at what?" questioned stacy, looking up apprehensively. "yes; that's what i'd like to know?" agreed ned. "i don't see anything that looks like a scare." the guide was looking down at the animal pityingly, tad thought. "what are they so frightened at, mr. parry?" asked the lad. "my boy, they are afraid of the desert," replied the guide solemnly. chapter ii the first night in camp "the desert?" the pony riders gasped in chorus. "yes. it is not an uncommon thing. they seem to realize instinctively that there is danger off there. even in animals that never have been near the desert you will find the same inborn dread of the alkali flats. and i don't know that i blame them any." "but is my broncho going to lie here all day?" queried chunky. "if that's his idea i might as well give him another argument that will make him change his mind." "let him alone. he'll be better off if you do not force him. when he gets up be gentle but firm with him." "that's the strangest thing i ever saw," said tad quietly. "most remarkable," agreed the professor. the faces of the boys were serious. they too began to perceive the feeling that had stirred the ponies to resist when turned toward the silent plains that lay spread for mile upon mile before them. after a few minutes stacy's pony scrambled to its feet. the lad was in the saddle in a twinkling. "now, i guess you'll go where i want you to. whoa! quit that b-b-b-b-bucking." the animal had gone into a series of jolting bucks, with back arched and head well down. the fat boy held his seat well. his face was red and streaked with perspiration which ran down it in tiny rivulets under the violent exercise to which he had just been subjected. the boys forgot the serious side of the incident in their enjoyment of their companion's discomfiture. tom parry gazed upon the scene with more than ordinary curiosity. it was the first opportunity he had had of observing a pony rider boy in action. at that moment stacy brown was most distinctly in action. most of the time there was a broad patch of daylight under him, and when he hit the saddle it was with a jolt that seemed as if it must jar his head from his body. "put some salt on his tail," suggested ned rector. "y-y-y-you do it," gasped chunky, which brought a roar of laughter from the whole party. "yes, why don't you?" teased tad. "it's the only way you can make good." "salting down horse is not my business," laughed ned. all at once the pony whirled, heading down the mountain side with a disconcerting rush that nearly brought disaster upon its rider. with a shout the rest of the boys urged their mounts into a jog-trot and followed on down the trail as fast as they dared, for the descent was steep and dangerous. "he'll break his neck!" cried the professor. "after that bucking i'm sure chunky's neck is too well fastened to come off," laughed tad. stacy was out of sight. they could hear him yelling at his broncho, so they knew he was still in the saddle and right side up. the other ponies, apparently having forgotten their fear, were following the leader willingly now. all at once they saw lad and mount burst into view on the plain below. "he's on the desert!" shouted tad. laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the fat boy, the pony riders hastened to the base of the hill. stacy brown was still busily engaged trying to subdue his pony, though some of the lads shrewdly suspected that their companion was urging the animal on in order to show off his horsemanship. in a moment more they, too, were in difficulties. no sooner had their bronchos set foot on the desert than a sudden panic once more possessed them. professor zepplin's pony whirled on its haunches, then began climbing the rocks, with the agility of a squirrel. the others, however, had troubles of their own, which saved the professor from being laughed at. the animals seemed determined not to be forced to go on, and it required severe measures to induce them to take up the desert trail. tom parry's mount did not exhibit the same fear as did the others. still, it gave him more or less trouble, appearing to be excited, in spite of itself, by the actions of its companions. at last they succeeded in lining the animals up in an orderly formation. their next move was to get the burros moving along ahead of them. the way being open and level there was no necessity for leading the pack animals now. these could take care of themselves without danger to the outfit. "and this is the desert!" marveled the professor. "it is," smiled the guide. "looks to me more like a landscape of german measles," averred stacy, as they moved along through scattering sage brush and open sandy stretches. now that they had reached the plain itself, they discovered that it was not one level stretch of land. instead, the country was rolling; here and there were wide reaches of whitish desert sands and alkali sinks. the atmosphere was like an oven. not a breath of air was stirring. already the lads were mopping their brows and fanning their faces with their sombreros, while spots of dark shining moisture on the ponies' sides bore evidence that they, too, felt the baking heat. "i say, fellows, let's find some shade," called stacy. "all right, go ahead and we'll follow," laughed tad. "i'll ride up to the top of that knoll and make an observation." tom parry smiled appreciatively as the lad galloped up the sharp rise of ground, where chunky sat on his pony, shading his eyes as he gazed off over the cheerless desert. "well, how about that shade?" shouted ned. stacy turned disconsolately and rode back to his companions. "there isn't any," he said. "of course not," laughed ned. "but i know how to make some," added the fat boy. slipping from his pony he cut some sage brush, which he fashioned about his head in the shape of a hood, so that it gave his perspiring face some protection from the intense glare of the sun. "now, all you need is a strip of mosquito netting," suggested walter. "and a little red rocking chair," added ned. "with a dish of ice cream," laughed tad. "i guess you will have to be satisfied with a cup of alkali water," interjected the professor, dryly. "you will find the air much cooler, shortly," the guide advised them. "the sun is going down now and i think we had better make camp, if the professor has no objections." "not in the least. in fact, i am quite ready to call it a day's work." "where do we camp, mr. parry?" asked tad. "right here. it is as good a place as any that we shall find. there is little choice out here." they were now in a broad valley, the rolling hills covered with a sparse growth of sage brush rising gradually on each side. the boys threw themselves from their ponies gladly, stripping the saddles from the animals' backs. "better stake the animals down, for the first two or three nights, so they won't take french leave," advised the guide. "how about the burros?" asked tad. "let them roam. they'll stay as long as the ponies are here. the pack animals will fill up on sage, after which they will come back to camp to sleep." all hands began to unpack. the tents were pitched in record time, cots unfolded and preparations for the night made with a skill that comes from long practice in the open. "what are we to do for a camp-fire?" asked walter. "there is not a single stick of wood about here." "burn the sage," answered the guide. "that stuff won't burn," retorted ned. "try it." they did. in an incredibly short time a hot fire was blazing up, on which they piled armfuls of the stunted desert growth. "now, get your food ready and i will cook it," said parry, as the flames began to die down. when the fire had settled to a bed of hot ashes tom thrust the bacon directly into the ashes, placing the coffee pot near the center, around and on top of which he heaped the ashes. it was a new method of preparing a meal, and the lads watched the process with keen interest. "i shouldn't think that bacon would be fit to eat. however, i presume you know what you are doing," said the professor. "it's the only way, sir," replied parry. "we have to work with the implements that nature has provided." "nature must have been in a stingy mood when she made this country," laughed ned. "i don't agree with you," said tad. "it is the most beautiful and interesting scene that i have ever looked upon." parry nodded approvingly. "and as fickle as it is beautiful," added the guide. "the supper will be ready by the time you have the table set, boys." in spite of the heat the lads realized all at once that their appetites had not suffered. bacon, jelly and biscuits, which had been warmed over the ashes, seemed to them to have reached the proportions of a banquet. stacy helped himself to a large slice of bacon which he proceeded to munch. no sooner had he begun, however, than he made a wry face. "what's the matter. isn't the bacon all right?" asked the guide. "awful! somebody's trying to poison me," chunky shouted, red in the face. "must have a brown taste in your mouth,' laughed ned. "what's the trouble----" began the professor. "good gracious, there is something the matter with the stuff. ugh! never tasted such bitter stuff. did you purchase this meat in a reliable place, mr. parry!" the guide smiled good-naturedly. "the bacon is all right, sir. it's the sage brush taint that you get." "the what?" "sage brush. the same taste will be in everything you eat out in this country--that and the alkali." "then i starve," announced stacy, firmly, laying down his fork and folding his arms. "any time you starve it'll be because there is nothing to eat," retorted ned. "you'll all get used to the taste after you have been out a few days," comforted the guide. "never!" shouted stacy. "i rather like the peculiar taste," smiled tad butler. "good as a tonic," spoke up walter. thus encouraged stacy tried it again, at first nibbling gingerly at the bacon, then attacking it boldly. even the professor, after a time, appeared to forget the bitterness of the food, passing his plate for more. tom parry smiled indulgently. "you'll all like it after a while," he nodded. "i'm sure i'll have to take back some sage brush with me to flavor my food after we leave the desert," scoffed ned. supper finished the dishes were cleared away, after which the party threw themselves down beside the camp-fire in keen enjoyment of the hour. the evening was delightfully cool, with not a trace of the baking heat of the day. "doesn't seem possible that there could be such a change in the temperature in so short a time," marveled the professor. "it is the mood of the desert," answered the guide. "what time do we start in the morning?" interrupted tad, approaching them at that moment. "i was just about to suggest that we break camp at daylight, traveling until the sun gets hot. we can then pitch a tent or two during the middle of the day, and rest for a few hours." "why not keep on all day?" asked the lad. "it would prove too great a strain--both on man and beast. at noon we will eat a cold lunch, as too much food in this heat is not good for us. you will find the temperature rising as you get further south, and the hardships increasing in proportion." "we shall not fall by the wayside," laughed the boy. "no; i am convinced of that. you lads are as tough as pine knots, but you will need all the endurance you have for this trip." "if we are going to turn out so early, i think you boys had better go to bed pretty soon," advised the professor. "that's why i asked you, sir. i rather thought mr. parry would wish to make an early start in the morning. i'll see to the ponies; then i'll go to bed." "never mind the ponies. i'll look after them," answered parry. "that boy is a splendid type," he continued to the professor, after tad had walked away from them to notify his companions of the plans for the morrow. "they all are," answered the professor. "yes, i have been observing them all day. to tell the truth i was rather doubtful about the wisdom of taking a number of boys across the desert. it's bad enough for men well hardened to the work." "i trust your apprehension no longer exists," smiled the professor. "not a trace of it left," replied parry, with a hearty laugh. "young brown handled that bucking pony splendidly this afternoon. he's a good horseman for a boy." "master tad is a better one. you'll agree with me if you get an opportunity to see him in any work that's worth while." "well, good night, boys," called the professor, as he saw the lads moving toward their tents. "good night, professor, sleep tight," they shouted merrily altogether. "good night, mr. parry. we'll be up with the birds." "birds," sniffed stacy. "a tough old hen couldn't live out on this desert." in a short time the camp settled down to sleep. the guide, with a last look about and a long, comprehensive study of the sky, sought his own tent, where in a few moments he, too, was sound asleep. after a time the moon came up, in the light of which the weather-beaten tents of the pony rider boys were mere specks on the vast expanse of desert. not a sound disturbed the quiet scene. however, had any of the occupants of the little tents been awake, they might have observed a thin, fog-like film drifting across the sky from the southwest. on and on it came until finally it had blanketed the moon, casting a veil over the landscape. other sheets of film arose from out the southwest, placing layer after layer over the fast fading moon, until finally it was obliterated altogether. the desert was working out another of its mysterious phases, but none in the camp of the pony riders were awake to observe it. a dense pall of blackness now hovered over the southwest. all at once a squirming streak of lightning wriggled along the horizon, like a golden serpent, losing itself by a downward plunge into the black abyss beyond the desert. the air grew suddenly hot and depressing, while a gentle breeze stirred the sage brush on the higher places. the ponies moved restlessly in their sleep, kicking out a foot now and then, as if in protest at some disturbing presence. tad butler, ever on the alert, roused himself, and stepping out in his pajamas took a survey of the heavens. "i guess we're going to have a storm," he muttered. "i wonder if i ought to wake mr. parry? he thought, this afternoon, that there was a storm brewing. still, there's nothing he can do. the tents are staked down as securely as is possible. no, i guess i'll go back to bed." the lad did so, and after a few moments of wakefulness, dropped off into a sound sleep. a few moments later the breeze increased, picking up little patches of sand, which it hurled into the air, scattering the particles over a wide area. far down to the southwest a low roar might have been heard, and from the blackness there a funnel-shaped cloud detached itself, starting slantingly over the desert. it appeared to be following a northerly course, more or less irregularly, and from its direction, should pass some miles to the westward of the sleeping camp. whirling, diving, swooping here and there, lifting great patches of sand and hurling them far up into the clouds, the funnel swept on. suddenly, when about three miles to the southwest of the camp, it seemed to pause hesitatingly; and then, as if all at once having descried the little group of tents, started swaying, tottering toward them. as it moved the disturbing roar continued to increase in volume. tad butler heard it now. he slipped from his tent and stood listening apprehensively. "i think that means trouble," he said to himself. the hot, oppressive air felt like a blast from an open furnace door. "it's coming this way," he continued. the lad bounded to the tent of the guide. slipping inside he laid a hand on parry's shoulder. the guide was up like a flash. "what is it?" he demanded sharply. "it's i, tad butler. i think there is a bad storm coming----" "i hear it," snapped parry, springing from his blankets. he was out in the open in a twinkling, with tad butler close upon his heels. for a moment the guide stood with head inclined, listening intently. "bad one, isn't it?" questioned the lad. "yes." "do you think it is coming this way?" "i can't be sure. wait; don't wake them yet," he whispered, raising a restraining hand. "yes, here it comes! it's a cyclone. quick, get them out of their tents!" almost before the words were out of his mouth the funnel swooped down into the broad sage-sprinkled draw, setting its deadly coils over the camp of the pony rider boys. chapter iii twisted by a twister "turn out!" bellowed the guide, his voice faintly heard above the roar of the storm. "run for your lives!" piped the shrill voice of tad butler. "flat on the ground, every one of you!" commanded the guide. all the warnings had come a few seconds too late. ere the boys had awakened sufficiently to realize what was wanted of them there sounded above the roar a report like that of a cannon. the tents were lifted from over the startled pony riders and hurled high into the air. a cloud of sand swept over the boys like an avalanche, burying them, suffocating them, while the resistless coils of the funnel picked them out of the drift and cast them far from the spot where but a few minutes before they had been sleeping so peacefully. above the roar they heard the shrill voice of stacy brown. "w-o-o-ow!" he shrieked. his voice appeared to be somewhere in the air over their heads. blankets, trappings, together with all the other belongings of the party, shot up into the black funnel and disappeared, while the ponies strained at their tethers, floundering, kicking where they had been hurled on their backs, screaming with fright. the mad medley continued for only a few seconds, though to the unfortunate lads it seemed to have been tumbling them about for hours. as suddenly as it had appeared the funnel tore itself from the camp and went roaring off into the hills to the northward. staggering to his feet, some distance from where he had been caught, the guide rubbed the sand from his eyes and mouth and stood gasping for breath. an impressive silence had settled over the scene. "hallo, the camp!" he shouted when he had cleared his mouth sufficiently to enable him to do so. "hello!" answered tad butler far to the right. "are the others with you?" "i don't know." one by one the others of the party straggled to their feet, choking and coughing. as if to mock them, the moon suddenly burst forth, shedding a brilliant light over the scene which a few moments before had been the center of a whirling, devastating cyclone. not a speck of anything save the white, glistening sand of the desert remained to mark the spot where the camp of the pony rider boys had stood. they gathered shivering in their pajamas, looking fearsomely into each others' eyes, still dazed from the shock and the fright of their experience. "wha--what was it?" stammered walter perkins. "a genuine twister," laughed the guide. "twister?" questioned the professor. "cyclone, you mean?" "yes." "it was awful," breathed walter. "all our things gone, too," mourned ned ruefully. "you should be thankful that you are alive," chided the professor. "how about the ponies?" questioned walter. "they're over there. more scared than hurt, i guess." "but chunky--where's chunky? he isn't here!" cried tad, suddenly realizing that stacy brown was not with them. "chunky?" wondered the others. "why, i thought he was here a moment ago," said walter in an alarmed tone. "what can have become of him?" "probably went up with the twister," suggested ned. "yes, i heard his voice and it seemed to be right over my head," nodded tad. "we must look for him." the lads set up a shout as they started running about "better look for him that way," directed the guide, motioning in the direction that the funnel had taken after wrecking their camp. the boys spread out, calling and searching excitedly over the sand, peering into the sage brush and cactus shadows. but not a trace of stacy brown did they find, until they had gone some distance from camp. a faint call at last answered their hail. "hooray! we've got him!" shouted walter. "where are you, chunky?" called tad, hurrying forward. "here." "are you all right?" "no, i'm dead." the boys could afford to laugh now, and they did, after calling back to the camp that they had found the missing one. half buried in a sand drift they located him. stacy's head and one foot were protruding above the sand, the only parts of his anatomy that were visible above the heap of white sand beneath which he had been buried. the pony riders could not repress a shout when they came up with young brown and understood his predicament. "get me out of here." "no; you're dead. you stay where you are," retorted ned. tad, however, grasped the foot that was sticking up through the sand, and with a mighty tug hauled chunky right through the heap, choking, coughing and sputtering angrily, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter from his companions. ned grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him until the sand flew like spray. "wake up! wake up! how did you get here?" demanded ned. "i--i don't know. i--i guess i fell in." "you fell up this time. that's a new trick you've developed. well, it's safer. you won't get hurt falling up, but look out when you strike the back trail." "wha--what happened?" asked the fat boy peevishly. "everything," laughed tad. "we got caught in a cyclone. we don't know whether you were rolled along with it or carried here. which was it?" "i guess i flied," decided stacy humorously. "but i came down so hard that it knocked all the breath out of me. where's the camp?" the boys laughed. "ask the wind," replied ned. "we don't know. come! we'd better be getting back." "yee, i reckon there will be plenty for us to do," agreed tad. "can you walk all right, chunky?" "i guess so." "why not fly? it's easier and quicker. chunky doesn't need a flying machine. he's the original human heavier-than-air-machine," averred ned. the guide had by this time gathered a heap of sage brush, to which he touched a match, that they might the better examine their surroundings. "anything left?" called tad, as with his companions he approached the camp. "i don't see anything but the saddles and the rifles." "what, everything gone?" demanded professor zepplin anxiously. "it certainly looks that way." "where's my pants?" wailed chunky. "all 'pants' have gone up," chuckled ned. "and so have provisions and everything else so far as i am able to observe," added tad. "then--then we've got to cross the desert in our pajamas," mourned walter. they looked at each other questioningly; then the entire party burst out laughing. they were all arrayed in pink night clothes. not a stitch of clothing beyond these pajamas did any of them have. "we must look about and see if we can find any of the stuff," decided parry, his mind turning at once to the practical side of their predicament. "i hope we find the food at least." "yes, i'm hungry," spoke up stacy. "no wonder, after the shaking up you've had," agreed the professor. "guide, where do you think we'll find our belongings?" "you are lucky if you find them at all. more than likely they are scattered over the diamond range for half a dozen miles." "may--maybe it'll come back and bring our pants," suggested chunky, at which there was a loud protest. all hands formed in line, and with the guide to pilot them, started off in their bare feet, hoping to find some of their belongings. stacy made the first find. he picked up a can of tomatoes. ned rector rescued a can of pickled pigs' feet from the shadow of a sage brush, while their guide discovered a sombrero that belonged to stacy brown. but that was all. they traveled nearly to the foot of the mountains, yet not a scrap did they discover beyond what they already had picked up. "no use going any further," announced the guide. "well, this is a fine predicament," decided professor zepplin. "nice mess," agreed ned rector. "i want my pants," wailed stacy. "you'll want more than that. look at the guide, if you think you are in difficulties," grinned tad. all eyes were turned on tom parry. then they uttered a shout that might have been heard far off on the silent desert. the guide was clad only in a blue flannel shirt and a sombrero. he was in an even worse predicament than the party that he was guiding. minutes passed before the boys could control their merriment sufficiently to permit a discussion of their situation. tom parry took their joking good-naturedly. he was too old a campaigner to be greatly disturbed over his own laughable condition. "something must be done," announced the professor, after the laughter had subsided. "what do you propose, mr. parry?" "well, in the first place, like our friend, master stacy brown, i want a pair of pants. i can't very well cross the desert in this rig." once more their laughter drowned the voices of the guide and the professor. "is there no town near here where we can get a fresh outfit? i am thankful that i kept my money belt strapped about me. we should be in a tight fix, had i lost the funds, too," said the professor. "i have been considering what is best to be done," replied parry. "i see no other way than that we shall have to ride to eureka. that is a railroad terminal and quite a town. i am sure we shall be able to get there all we need for our journey. it will prove a little more expensive than in a larger city, however." "no question of expense just now," answered the professor. "will it be necessary for all of us to go?" "i think it will be best. i don't care to leave any of the party behind. one never can tell what is going to happen, you know." "so i have observed," commented the professor dryly. "how far is eureka from here?" questioned tad. "between twenty-five and thirty miles. the town lies to the northwest. if it were not for the pack train we could make it quickly, but we shall have to move rather slowly on the burros' account." "then why not start at once?" suggested tad butler. "the moon is shining brightly and the air is cool. that is, if you can find the way?" "no trouble about that," grinned parry. "your suggestion is a good one. we'll start just as soon as i can get ready." "i don't see anything left here to get ready," laughed ned. "you will excuse me, gentlemen, but there is something that i shall have to get ready," replied the guide with a peculiar smile. "what's that?" demanded the professor. "i've got to take a double reef in my shirt before i can go anywhere, except to bed." the boys shouted again. tom parry hurried off beyond the ponies, where he was engaged for several minutes. when he returned they discovered that he had taken off his shirt. first he had cut off the sleeves, and by thrusting his feet through the arm holes had made for himself a very substantial pair of trunks. this odd outfit he had made fast about his waist with a thong of leather that he had cut from a bridle rein. this, with the broad-brimmed sombrero, completed his outfit. the sight was too much for the pony rider boys. they shouted peal after peal of merriment, in which the professor joined, though in a somewhat more dignified manner. tom parry's mouth was stretched in a grin as he got busy saddling the ponies and urging the sleepy burros to their feet. "i think we are all ready now," the guide called back to the others. with many a shout and jest the strange procession started off across the desert, under the brightly shining moon, the cool evening breezes making their scanty covering none too comfortable. the boys devoted the greater part of their attention to the professor and tom parry, both of whom were riding as dignifiedly as if they were leading a parade at a fourth of july celebration. every little while the boys, unable to contain themselves longer, would burst out into merry peals of laughter. "hope it doesn't snow," said stacy brown wisely. "no," retorted ned. "the colors in your pajamas might run." "that's where the guide has the better of us," retorted tad a little maliciously, which brought still another laugh from the boys. "say, fellows, this saddle is getting harder every minute," called chunky, who was riding back and forth behind the pack train, urging on the burros. "stand up in your stirrups now and then," suggested tad. "what, in my bare feet?" yelled the fat boy. "think i want to get pancake feet?" "chunky's getting aristocratic," jeered ned. "he's so proud of those high insteps of his that he has to take off his shoes every little while to look at his feet. he's afraid they'll cave in some time when he isn't looking." daylight came all too soon, and following it the sun burst forth in a blaze of heat. ahead of them across the desert they were able to make out the town of eureka. "say, mr. parry, aren't you afraid this sunlight will spoil your complexion?" called ned. the guide grinned good-naturedly. "never mind," he retorted. "your turn will come pretty soon, young man." ned rector did not catch the significance of the remark just then, but he understood a few hours later. chapter iv the charge of the light brigade "you are not going to ride into town in daylight, are you?" demanded ned in surprise. though they had sighted the town of eureka early in the morning, it was well along in the afternoon before they finally came up with it. desert distances are deceptive and the further they journeyed the less headway did they seem to be making. this surprised all save the guide. parry explained to them that the clear air brought distant objects much closer than they really were. "we are going into town exactly as we are," replied the guide in answer to ned's question. "why not?" "well, maybe you are, but i'm not," returned ned. "it may improve your complexion, young man," retorted mr. parry. "i'll stay out here and hide on the desert while the rest of you go on in," said ned. "no, you don't," shouted the lads all at once. "you go willingly or we carry you." they gathered around him threateningly. "if you want a mix-up, we're here," warned chunky, pushing his pony up beside that of ned rector. ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of stacy's pony. "ouch!" roared ned. jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken. "did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed chunky, with a grimace. ned rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. he just barely reached the sleeve of chunky's pajamas. but his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side. ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions. with red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen. "i'll get even with you, chunky brown," ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle. "now, now, ned!" warned the boys. "take your medicine like a man. chunky never got mad when you nagged him." "i'll get even with him. i'll----" tad rode up beside the angry lad. "ned, you'll do nothing of the sort," said the boy gently. "you're mad, now, because your toes hurt. when they stop aching your temper will improve at the same time." "oh, pshaw! stop your preaching. of course it will. i'm a grouch. i take back all i said just now. chunky, when these toes get straightened out--they're all crooked now--i'll come over and hobnob with you. i deserve all you can give me." "you bet you do," chorused the lads. "stop teasing him," commanded stacy, with well-feigned indignation. "can't you see his toes hurt him?" the incident was lost sight of in the general laugh that followed. the others were beginning to appreciate that stacy brown possessed a tongue as sharp as any of them. ned now offered no further protest to entering the village, but it was observed that he dropped back behind the others as they reached the outskirts of the town. tom parry and professor zepplin were riding ahead, one in pajamas, the other clad in trunks--which resembled a meal sack--a sombrero hat and a sardonic grin of defiance. the others trailed along behind. not one of the party glanced to the right or left of him, except stacy brown, who could scarcely contain his bubbling spirits. "they'll think it's some new kind of a menagerie come to town," he confided to tad, who was riding beside him. "then i hope they don't shoot the animals," laughed tad. by this time they had entered the main street, down which they rode at a pace that the burros could follow. people passing along the street paused and gazed in unfeigned astonishment at the strange procession which they saw approaching. the most conspicuous of them all was tom parry. he was a sight to behold, but not one whit did he care for the amazed stares that greeted his strange outfit. soon the grins of the populace gave place to yells of derision. "look at the purty boy with the pink toes there behind," shouted one, pointing to ned rector. ned's face went crimson. "now, aren't you glad you didn't lose the tootsie-wootsies?" teased chunky. ned made no reply, but it boded ill for any of his tormentors who got within reach of his long arms. already more than a hundred persons had turned to follow the strange outfit. this number was being rapidly added to as they proceeded. "for goodness' sake, how much further have we to go?" begged ned. "the general store is down at the end of the street," the guide informed him. "i presume you want to get some clothes the first thing?" "i should say so." a whoop and a yell sounded far down the street. "here's trouble," muttered tad, instantly recognizing the cowboy yell. a band of them at that instant swung around a corner, straightening out in the main street, letting go a volley of revolver shots into the air. the band had come to town with a shipment of wild horses that had been captured among the desert ranges. they had been in eureka for twenty-four hours and were by this time ready for whatever might turn up. the horsemen clad in pink pajamas attracted their attention at once. here was fair game. "who-o-o-o-p-e-e-e!" the shrill cry sent a shiver to the hearts of the boys. it was not a shiver of fear, either. in a moment more the pony rider boys were the center of a ring of racing ponies, as the horse-hunters dashed round and round, yelling like mad and firing off their revolvers. "oh, see that purty boy with the pink toes!" jeered one. "give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "he ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies." ned did not dare refuse. he slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced ned rector. stacy brown was almost beside himself with joy. "better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned tad. evidently the cowboys had not recognized tom parry as yet. he might be the next victim. finally tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys. "i guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "let up now." a jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. their attention was instantly turned to him. "get off that broncho and give us a dance, young fellow," they shouted. "thank you, i'm not dancing to-day," smiled tad butler. "ain't dancing? we'll see about that. come off that nag." tad shook his head. at that instant a rope squirmed through the air from a moving pony. butler threw himself to one side just in time to avoid it. the lad's eyes snapped. "guess i'll take a hand in this, too," he growled. the lad unlimbered his rope in a twinkling and let fly at the cowboy who had just sought to rope him. with unerring aim tad's lariat caught the left hind foot of the cowman's broncho. pony and rider went down like a flash. instantly there was a loud uproar. the horse-hunters yelled with delight; at least all of them save the cowboy who had bit the dust, and he sprang up, bellowing with rage, as he made for the grinning tad. tom parry decided that it was time for him to take a hand. the guide jumped his pony between tad and the angry cowboy. "that'll do, bud! you stop right where you are!" tom commanded. "but the miserable coyote roped me." "you tried to rope him first." "it's tom parry," shouted the cowmen. "hey, tom! them's a fine suit of clothes you've got on there. where'd you get them?" "call off bud and i'll tell you," grinned tom, "he's got no reason to interfere with my boys here." laughing uproariously, the cowboys forced their bronchos between bud and the others, cutting him off and bidding him attend to his own business. then the cowmen halted their ponies, after closing in about the pony rider boys, while tom parry related the experiences they had passed through on the previous night. "come along. we'll take you to a place where you can get all the pants you want," shouted the leader of the party, after tom had finished his story. the cowboys wheeled their ponies and the procession moved on down the street. they had discovered that the pony rider boys were not the band of tenderfeet that they had at first taken them for. arriving at the store, the lads lost no time in leaping from their ponies, which they tethered at the rail in front, and hurried into the store. this was a postoffice as well as general trading post. half the town, it seemed, had gathered outside the building to get a look at the nearly naked strangers who had ridden in a short time before. but once inside the store, the boys did not propose to exhibit themselves further if it were possible to avoid it. an entire new outfit was necessary--tents, provisions and all, and to purchase all these things would occupy the greater part of the rest of the afternoon. no sooner had they entered the store and made their wants known, than the boys became conscious of the presence of ladies. the boys could not see them plainly, because it was a dim, dingy place at best. but, all at once ned felt a cold chill run down his back. one of the ladies was speaking to him. "isn't this mr. rector?" asked a pleasant voice. "i am quite sure i am not mistaken." ordinarily ned would have been glad to meet an old acquaintance, but when a boy is clad only in a pair of pink pajamas, his feet bare of covering, he is not particularly anxious to see anyone he knows. it was so with ned rector. at first he pretended not to hear. a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. then he turned, his face flushing painfully. "i am mrs. colonel mcclure from texas," she informed him. "we had the pleasure of entertaining you and your companions when you were with the cattle drive in our state." ned bowed and mumbled some unintelligible words. he failed to note the twinkle in the eyes of mrs. mcclure. "and this," she continued, "is my niece miss courtenay, miss barbara parks and miss long," continued mrs. mcclure mercilessly. the young women were blushing furiously as they acknowledged the introduction. ned failed to observe it, however. his eyes were on his feet and the pink toes which seemed abnormally large at that moment. "where are your companions, mr. rector? i thought they were with you a moment ago?" "wh--ye--yes--they are here, they----" ned looked about him blankly. no one was in sight. then he discovered the grinning face of stacy brown peering at him from behind the postoffice wicket. at the first alarm walter perkins had sunk down behind a cracker barrel with tad butler crouching behind him. over behind the counter was the guide, while, behind a pile of horse blankets, professor zepplin lay flat on the floor, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. ned rector was left to face the enemy alone. chapter v stalking big game by moonlight the tension of the moment was relieved by a merry laugh from mrs. mcclure and her friends, in which ned rector joined spontaneously. the situation was too funny for even his offended dignity to resist. the result was an invitation for the entire party to dine with mrs. mcclure and her friends that evening. ned rector accepted on the spot, much to the disgust of his companions, who felt a diffidence about meeting the ladies after the exhibition in the store. however, after they had properly clothed themselves they felt better, and the evening passed at the home of mrs. mcclure's friends was one of the most enjoyable they experienced. at sunrise next morning the pony rider boys were once more on the desert, bubbling over with spirits and anticipation. "i've got another invitation for you boys," announced tom parry after they had halted for the midday rest. "i hope we'll have some clothes on when it comes off, then," growled ned. "it won't make much difference whether you have or not, so far as this invitation is concerned." "what is the invitation?" asked professor zepplin. "bud thomas and the other cowboys are hunting wild horses for market, you know?" replied the guide. "wild horses?" marveled walter. "yes." "i didn't know there were any about here," said tad. "it is estimated that there are all of a hundred thousand wild horses in the different ranges of this state," replied the guide. "you haven't told us yet what the invitation is," reminded stacy. "you haven't given me a chance," laughed tom. "well, the invitation is to join in a wild horse hunt." "hooray!" shouted the lads. "very interesting," agreed the professor. "and lively, too," added the guide. "the boys took quite a fancy to you young gentlemen after the roping trick, and said if you would join in a hunt, you'd get all the fun that was coming to you." tad grinned at the recollection of their first meeting with the wild horse hunters. "whe--when do we join them?" asked chunky enthusiastically. "it will be a week or more yet before we reach that part of the desert where the hunts take place--that is, if we have good luck. but if we have any more such experiences as we have just passed through we shall not get there this summer," laughed the guide. by sunset, that day, the town of eureka had disappeared behind the copper colored hills, and the pony rider boys were again merely tiny specks on the great nevada desert. they pitched the new white tents for the first time that night, having made camp earlier than usual because they were not accustomed to working with the new outfit. no one knew where to find anything, which furnished the lads with plenty of amusement. ned and tom parry cooked the supper over a sage brush fire. they had brought a few cans of milk with them, but after sampling it all hands declared their preference for the condensed brand of which they had purchased a liberal supply. the fresh milk procured in eureka was strong with the sage brush taste, as was almost everything else in that barren country. the ponies refused the sage brush for their evening meal, having had a supply of real fodder back in town, so they were staked out near a growth of sage that they might browse on during the night should they decide that they were hungry enough. "well, i wonder what will happen to-night," said tad, as they finished the evening meal. "let us hope that it will be nothing more serious than pleasant dreams," smiled professor zepplin. "that means you, chunky," nodded ned. "you are not to have the nightmare to-night, remember." "and you look out for your tootsie-wootsies," retorted chunky. "we shall have to take a long ride to-morrow," announced the guide. "why to-morrow?" asked ned. "it is all of twenty miles to the next water hole, or where the next water hole should be. one cannot depend upon anything in this country." "haven't we enough water with us?" asked the professor. "enough to last us through to-morrow--that's all. we shall have to get water at night; so, if we have no interruptions during the night, we shall make another early start." "stacy, see to it that you do not lose your trousers this time. we don't wish to be disgraced by you again to-morrow," warned ned. stacy merely grimaced, making no reply. he knew that he had not been the one to get the worst of it, and so did his companions. he was quite satisfied with the punishment that had been meted out to ned rector. all hands turned in shortly after dark. they were tired after the long day's ride in the broiling sun. besides, they had not yet made up the sleep they lost two nights before when the "twister" invaded their camp and wrecked it. the boys had been asleep only a short time, however, before the entire camp was startled by a long, thrilling wail. all the pony riders were wide awake in an instant, listening for a repetition of the sound. it came a moment later. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" the boys leaped from their tents. the sound plainly come from some wild animal, but what, they did not know. "wha--what is it? a lion?" stammered stacy. "i--i don't know," answered walter. "do you, tad?" "i certainly do not. it's no lion, though. there are none here?" "maybe it's a pack of wolves," suggested ned. "there must be a lot of them to make such a howling as that." "d-d-d-d-do you thi--thi--think they're going to attack us?" stammered stacy. "how do we know?" snorted ned. neither the professor nor the guide having made their appearance, the boys took for granted that the two men were asleep. such was the case so far as the professor was concerned, but tom parry was lying on his bed awake, a quiet smile on his face. "are you sure it's a wild animal, tad?" whispered walter. "of course. what else could it be?" "then i'll tell you what let's do." "what?" demanded ned. "let's get our rifles and crawl up to the top of that knoll yonder, where the sound seems to come from----" "and take a shot at them," finished ned. "good idea. what do you say, tad?" "i guess there will be no harm in it," decided the lad, considering the question for a minute. they had moved away from the tents so that the sound of their voices should not arouse the sleeping men there. "two guns will be enough. we're not so liable to hit each other if only two of us have them." "who is going to shoot?" demanded walter. "what's the matter with ned and chunky?" that suited all concerned. "you'd better hurry. the animals have stopped howling," advised tad. ned and stacy ran lightly to their tents, returning quickly with their rifles. stacy bore the handsome telescope rifle that he had won in a pony race during their exciting trip through the ozark mountains. even in the moonlight one could see a long distance with the aid of the telescope on the gun's barrel. "see the brutes?" asked stacy, with bated breath. "no, nor hear them, either," answered walter. "i'll tell you what we'd better do," suggested tad. "yes," answered ned anxiously. "we'll crawl along in the shadow to the south. i think the prowlers are up there on the ridge to the west. if they are, they'll be watching the camp-fire. maybe they have smelled us and run away by this time, even if they didn't hear us talking." "keep still, everybody," warned ned. the boys stole along as silently as shadows. after moving some ten rods to the south, tad motioned for them to turn west, which they did. no sooner had they changed their course, however, than chunky with a loud "ouch!" plunged headlong, his rifle falling several feet ahead of him. with frightful howls he began hugging one foot, rocking back and forth in great pain. "what's the matter?" snapped ned rector. "my foot! my foot!" "what about it----" "i--i don't know. i----" tad grabbed the boy by the collar, jerking him clear of the place. the first thought that came to him was that stacy had been bitten by a snake, though tad did not even know whether or not there were snakes on the desert. "nice chance we'll have to shoot anything," growled ned in disgust. "stop that wailing." "it hurts, it hurts----" "keep still. i'll find out what the trouble is," warned tad, dropping down and examining his companion's injured foot. "ouch!" exploded chunky, jerking his foot away. "if you want me to help you, you'll have to be quiet." butler pressed gently on the bottom of the injured foot with the fingers of one hand, the other holding chunky's ankle in a firm grip. "humph!" grunted tad. "he's stepped on a cactus bush with his bare foot. it's full of prickers. hold still and i'll pick them out." "guess there's no use to keep still any longer. those animals probably have run away before this," complained ned. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o-! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" "s-h-h-h!" warned tad. "they're there yet. shall i take your rifle, chunky? you probably don't feel much like tramping up the hill in your bare feet." "no!" exploded the fat boy. "i guess if there's any shooting to be done, stacy brown can do it, even if he's only got one foot to hop along on." scrambling to his feet, stacy recovered his rifle. he had forgotten all about his injured foot now. cautiously the boys crawled up to the top of the rise of ground. "sit down, everybody," directed tad. "we ought to be able to see them from here." not a thing save clumps of sage brush met peering eyes of the pony rider boys. "lay the barrel of your gun over my shoulder and look through the telescope," directed tad softly. pointing the gun to the southward, stacy rested it on his companion's shoulder, placing an eye to the peep hole. the lads fairly held their breath for a minute. "i see him! i see him!" whispered stacy in an excited tone. "what is it?" demanded ned. "where?" "i don't know. i guess it's a wolf." "how many?" asked walter, crawling up to him. "see only one." "take your time, chunky," cautioned tad in a low voice. "draw a careful bead on the fellow and let him have it." "over your shoulder?" "sure. you never'll hit him without a rest." once more they held their breath. at last stacy exerted a gentle pressure on the trigger. there followed a flash and a roar. "o-u-u-c-h!" yelled the fat boy. the end of the telescope had kicked him violently in the eye as the gun went off. chapter vi bagged by lucky shots "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-i-o-o-o!" "there he goes!" shouted walter. stacy was picking himself up from the ground where the rifle had kicked him. bang! ned rector had risen to his feet the instant stacy fired. throwing his rifle to shoulder, he fired at an object that he saw bounding down the opposite side of the hill. "i got him! i got him!" shouted ned, dancing about in his glee. "chunky brown, you're no good. all you can do with a rifle is to get kicked and fall in. take a lesson from your uncle dudley----" "good shooting, boys," said a laughing voice behind them. they whirled around and found themselves facing tom parry, who had crept up to see that the boys got into no trouble. "you here?" demanded tad butler sharply. "i am that. think i could let you boys go off with a couple of guns to hunt wild animals? not without tom parry--no, indeed!" "i got him, mr. parry," glowed ned. "did you see me tumble him over?" the guide nodded good-naturedly. "and chunky missed him, even though he had a rest over tad butler's shoulder. chunky can't shoot." "yes, i can, too," objected the fat boy. "we'll see," replied the guide. "i am not sure whether he can shoot or not." "what do you mean, mr. parry!" asked walter. "chunky shot at the animal and missed it, didn't he?" "what kind of an animal was it?" interjected ned. "a coyote." "i thought it was a wolf," muttered stacy brown. "how many of them was there?" "only one, you ninny. and i shot him," scoffed ned. "we'll go down the hill and find the one you got, master ned," decided the guide, moving away, followed by the rest of the party. no sooner had they started than they heard professor zepplin, down in the camp, shouting to know what the shooting meant. "it's all right, professor," called the guide. "the boys have been shooting up some wild game. you'll be surprised when you see what they got." down the hillside sprang the enthusiastic lads. "remember, you're all barefooted," warned the guide. "you don't want to pick up any more cactus thorns." "were you here then?" demanded tad, glancing up sharply. "i was with you from the time you left the camp." "here he is," shouted ned, who had run on ahead of the others in his anxiety to learn the result of his shot. "and i caught him on the wing, too, didn't i?" "you certainly did." "just lift him. he's a whopper," went on the lad enthusiastically. "i'd like to see any of the others in this outfit make a shot like that----" "chance shot," mumbled stacy. "hit a bird once myself a mile up in the air, but i didn't flap my wings and crow about it. i couldn't have done it again. neither could you have hit that--that--what do you call it!" "coyote," replied the guide, but he pronounced it "kiute." "oh, i don't know," grumbled stacy. "suppose we go up the hill now and see what master stacy shot," suggested the guide, starting away. "shot?" sniffed ned rector. "don't you know what he shot?" "yes, we know," interrupted walter. "he shot thin air, that's what he did." "we shall see, we shall see," answered the guide enigmatically. though stacy did not grasp the guide's meaning, he did catch a note in the tone that filled him with hope. yet chunky was unable to see how he could have hit anything, in view of the fact that ned had shot the coyote. tom parry strode up to the crest of the hill and began looking about, peering behind sage bush and greasewood. the boys were a little to the north of him, all hunting for they knew not what. ned rector had seated himself by the side of his dead coyote, stroking its rough coat proudly. a sharp whistle from the guide attracted their attention. "what is it?" called tad. "come over here. i've got a surprise for you." the boys obeyed on the run. tom parry stood with a grin on his face, pointing a finger to the ground. "what is it? what is it?" demanded the lads in chorus. "why, it's a dead animal," marveled walter. "then that's what the coyote was doing up here. it was after the meat on the dead one," announced ned. "i knew there must be some good reason for its remaining so near camp all that time." "guess again," sniffed stacy, who had thrown himself down beside his prize. "what's that?" asked tad, who already suspected something of the truth. "it's my coyote, that's what it is." tom parry nodded. "he's right. he killed the animal the first shot----" "then--then----" stammered ned. "there were two of them. master stacy killed one and you the other, and for your gratification i'll say that they are a very difficult animal to kill. one might try a hundred times and never hit one." "if one knows how to shoot, it isn't," spoke up stacy pompously. "which you certainly do," laughed the guide. "may we take them back to camp and skin them?" asked ned. "you may take them in, of course; but i would not advise you to skin the brutes. the skins are not worth anything in the first place, and in the second, we should be unable to keep them all the way across the desert, i am afraid." "you mean they would spoil?" questioned ned. "yes." "then we'll take them down to show to the professor. after that we'll bury them." "not necessary at all," smiled the guide. "the buzzards will attend to that part of the work. they'll be around in the morning. you'll see them." "but how will the buzzards know?" asked walter. "that i cannot say. they do know. instinct, i suppose. all animals and birds have the instinct necessary for their kind, yet it is all a mystery to us." very proudly the lads dragged their trophies to camp, where, after heaping fresh sage brush on the fire, the youngsters stretched the carcasses out full length that professor zepplin might see. "very fine, young men. you say they were howling and woke you up?" "yes; didn't you hear them!" answered stacy loudly. "indeed i did not. the first thing i heard was the report of a rifle, and then, in a few seconds, another. i couldn't imagine what was going on. when i tumbled out and found the camp deserted, i was alarmed. i feared you boys had gotten into other and more serious trouble. you should not take the guns out without either myself or the guide being with you." "he was with us," interrupted chunky. "then that was all right." "but we didn't know he was with us, professor," tad butler hastened to explain. "so we were in the wrong, even if he was along. however, it has turned out all right, and we've bagged two coyotes. wish we could take their pictures. why didn't we think to bring a camera with us?" "i think i can supply that," laughed the guide. "i always carry one with me. in the morning i'll take your pictures. i got a new camera in eureka yesterday, having lost my old one in the blow-out we had the other night." the boys gave three cheers and a tiger for tom parry. chapter vii chunky comes to grief breakfast was cooked in the cool of the early dawn, long before the sun had pushed its burning course up above the desert sands. though the boys had but little sleep, they tumbled out at the guide's first hail, full of joyous enthusiasm for what lay before them that day. stacy brown emerged from his tent rubbing his eyes. the lads uttered a shout when they saw him. "look at him!" yelled ned. "look at chunky's eye!" the right eye was surrounded by a black ring, the eyelid being of the same dark shade, where the end of the telescope on his rifle had kicked him. "young man, you are a sight to behold," smiled the professor. "i don't care. i got the coyote," retorted stacy, with a grin. "and the gun got him," added walter. "judging from your appearance, i should say that the butt of your rifle was almost as dangerous as the other end," laughed tad. "come and get it!" called the guide. the lads never had to be called twice for meals, and they were in their places at the breakfast table with a bound. "do you know, i'm beginning to like the sage brush taste in the food," said walter. stacy made up a face. "i should think you would be ashamed to sit down to a meal with that countenance of yours, chunky," declared ned. "i might with some company." "see here, chunky brown. do you mean----" "i mean that my face will get over what ails it, but yours won't," was the fat boy's keen-edged retort. "all of which goes to prove," announced tad wisely, "that you never can tell, by the looks of a toad, how far it will jump. i guess you'd better let chunky alone after this. he's perfectly able to take care of himself, ned." ned subsided and devoted his further attention to his breakfast. the meal finished, all hands set briskly to work to strike camp. in half an hour the burros were loaded ready for the day's journey. the boys set off singing. "i don't see how you can tell where you are going," said the professor. "there is no sun and you have no compass." "we are traveling almost due southwest. i never use a compass. it is not necessary." "there, i knew i had forgotten to get something," announced tad. "forgotten what?" questioned walter. "to get a compass." "you have a watch, have you not?" asked tom parry. "why, yes; but that's not a compass." "oh, yes, it is," smiled the guide. "you can get your direction just as well with that as you could with a tested compass." "never heard that before," muttered tad. "nor i," added ned, at once keenly interested. "i'm easy. i'll ask how? what's the answer?" questioned stacy, gazing innocently at tom parry. "i am not joking, boys. every watch is a compass. you can get your direction from it unerringly whenever you can see the sun." "indeed?" marveled the professor. "the method is very simple," continued parry. "all you have to do is to point the hour hand directly at the sun. half way between the hour hand and the figure twelve on the watch dial you will find is due south." "i'll try it," answered tad. "there comes the sun now," said ned. the boys drew out their watches, having halted the ponies and turned facing the rising sun. "well, did you ever!" exclaimed the lads in one voice. "it is, indeed, the fact," marveled the professor. "you can depend upon that whenever you have lost your way," said tom parry. "it has helped me out on many occasions." "but what if there isn't any sun--what if the sky is clouded?" questioned stacy. "then you'll have to sit down and wait for it," laughed the guide. after this brief rest the party continued on its way. they had come out on the level plain, and before them for several miles stretched the white alkali of the nevada desert. as the sun rose higher, they found the glare of the glistening plain extremely trying to the eyes. the guide suggested that they put on their goggles. but the boys would have none of them. stacy's right eye was badly swollen, yet he refused to cover it, though the fine dust of the plain got into it, causing it to smart until the tears ran down his cheek. "where do the wild horses congregate?" asked tad, riding up beside the guide. "likely to see them anywhere, though they do not, as a rule, go far out on the desert on account of the scarcity of water. we may see some in the little smoky valley and the hot creek range when we reach there." "is it difficult to catch them?" "very. there is one magnificent white stallion that the horse-hunters have been trying to capture for the past five years." "why can't they get him?" "too smart for them. he knows what they are up to almost as well as if the hunters had confided their plans to him. twice, in the beginning, the hunters succeeded in getting him in a trap, but he managed to get away from his would-be captors." "i'd like to get a chance to take him," mused tad butler. "i'm afraid you wouldn't have much luck, but we'll have a hunt when we get down in the horse country, and i promise you that you will see some exciting sport. better than hunting coyotes by moonlight," laughed the guide. "i'd like to capture and break a real live wild horse," said young butler, his eyes sparkling at the thought. "it would be a fine prize to take away with me, now wouldn't it?" "if you chanced to capture a good one, yes. the poor stock, however, has been pretty well taken up, so that the horses on the ranges now are splendid specimens." "anybody want to run a race?" interrupted stacy, riding up near the head of the procession. "too hot," answered tad. "just the kind of a day for a horse race. i'll run any of you to see who cooks the supper," persisted stacy. "oh, go back with the burros. i wouldn't eat any supper that you cooked, anyway." "i'll remember that, ned. well, if none of you has spunk enough to race with me, i'll run a race with myself." "that a dare?" questioned walter. stacy nodded, blinking his blackened eye nervously. walter shook out the reins. "come on, then. i suppose you won't be satisfied until you've gotten into more trouble. where do you want to race to?" "see that patch of ground whiter than the rest off there?" "yes." "well, we'll race there and back. how far is it from here, mr. parry?" "'bout half a mile, i should say," answered the guide, measuring the distance with his eyes. "whew! i didn't think it was so far," marveled stacy. "but we'll run it, anyway." "i'll be the starter," announced ned. "if you break your neck, chunky, remember that i am not to blame for it." "if i break my neck i won't be likely to remember anything, so you're safe," retorted stacy. the others were too busy discussing wild-horse hunting to give heed to the boys' plan. "all ready!" "yes." "go!" both lads uttered a sharp yell, at the same time giving their spurs a gentle pressure, and away they went across the blazing alkali, their tough little ponies steaming in the intense heat as they straightened out, entering into the spirit of the contest with evident enthusiasm. "see those boys ride," laughed the guide, pausing in his argument on the wild-horse question: "i didn't suppose the fat boy could sit in a saddle like that." "oh, yes; he does well. you saw him master the bucker the other day in the mountains?" "yes, i remember. whoa! look out, there! there goes one of them! he took too short a turn." "walter's down!" cried ned. "hope he isn't hurt." "no; he's cleared all right. that was a mighty quick move the way he slipped out of that saddle. it would have broken his leg sure, if the pony had fallen on it," declared the guide. stacy had pulled up his own mount after making the turn safely. then he rode slowly back. "hurt you any, walt?" he asked. "jarred me a little, that's all. why don't you go on and win the race?" "waiting for you," announced the fat boy laconically. walter swung into his saddle. "come on, then. gid-ap!" he cried, shaking out the reins. the two little animals sprang away like projectiles. but stacy seemed not to be in his best form. he came in bobbing up and down, several lengths behind walter. "you won the race. i fell off," announced walter, with his usual spirit of fairness. "i guess not," drawled stacy. "now i'm going to do some stunts." with that, the fat boy galloped out over the alkali again, riding off fully half a mile ahead of the party, where he jogged back and forth for a time, then began riding in a circle. after a little they saw him toss his hat into the air ahead of him, and putting spurs to his pony dart under it, giving it a swift blow with his quirt, sending it spinning some distance away, at the same time uttering a shrill whoop. "thinks he's having the time of his life," grunted ned. "for a boy with a black eye, he is particularly cheerful, i should say," laughed parry. "what's he going to do now!" "pick up his sombrero while at a gallop, i guess," replied tad, shading his eyes and gazing off across the plain. "yes, there he goes at it." stacy, with a graceful dip from his saddle, swooped down on the sombrero, scooping it up with a yell of triumph, then dashing madly across the desert to the westward. all at once they saw his pony stumble. "there he goes!" warned the guide. "he will break his neck!" down plunged the broncho, his nose scraping the ground, his hind feet beating the air wildly. stacy kept right on. "the pony struck a thin crust on the alkali," explained the guide. almost before the words were out of his mouth stacy brown hit the desert broadside on. then, to the amazed watchers, he seemed to disappear before their very eyes. "he's gone! what does it mean?" cried the boys. where but a few seconds before had been a pony and a boy, there now remained only a kicking, floundering broncho. tom parry put spurs to his mount and set off at top speed for the scene of the accident, followed by the others of the party strung out in single file. chapter viii nearly drowned in an alkali sink tad rapidly drew up on the guide. "what has happened?" butler cried as the two now raced along side by side. "as i said before, the pony went through a thin crust----" "yes, but chunky--what happened to him?" asked tad. "he went through when he struck the ground." "i don't understand it at all." "you will when you get there." tad was mystified. the solution of the mystery was beyond him. "if he isn't drowned, he's in luck," snapped parry. "drowned?" wondered his companion. they cleared the intervening space that lay between them and the fat boy's pony in a series of convulsive leaps that the bronchos took under the urgent pressure of the rowels of their riders' spurs. as they neared the scene tad espied a hole in the desert, and began to understand. stacy also had struck a thin crust and had broken through. yet what had happened to him after that, tad did not know. both would-be rescuers leaped from their ponies and ran to the spot. with his body submerged, his head barely protruding above the water, sat stacy, vigorously rubbing his eyes to get the brown alkali water out of them sufficiently to enable him to look about and determine what had happened to him. the rest of the party dashed up with loud shouts of alarm, hurling a series of rapid-fire questions at the guide. parry and tad grasped stacy by the arms and hauled him, dripping, from the alkali sink into which he had plunged. they shouted with laughter when they saw that he was not hurt seriously. "well, of all the blundering idiots----" began ned. "that will do," warned the professor, hurrying to stacy's side. "hurt you much, lad?" "i--i fell in," stammered chunky. "i should say you did. how in the world did it happen?" the guide explained, that frequently these thin crusts were found on the desert, covering alkali sinks, some being dry, others having water in them. "and of course chunky had to find one. he's the original hoodoo," laughed ned. "oh, i don't know," replied the guide. "he has done us a real service by falling in." "how's that!" questioned tad. "master stacy has found a water hole, just what we need at this particular moment. the stock needs water, and especially the ponies that have been racing for the last half hour." "you don't mean that we are to drink that stuff, do you?" demanded walter. "not now. we still have some fairly good water in the water bags. later on you may be glad to drink alkali water. run up and down if you feel able. you'll dry off in a few minutes," suggested parry, turning to chunky. "i--i don't want to. feels nice and cool after my bath. jump in and take a swim, fellows." "no, thank you--not in that dirty water," objected ned. "i'll tell you what, boys," suggested tad. "after the stock has had a drink we'll take off our shoes and put our feet in. guess we can stand that much." "that's a good idea," agreed walter. "we'll all take a cold foot bath." in the meantime, the guide had been busily engaged in breaking the crust around the sink, so that the stock might more easily get at the water within it. the animals were impatiently pawing and whinnying, anxious to get the water. they were now willing to drink any kind of water after their half day's journey across the burning alkali. "you might unpack and get a cold lunch together, if you will," suggested parry. the boys soon had one of the tents erected, over which they stretched the fly, that the interior might be cooler. ned opened a can of pickled pigs' feet, which, with some hard rolls were spread out on a folding table under the tent. tad, not to be out-done, dug some lemons from his saddle bag, with which he proceeded to make a pail of lemonade. it was the first time they had had any such beverage since they began their summer trips. tad had purchased the lemons back in eureka. the lemonade made, it lacked only sweetening now. "where's the sugar?" he called. "where's the sugar?" echoed chunky. "we don't know," answered ned and walter in the same breath. "get busy and find it, then. if you don't want this lemonade i'll drink it myself. i don't care whether it is sweetened or not." that threat was effective. the other three boys made a dive for the burros. an examination of the first pack failed to reveal the sweetening. the same was the case with the next, and before they had finished, their entire outfit was spread over the ground, tents, canned goods, cooking utensils, thrown helter-skelter over several rods of ground. "here, boys, boys!" chided the professor. "this will never do. we can't afford to use our provisions in that way. soon we'll have nothing." "regular rough house. ought to be ashamed of yourselves," agreed stacy, surveying the scattered outfit, while he secretly slipped two lumps of sugar into his mouth. "here, cook, pick up your kitchen," to ned. "what you got in your mouth?" demanded ned suspiciously. "he's eating the sugar," spoke up walter perkins. "drop 'em!" roared ned. stacy started to run, whereupon the boys fell upon him, and the next second he was at the bottom of the heap. the boys were rubbing his face in the sand in an effort to make him give up the sugar. the professor took a hand--two hands in fact--about this time. he made short work of the "goose pile," tossing the boys from the very much ruffled stacy, whom he also jerked to his feet. "what's all this disturbance about?" demanded professor zepplin. "first you strew the outfit all over the desert, then you get to pummeling each other." "chunky's been stealing sugar," volunteered ned. "give back that sugar, instantly!" commanded the professor. the fat boy shook his head and grinned. "can't," he answered. "and, why not?" "'cause they're inside of me." "now, now, now!" warned ned. "you haven't chewed that hard sugar down this quick. i know better than that." "no, i swallowed the lumps whole when you fellows jumped on me. nearly choked me to death, 'cause one of 'em got stuck in my throat," chunky explained. tad, in the meantime, had been busy gathering up the scattered provisions. "get to work, young gentlemen. straighten up the camp," commanded the professor. "don't we get any lunch?" begged stacy. "you're full of sugar. you don't need anything else," replied walter. "when you have set the outfit to rights, we'll all sit down and eat like civilized beings," asserted the professor, with emphasis. "civilized beings making a meal on pigs' feet! huh!" grumbled chunky, picking up a can of tomatoes, then throwing it down again. after this, he slipped around to the opposite side of the tent. crawling in under the fly he promptly went to sleep, the others being so busy that they had not observed his act. the next stacy knew was when he awakened to find himself being hauled out by one leg. "here, what are you doing? leggo my foot." "lunch is ready. you ought to thank us, instead of finding fault because we woke you up. you might have slept right through the meal; then you wouldn't have had anything to eat," explained walter. stacy shook his head. "no danger. i wasn't afraid of that!" "not afraid of that? why not?" demanded ned. "'cause i knew you'd haul me out. left my feet sticking out so you would." everybody roared. there was no resisting stacy brown's droll humor. "hopeless," averred the professor, shrugging his shoulders. "he's a wise one," differed the guide. "another name for laziness," nodded ned. "what's that disease they have down south?" asked walter. "i heard the professor and the postmaster talking about it back in eureka." "you mean the--the hook-worm disease?" grinned the guide. "that's it. that's what chunky's got. when a fellow is too lazy to do anything but eat, they say he's got the--the----" "the hook----" finished the guide. "that's what he ought to get," agreed ned. "gentlemen, gentlemen!" corrected the professor. "this is not a seemly topic for table discussion." "but we eat pigs' feet," suggested stacy in wide-eyed innocence. the meal finished, amid laughter and jest, the party stowed their belongings, and after a brief rest, pushed on, having decided that they would feel the heat less in the saddle. at sundown the travelers were still some distance from the water hole for which the guide was making. "we'll have to go on," he said. "we may have to ride some time after dark." "will that be advisable?" questioned the professor. "not advisable, but necessary. the stock must have their water you know." so the party pushed on. the moon came up late in the evening, and the guide looking about him, discovered that they had borne too far to the east, which necessitated their covering some four miles more of alkali than would have been the case had they kept more closely to their course. "it can't be helped," he laughed good-naturedly. "i guess the pigs' feet will last you until we make camp." "how long will that be, mr. parry?" questioned chunky anxiously. "all of an hour and a half." stacy humorously took up his belt three holes. "got two more holes left to take in," he decided after examining the belt critically. "that's a new way to measure distance and time, isn't it!" laughed the guide. "how?" wondered stacy. "by the holes in your belt." at eleven o'clock that night tom parry announced that they had arrived at the end of their day's journey. "where's the water? i don't see any water?" said walter. "after supper we'll look for it. i presume want something to eat first, don't you?" questioned the guide. "yes," shouted the lads in chorus. "we're nearly starved." bacon and coffee constituted the bill of fare for their late meal, which they ate out in the bright moonlight with the crackling camp-fire near by. "this is fine," announced tad, with which sentiment all the boys agreed. "wish we could do this every night." "your supper would be breakfast after a few days," replied parry. "how's that!" questioned ned. "if you waited for moonlight, i mean. the moon comes up later every night, you know." "that's so." "we'd get hungry, wouldn't we?" chuckled stacy. "you wouldn't get. you always are," retorted ned. "now, i'll show you how i know there is a water hole near here," said parry after they had finished their late meal. "when i locate it, you boys may help me take the stock to it." they walked back some twenty rods from where they had pitched the camp, parry meanwhile hunting about as if in search of something that he had dropped. "nope. no water here," decided stacy. "you don't know. ah! here is what i am looking for." the guide pointed to a heap of stones that rose some twelve inches above the ground. on the west side of the heap several stones had been placed in a row, thus forming an arm that extended or pointed almost due west. "know what that is?" asked parry. the lads shook their heads. "that's a water marker. when a traveler across the desert finds a sink he indicates it either by a heap of stones, which he sticks in the ground, or by any other means at his command. for instance, this pile of stones tells me there is a water hole somewhere near by, and the arm points the way to it." "where is it, then?" wondered walter. "i don't see any signs of water." "nor do i. we'll follow the direction indicated by the arm and see if we don't come up with a water tank somewhere close by," replied parry. with the guide leading the way, the others following in single file, they trailed away to the westward until, finally, they came to a slight depression in the ground. "it should be near here," the guide informed them. "there it is. see that dark hole?" the boys bounded forward, dropping on their knees by the opening into which they peered inquiringly. suddenly they uttered a yell, and, springing up, ran back as fast as their legs would carry them. as they did so, some dark object bounded from the water tank and leaped away into the sage brush. "goodness me, what was that?" cried walter, after the boys had pulled up and faced about. "come back, come back. that was only a badger," laughed the guide. "in the water?" asked tad, who had stood his ground. "no; so much the worse for us! there is no water there. no need to look. the tank is empty. some wandering prospector has emptied it to save his burros and fill his canteen," announced the guide. "what are we going to do, then!" queried ned. "do without it. we shall have to give the stock a very little of our fresh supply, saving only enough out of it for our own breakfast and a canteen full apiece to take with us on the morrow. i think i shall be able to find a river about ten miles below here, providing it has not changed its course or gone dry. the water here in this country is as fickle as the desert itself." "what if we should fail to find any?" breathed tad. "well, you know, neither man nor beast can travel far on the desert without it. but we'll find some to-morrow. don't worry," soothed the guide, though in his innermost heart he was troubled. that this water hole should prove to be dry did not promise well for those that were to follow. chapter ix the boys discover a river "where's that river you were talking about?" demanded the lads when the outfit pulled up at noon next day. "don't you see it?" smiled parry. "not a river," answered ned, gazing about him, then allowing his glance to rest on the face of the guide to determine if parry were making sport of them. "i am not sure myself. i know where it should be. whether it's there or not is another matter. fetch the shovels and we'll soon find out." "finding a river with shovels!" muttered stacy. "huh! who ever heard of such a thing?" but as soon as the boys had returned with the digging implements, parry swung the tools over his shoulder and strode confidently to the left of where they were encamped for the noonday rest. the boys followed him full of curiosity. finally the guide threw down the tools and began to run his hands over the hot, yellow soil. "guess the sun's gone to his head," muttered ned, as he squatted down to observe more closely what the guide was doing. the other three lads followed his example. in a moment they were on all fours, hopping about like so many quadrupeds. parry was shaking with laughter as he observed them. "bow! bow wow!" barked chunky, jumping on hands and feet, snapping his teeth together suggestively. the boys looked at each other and burst out laughing. they had discovered all at once what a ridiculous figure they were making. "sun gone to your head, too, chunky?" chuckled ned. "oh, no, i forgot; it's dog days," he added maliciously. "your master had better get a collar and chain for you, then, ned," laughed stacy, in high good humor with himself. the guide's voice put a sudden end to their merriment. "here's the river," he cried. "there is plenty of water in it, too." the boys gathered about him quickly. "i don't see any river," averred walter. "there isn't any," answered ned, in a low voice. "i'll show you whether there is or not," snapped parry, who had overheard the remark. "you boys think i have gone crazy, don't you? you'll find there is something to learn about this old nevada desert--some things that you never even dreamed of. hand me a shovel, please." all at once stacy began pushing his companions roughly aside. "here, here, fatty! what are you trying to do?" the others demanded, beginning to struggle with him to prevent being bowled over. "i'm saving your lives," cried the fat boy. "saving our lives?" cried ned. "go shake the alkali out of your eyes." "yes, you'll fall in and drown." "in what?" "in the river. don't you see the river right there in front of you?" queried stacy, his eyes fairly beaming with importance. "no, i don't. if there was a river there you'd be the first one to fall in, and don't you forget that." "what's this? what's this?" inquired the professor, approaching. "it's a river," answered stacy solemnly. "a river?" "yes, sir. don't you hear it roar? wish i had a boat." "is it water you are digging for, mr. parry?" asked professor zepplin. but the guide did not hear the question. he was too busy with his mining operations at the moment. "come on, boys," he urged. "get busy here." "at what?" asked ned. "we're with you, but we don't know what you want us to do." "yes; can we help you?" inquired tad. "of course you can. get those other shovels and dig." "where?" "right here. make the dirt fly as fast as you want to. i'll show you something in a minute." he did. all at once the sand beneath them gave way, and the pony rider boys, all except stacy brown, uttered a yell as they sank waist deep into a sink of soft, wet sand. parry had felt the sand giving way, and with a warning had leaped from the hole. the lads had not been quick enough. "there's no danger. don't be alarmed. you'll get wet feet, that's all." "what is it?" asked the professor in amazement. "water, my dear sir. water in plenty. it's a branch of the pancake river. these streams run underground for great distances on the desert, but they change their course so often that you can't place any dependence on them. we're lucky, boys." "hurrah for the water!" shouted the lads. "keep on digging. we haven't got it yet. master stacy, will you run to the camp and bring the folding buckets? we'll soon have the hole cleaned so we can dip up some water." "sure," answered the fat boy, thrusting his hands in his trousers pockets and strolling off at a leisurely gait as if there were no necessity for haste. "that's chunky's idea of running," laughed ned rector, jerking his head in stacy's direction. the three lads finding there was no danger in their position, had made no attempt to clamber from the hole. instead, they began digging, until the dirt flew so fast that the professor was obliged to withdraw. somehow most of the dirt seemed to be flying through the air right in his direction. now the water began to rise above the caved-in sand. it was a dirty yellow in color and the boys' clothing suffered as a result. but the youngsters did not care. besides, they were cooling off. at last the hole had been cleared sufficiently to enable them to dip up some water, but stacy not having returned with the pails, the professor was sent to fetch him. he found the lad enjoying himself tickling the nose of a drowsy burro. professor zepplin led chunky out to the water sink, by one ear. the lads now quickly dipped up pailful after pailful, which they passed to the guide on the bank. he ran with them to the stock, giving each of the animals a little, so that all might share in the first instalment. ponies and burros were wide awake now, expressing their pleasure in loud whinnies and blatant brays. "it's foggy on the river," laughed ned. "the burros have started up their fog horns." when parry returned he brought with him the drinking cups, which he had taken from the saddles. "is it fit to drink?" asked tad as the cups were passed down to them. "it's wet." "so are we," retorted ned. "but we're dirty. uh! that's horrible stuff." "strongly alkaline," nodded the professor, after sipping gingerly at the brimming cup parry had passed to him. "do you not think we had better wait a little while until it settles?" "not a second, if you're thirsty," answered the guide shortly. "this stream is liable to change its course in the next ten minutes. don't you take any chances with a desert stream. fill the water bags and the canteens as fast as we can that's what we'll do. then, if the water holds out, there will be time enough to empty out our supply and fill with fresh." "hey, chunky! haul those water bags over here," called walter. "can't," called stacy. he was sitting on the ground pulling off a shoe. "what's the trouble now?" snorted ned. "got a cramp?" "no; i've got a sore toe." "supposing we duck him," suggested ned. "we'll save all the water we have," warned the guide sharply. "no nonsense about it, either." the party was in great good humor, now that they had found a water hole, and the animals had drunk until their sides were distended like balloons in process of being inflated. "they've had enough," announced the guide, going to the animals and glancing over the herd sharply. "no more water for the present." "then perhaps we might as well be on our way," suggested the professor. parry did not reply. he was shading his eyes with one hand, gazing intently off over the desert. the professor, following the direction in which the guide was looking, discovered a cloud of dust rising into the air. the cloud was approaching them at a rapid rate. chapter x a cowboy takes a header "what is that?" questioned professor zepplin sharply. "that's what i'm trying to make out," replied the guide. "looks like horsemen." "yes, it is. but i can't understand why they can be riding at that killing pace on a hot afternoon such as this." about this time the boys' attention had been attracted to the yellow cloud by stacy brown, who, notwithstanding his apparent slowness, had sharp eyes when there was anything to be seen. "somebody's coming," he announced between sips. "what's that?" demanded tad, springing from the water hole, followed closely by walter and ned. "somebody coming to pay us an afternoon call. by the way they're whooping it up they must be in a hurry about something." all hands ran to where mr. parry and the professor were standing. the yellow cloud was rolling toward them at a rapid pace, and ahead of it the boys discovered half a dozen horsemen, who had evidently discovered the white tent that the pony rider boys had erected during their midday stop. "know them?" asked tad. "i'm not sure, but i think it's bud stevens and the wild-horse outfit. judging from the way they ride they're pretty wild themselves." with a series of shrill "y-e-o-w-s," the strangers bore down on the little desert camp. from the gray, alkali-flecked backs of the ponies clouds of steam were rising, their sides streaked with dust and sweat. "whoop! hooray!" bellowed the newcomers, dashing up to the camp, letting go a volley of revolver shots right into the ground in front of the pony rider boys. not a boy flinched. "how!" said tom parry. "how!" roared bud stevens, the leader, throwing himself from the back of his trembling mount. "where's the boss?" asked parry. "he's gone down ralston way." "thought so. where you headed?" "san antone range after more hoss flesh. we'll rope the white stallion this time, and don't you forget it. eh, kiddie? you're the little coyote what roped my pony and plunked me into the street back in eureka, ain't you?" half jokingly, he swung a vicious blow at tad with the flat of his hand. had it landed it would have laid the lad flat. tad ducked and came up smiling. "wow! the kiddie's a regular little bantam. we'll have to take a fall out of you. got to give you the desert initiation like they do in the secret societies back in eureka." he sought to close with tad, but the boy eluded him easily. "that'll do, bud," warned the guide, stepping between them. "no rough house here. want some water? we've got a water hole right over there." "water? water? call the stuff we get out of the ground here water?" "he--he's had his head in soak already," piped stacy, noting the perspiration dripping from the cowboy leader's face. parry gave the lad a warning look. "they're good enough fellows, but they are full of pranks when they are not at work. no need to stir them up and make them mad." "got anything to eat?" demanded bud. "how would you like some coffee, sir?" asked tad politely. "coffee?" jeered the cowboy. "now what d'ye think of that, fellows? ain't that right hospitable?" "yes, thank you, young man, i guess that would touch the spot," spoke up another of the band. "'course we'll have some coffee." "all right. ned, will you and walt fix something for the boys to eat? if you will lead your ponies over to the water hole i'll dip up some water for them in the meantime, gentlemen." "kiddie, yer all right," bellowed bud stevens. "but i've got to take a fall out of yer yet." "some other time," grinned tad, who felt no fear of the hulking cowboy. "see that nose?" demanded bud, sticking out his head at tad. "yes; what's the matter?" "that's my nose. and that's where i barked it when you roped my pony tother day. oh, i've got to take it out of yer hide, kiddie." "come along. we'll water the ponies. chunky, help lead those bronchos to the water hole, will you?" the two boys and the noisy plainsmen gathered the tired animals and led them to the hole that had been dug in the desert. stacy sprang in and began dipping out pails of water. bud grabbed the first pailful, but instead of offering it to one of the thirsty animals, he deliberately emptied the contents over the head of the boy down in the hole. "hi, there! stop that, will you?" howled stacy brown. the fat boy was mad all through. he scrambled from the hole, dragging a slopping pail of water after him, while bud stevens roared with delight. but his mirth was short-lived. stacy ran around the hole and straight at the cowboy who had soaked him with the yellow water. up went the pail. splash! the contents of it were hurled full in the face of the wild cowboy, who at that moment, having his mouth wide open, got a mouthful of it. the battle was on instantly. tad knew it was coming, but he did not think it would be directed at him this time, though he realized that he would have to protect his companion at any cost. choking and sputtering, bud made a blind lunge at tad, his eyes being so full of muddy water that he could barely make out the slender form of the pony rider boy. tad ducked and dodged, hoping that stevens would tire of pursuing him in a moment. the lad might have called to the others over by the camp, but he was too proud to do that. he would fight his own battles, no matter what the odds were against him. "i've got to get in," muttered the lad. "he's seeing clearer every minute, and the longer i wait the less chance i'll have of getting out with a whole skin. "i'm coming, kiddie!" roared bud. tad made no reply. stooping as if for a spring, butler launched himself straight at the pillar of brawn and muscle before him. had he hesitated for the briefest part of a second--had he permitted those muscular arms to close about him, tad butler would have gone down to a quick and inglorious defeat. but he did not wait. the lad's right arm was brought sharply against the neck of his adversary, while at the same time his left arm was slipped under the cowboy's right leg. the result was that stevens lurched to the left. a quick jerk and bud was fairly lifted from the ground. tad gave a quick, forceful tug. bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water, his feet beating the air wildly. [illustration: bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water] "grab hold of a foot, chunky!" commanded tad. "quick! he'll drown in a minute in there." "oh, let 'im drown," drawled stacy, blinking to get the sand out of his eyes. "get hold, i tell you! i'll thrash you, stacy brown, if you don't!" stacy reluctantly complied, tad in the meantime having grasped the cowboy's foot and began pulling. "not that way, chunky. do you want to pull him apart?" the fat boy was trying to get bud's right leg out from the opposite side of the water hole. the disturbance had by this time attracted the attention of the men over in the camp. they started on the run when they saw bud turned head first into the water hole. by the time they reached the scene tad and stacy had succeeded in hauling the victim from his perilous position. bud was choking between roars of rage. his companions went off into shrieks of laughter when they understood what had happened. they rolled on the ground; they danced about their fallen companion, and then their revolvers began to add their vicious voices to the tumult. tad paid no attention to the uproar. he was too busy shaking the water out of his fallen antagonist, to whom he was giving first aid to the drowning. bud staggered to his feet, gasped for breath, while tad stepped off a few paces, so as not to be within reach of those long, bony arms, should bud decide to stretch them forth and take him in. "guess you got all that was coming to you that time, bud stevens," grinned tom parry. "served you right. you'll let those boys alone after this or you'll have to reckon with me." stevens's face was streaked with wet sand, his hair was disheveled and his clothes stuck to him as if they had been pasted on. the cowboy's sullen face slowly relaxed into a mirthless grin. "say, kiddie, you put it over me like a cactus plant. i owe you two." "i'd cancel the debt if i were in your place," laughed the boy. "come along and have a drink of coffee. it'll warm you up after your swim." chapter xi a piece of human sandpaper an appetizing meal had been spread for the visitors. but every time the men glanced at their companion they broke out into loud guffaws. "you're a sight, bud," jeered one. "next time better take a man of your size," said another. "guess that's right," grinned the vanquished one. "ye can't most always tell what a kid's going to do." "we know what this one did do to you, though," laughed another. "reckon i do myself," admitted stevens. "say, kiddie, you come along with us and try them tricks on the wild hosses we're going to catch. mebby i'll forgit to take it out of you. i'll let the white stallion do that." "thank you; i'll accept that invitation, with professor zepplin's permission." "we intended to drop in on your bunch, anyway," interposed parry. "the boss has invited us to join a horse hunt with you." "better go along with us now, then," suggested stevens. "we won't have no more rough house, leastwise till we get to the san antone range, eh?" "no," replied parry. "we have a pack train to drag along. besides, you fellows travel too fast for us. we'll take our time and join you later." the bath and the hot coffee had served to quiet bud stevens's bubbling spirits. he was by this time a more rational being. after they had finished the meal bud drew tad butler aside confidentially. "say, kiddie, i like you," he said, slapping the lad a violent blow between the shoulders. "glad of it," laughed tad. "but you have a queer way of showing your affection." "say, can you ride?" "some," admitted tad. "as well as you can fight and throw a rope?" "i was not aware that i did either one very well." "go away! go away! you're a champeen. i've got a spavined, ring-boned cayuse over in the range that i'm going to put you up against when you join us. he'll give you all the exercise you want----" "hey, bud, ain't it 'bout time we were moseying?" called one of stevens's companions. "i reckon. can't be any hotter than 'tis now. when you going to join us, parry?" "we'll be there in a few days. but come here; i want to talk with you?" "sure thing." "if we go on a hunt with you, remember there's to be no funny business. these boys, while they're no tenderfeet, are fine fellows and they must be treated well. i'm responsible for them. what i say goes. understand?" "we'll look out for the kids, don't you get in a hot stew 'bout that." with a final whoop and a cheer for the members of tom parry's party, the turbulent cowboys put spurs to their ponies. once more a cloud of dust rose from the desert, across which it slowly rolled. the boys watched it for half an hour, until the cloud had dwindled to a mere speck in the distance. "not such a bad lot, after all," was the professor's conclusion. "rough diamonds," smiled the guide. "are we going on now, mr. parry?" asked tad. "no; i think we may as well unpack and make camp here until to-morrow morning. then the stock will be fresh, and so shall we." "the stock looks to be in pretty good shape already," answered tad. "yes; but they will be much better to-morrow. a day's water and feed will do wonders for them. i guess the bunch of horse-hunters made quite a hole in our fodder, didn't they?" "there was nothing the matter with their appetites that i observed," laughed tad. "but we've got enough to last us for some time. how long before we shall strike the range where we are to join them?" parry glanced off over the desert meditatively. "if we have no bad luck we ought to make it in three days. the cowboys will get there some time to-morrow." "one of them won't," answered tad, confidently. "why not?" "his pony is wind-broken. didn't you hear him breathe when they rode in?" "what, with the bunch howling like a pack of coyotes? no, i didn't hear a horse breathe." "i did," chimed in stacy. "did what?" queried ned, turning on him sharply. rector had not heard the fat boy approach them. "heard the big cowboy breathe. he wheezed like a leaky steam engine." tad and the guide burst out laughing. "why, boy, we weren't talking about the cowboy. we were speaking of one of the bronchos. tad says he is wind-broken." "huh!" grunted stacy, strolling off with hands thrust in his pockets, chin on his breast. "when i'm not right i'm always wrong," he muttered. "mostly wrong." they did not see the lad again for more than an hour. the rest of the party gathered under the tent they had first erected, where they now fell to discussing their late visitors, next turning to their plans for the morrow. "do we follow the same course when we next start?" asked the professor. "not quite. we veer a little more to the west, until we string the san antonio range. when we leave there, if you conclude to go on, we shall head southward toward death valley. i understand you are willing to penetrate it a little way." "yes, if you think it is safe to do so." parry shrugged his shoulders. "death valley is no better than its name. if you wish merely to see it, i think i can gratify your desire." "yes, yes, we want to see death valley," chorused the boys. "don't be afraid for us." "i'll try to get some water bags from the horse-hunters when we join them; for the further south one goes on the desert the more scarce the water becomes." the sun was lying low by this time and the advance guard of the evening coolness began crowding back the heat of the day. "i wonder what has become of chunky?" questioned tad suddenly, rising from the ground where he had thrown himself in the shade of the tent. the others glanced quickly about them. "probably find him asleep behind a bunch of sage somewhere," answered ned lightly. "don't trouble yourself about him." "perhaps over by the water hole," suggested the guide. "i'll stroll over that way." just then a figure topped the ridge beyond them. it was yelling lustily, leaping into the air, rolling and groveling on the ground alternately. "there he is! something's happened to him," shouted walter. all hands started on a run. they could not imagine what had gone wrong with the fat boy. as they drew nearer to him they discovered that he had taken off all his clothes. his body was as red as if it had been painted. the professor's long legs were covering the alkali at a pace that left the others behind, until tad spurted and headed him. "chunky, chunky! what's the matter?" he shouted. stacy yelled more lustily than ever. "what is it? what is it?" shouted the others in chorus. "i'm burned alive? i'm cremated! oh, w-o-w!" "should think you would he. what on earth have you got your clothes off for?" they discovered that something was the matter then, for an expression of real pain had taken the place of the complacent look they were wont to see on the face of stacy brown. "he's been boiling himself!" exclaimed the guide, with quick intuition. grasping the fat boy, parry threw him flat on the ground and began rolling him in the sand. stacy yelled more lustily than before. "run to my saddlebags. fetch the black bottle you will find there!" commanded the guide. "it's oil, yes. hurry, before his skin all peels off." tad was back with the black bottle in no time. tom parry spread the oil over the blistered flesh of the fat boy, whose yells grew less and less explosive as he felt the soothing effects of the grease on his body. "wha--what happened?" stammered walter. "i--i fell in." "in where?" questioned the professor sharply. "i don't know. it was hot." "put your clothes on. you'll be all right in a little while. where did you leave them?" stacy pointed back on the desert some distance, whereat parry laughingly said he would go in search of the clothing. "now if you will be good enough to tell me what all this uproar is about, i shall be obliged to you," requested the professor. "why, the boy found a boiling spring----" "and he fell in," added ned solemnly. "he did," agreed the guide, without the suspicion of a smile. "is that it, master stacy?" stacy nodded. "tell me about it." "i--i was walking along with my hands in my pockets----" "thinking," interjected ned. "what'd you suppose i was doing! ain't i always thinking when i'm not asleep?" "go on, go on," urged ned unsympathetically. "all at once something slipped. i went right through the ground. at first i thought i was a pond of ice water, it felt so cold. next thing i knew i was burning up." "but your clothes? what did you have them off for?" urged the professor. "i took them off when i thought i was burning up. say, fellows, that was the hottest ice water i ever took a bath in my life." the boys could barely resist their inclination to laugh. "why don't you laugh if you want to? never mind me. i don't count," growled chunky. parry explained that these boiling springs were not infrequent on the desert. they were found, generally, further north, he said. this one must have worked its way up through the alkali until only a thin crust covered it, and this crust the boy had had the misfortune to step on and break through. "you wouldn't think there were so many pitfalls under this baked desert, would you?" questioned ned. "i look like a piece of human sandpaper, don't i?" muttered stacy ruefully, as he carefully drew on his clothes. "every time i sit down i'll remember that hot ice water." chapter xii running down the trail "thank goodness, we're in the foothills," sighed tad, when three days later they came to a halt at the base of the san antonio range far down on the nevada desert. "yes, it is a relief to see some real rocks once more," agreed walter. "chunky, look out that you don't step into any more ice water. you'll miss the horse-hunt if you do." "no danger of that up here," laughed the guide. behind them lay the desert maze, to the right and left, mountain ranges, high plateaux, mesas and buttes. giant yucca trees, short, spreading piñon and spindling cedars clothed the higher peaks of the san antonio range. trees, too, were scattered about in the foothills, and though they gave little shade it was a relief to every sense of the pony riders to feel the hills and trees about them. there, with what little shade they could get, the lads made camp. as yet they had found no water, though parry said there would be springs in plenty further up in the mountains. the bags still held enough to last them until the following day, so no effort was made to locate fresh water that afternoon. stacy had thrown himself down under one of the yucca trees, but the late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, making his face look red and heated. "you don't seem to be getting much shade from that tree," laughed the guide. "'bout as much as i would from a barbed wire fence," frowned stacy. "what do you know about barbed-wire fences?" demanded ned. "me? know all 'bout them. one night i had a falling out with one, when i was taking a short cut across the fields to get home." "how about the apples? did you get them?" asked tad. "apples? what do you know 'bout it? were you there, too?" a laugh greeted the fat boy's reply. "come, come, young men. are you going to make camp?" urged the professor. "didn't know we were going to remain here to-night," replied walter. "of course we're going to make camp if that's the case. it'll be a good time to shake the alkali dust out of our belongings and from ourselves." "i haven't got any dust," piped stacy. "i--i had a bath--a hot bath." "are we anywhere near the horse-hunters, mr. parry?" inquired tad, as the boys began unpacking the burros, some devoting their attention to the kitchen outfit, the rest spreading the canvas on the ground preparatory to erecting the tents. "they are supposed to be further up the range. they will be down this way to-morrow, probably, to pick us up. they were not certain where they would make their permanent camp, stevens said. all depends upon where the wild horses are grazing." "i don't see any wild horses, nor any other wild anything," objected ned. the guide dropped the ridge pole that he was about to carry to the place where the cook tent had been laid out ready to be raised. "come with me," he said, taking ned by the arm and leading him to the left of their camping place. "do you see that?" "what?" "use your eyes. if you're going to be a plainsman you'll have to depend on your sense of sight. take the desert for instance. it's a desert maze if you are unable to read its signs; no maze at all if you do." "what is it you were going to show ned?" asked the rest of the boys, who had followed them out. "see if you can tell, master tad." but master tad had already been using his eyes. he nodded as he caught the guide's eye. "there has been a bunch of unshod ponies along here, if that is what you mean," he said. "how do you know?" demanded stacy. "i see their tracks there. saw them the minute i got over here." "maybe that's the crowd that called at our camp the other day," suggested walter. the guide shook his head. "there was no one on these horses," said tad. "right," emphasized the guide. "that's observation, young men. you will notice, by examining these hoofprints carefully, that the weight of the animal is thrown more on the toe----" "how do you know that?" cut in stacy. "because the toe sinks into the soil more than it would if the animals were loaded. in the latter event, the heels would dig deeper. now if you will follow along a little further i may be able to show you the hoofprints of the leader of the band of wild horses, for that is what they are----" "wild horses?" marveled the boys. "wish we could see them," said tad. "i'll wager they have seen us already, for they surely are in this neighborhood," replied parry. "but a wild horse is as sharp as an old fox. the herd have been down in the foothills and, by the hoofprints, you will observe that they have returned to the mountain fastness." "perhaps they saw us coming," suggested tad. "more than likely," agreed the guide. "they were in a hurry and moving rapidly--there! there's the leader's trail. look carefully and you will see where he leaped up to this little butte here. reaching it, he turned about and took a quick, comprehensive look at the desert." "and at us," added stacy. "yes, i think so. come up here. you see this little ridge gave him a very good view of the desert maze. see if you can tell how many wild horses there were in the bunch," suggested tom parry. instantly the boys went down on all fours, crawling along the trail seeking to read the story that it told. "well, how many?" queried the guide, after they had finished their inspection. "fifty!" shouted stacy. "forty-five!" answered ned and walter at the same time. "what do you say, master tad?" "i am afraid i must have missed some, then. i only make out twenty-one old ones and a colt. i take it the old mare was with the colt, for the prints show that the little animal was hugging the other closely," was tad's decision. "very good. very good," nodded parry. "there were twenty-two. you didn't get the trailer, probably an old mare. she traveled along off to the right yonder a little. but i should like to know how you made fifty, master stacy!" twinkled the guide. "counted 'em," answered the fat boy. "show me?" stacy did so, going over the hoofprints carefully, pointing to them with his index finger as he did so, the guide making mental calculations at the same time. "and that makes fifty--fifty--fifty-four this time. there's more of them than i thought." parry laughed softly. "i'm afraid you'd make a poor indian, young man. you not only have counted the hoof-prints, but you have counted the foot marks of yourself and your companions as well. master tad, let me see if you can run the trail up the mountain side a little way. it will be good practice. i want you boys to be able to follow a trail as keenly as the best of them before you have finished this trip. you never know when it's going to be useful--when it's going to get you out of serious difficulties, even to the extent of saving your lives." tad was off on a trot, stooping well over, with eyes fixed on the foot marks. "tad could hunt jack rabbits without a dog, couldn't he?" questioned stacy innocently. his companions laughed. "is that a joke?" asked ned. "if it is, i'll cry. your jokes would make a texas steer weep." tad was picking his way up the rough mountain side, now losing the trail, then picking it up again. the marks left by the wild horses were almost indistinguishable after the animals had reached the rocks, but here and there a broken twig told the lad they had passed that way. once he appeared to leave the trail, moving sharply to the right, where on a shelving ridge, he straightened up and looked down into the valley. tom parry nodded encouragingly. "know what you've found?" "yes, this is where the leader came to make another observation," answered tad. "that's right. he's a plainsman already, boys. go on. run the trail up to the top of this first ridge. it will not be a bad idea for us to know which way they've gone. if the hunters don't show up by to-morrow we can take a little run after the herd on our own hook." tad obeyed gladly. every sense was on the alert. the rest of the boys were all impatience to take part in the hunt. but the guide said no. he feared that, if all were to start up the mountain side, their enthusiasm might lead them too far from camp, resulting in their losing their way. he knew how tricky the trail of a band of wild horses was, the clever animals leaving no ruse untried that would tend to mix up and lose their pursuers. tad's figure was growing smaller as he ascended higher and higher. "you don't mean to say that horses climbed up the way he is going!" questioned walter incredulously. "that's the way they went, my boy. they 're regular goats when it comes to mountain climbing. they'll go where a man could not, oftentimes." tad crept, cautiously on, now finding little to guide him, save his own instinct. he finally disappeared behind the rocks and trees of the low-lying range. the lad was moving almost noiselessly now. a sound a short distance beyond him caused him to prick up his ears sharply. "i believe i am near them," he breathed, as he glanced about him. "why did i not think to bring my rope?" it was just as well for his own well-being, that he had not brought along that part of his saddle equipment. he was following the trail with the skill of a trained mountaineer. an indian himself could have done it no better. perhaps the guide understood, better than did tad himself, why he had started the lad on the trail, for a quiet smile hung about the lips of tom parry. all at once his twinkling eyes lit up with a new expression. "look! look!" gasped walter. "where? where?" demanded ned. walter pointed to a pyramid-shaped rock far above their heads. at first they could scarcely believe their senses. there poised in the air, feet doubled into a bunch, stood a splendid specimen of horse-flesh, resting, it seemed, fairly on the sharp point of the rock, gazing down into and across the valley. "the white stallion," breathed the lads all in the same breath. the magnificent animal was a creamy white. its head was held high, nostrils distended as if to catch the scent of those for whom it was looking. beneath the rays of the low lying sun, its coat glistened and shone with a luster that no brush or comb could bring to it. the lads gazed upon the beautiful statue almost in awe. they were standing quite close up under the shadow of the mountain at that moment. "why doesn't he run?" whispered walter. "do you think he sees us?" asked ned. "no. stand perfectly still." "why doesn't he? all he would have to do would be to look down?" questioned stacy. "he scents us. he knows we are somewhere near. but, if you will observe him closely, you will notice that he is looking at the camp. he sees the professor moving about," explained parry. "do--do you think we could catch him?" asked ned eagerly. "the most skillful men in this part of the country have been trying to do that very thing for the last five years, my boy," answered the guide in a low tone. "no, you couldn't catch him. he's the finest animal to be found in the entire nevada desert district. wouldn't mind owning him myself." in the meantime tad had been creeping nearer and nearer. he soon discovered that the leader of the band had swerved to the left. he concluded to follow, to see where the solitary animal had gone to. but so quietly did the lad move that the stallion neither heard nor scented him. all at once the wonderful sight unfolded before the eyes of tad butler. he flattened himself on the ground, within thirty yards of the splendid animal. suddenly the stallion whirled. tad rose to his feet, the two stood facing each other, tad with head thrust forward, the stallion with nostrils held high in the air. "oh, my rope, my rope!" breathed the boy. "if i had my rope!" chapter xiii coyotes join in the chorus those down in the foothills saw the animal whirl and face the other way. "he sees something," cried walter, forgetting in his excitement that they were trying to keep quiet. "yes, he has probably scented master tad," explained the guide. "think he'll try to catch the horse?" asked stacy. "hope not. those wild horses are bad medicine. no, of course, he has no rope with him. but he'll be wise if he keeps out of the way of the beast." tad had no thought of doing either. he stood perfectly still, gazing in awe and wonder at the handsomest horse he had ever seen. the stallion's eyes blazed. he uttered a loud snort, then rose right up into the air on his hind feet. one bound brought him many feet nearer the boy who was observing him. it was the only direction in which the stallion could go without plunging into a chasm. "whoa!" commanded tad sharply. the white horse never having been trained, failed to understand the word, but he halted just the same, gazing angrily at the bold boy standing there, who, it appeared, was defying him. uttering another snort, this time full of menace, the animal leaped straight toward the lad in long, graceful bounds. tad threw up his hands to frighten the stallion aside. the animal, however, refused to be swerved from its course. "he's going to run over me," cried the boy, as he noted that the horse was rising for another leap. tad ducked just as the beast sprang clear of the ground. he felt the rush of air as the gleaming body was lifted over his head, the boy at the instant uttering a shrill yell to hasten the stallion's movements. the front hoofs caught the rim of the pony rider boy's sombrero, snipping it from his head. the hind feet came closer. they raked tad's head, bowling him completely over, rolling him from the knoll on which he had been standing. he brought up with a jolt some ten feet further down. tad scrambled to his feet a little dizzy from the blow and the fall. "whew! that was a close call," he muttered, feeling his head to learn if it had been injured. "no; the skin isn't broken, but i'm going to have a beautiful goose egg there," he concluded. "it's swelling already. if i'd had my rope i could have roped him easily when he rose at me that last time." scrambling up the bank, tad found his hat. then he picked his way to the pyramid-shaped rock on which he had first discovered the stallion. poising himself, he swung his sombrero to his companions down in the foothills. "hurrah!" he shouted. "i met the enemy. i've seen the white stallion, fellows!" "is the enemy yours?" jeered ned rector. "no; i rather think i was his," laughed tad, turning back and hurrying down the rocks to rejoin his companions. he was met by a volley of questions the moment he reached the foothills. with his companions gathered about him, tad told them how he had followed the trail, finally coming upon the handsome animal while the latter was taking an observation from the pyramid-shaped rock. "it's a wonder he didn't attack you," said the guide after the lad had finished his narration. "those wild stallions are very savage when aroused." "i guess he tried to do so all right," laughed tad. "i knew he was up there somewhere, watching us, but i did not think for a minute that you would get close enough to him to be in any danger," announced tom parry, with a disapproving shake of his head. "i could have roped him easily," said the lad. "lucky for you that you didn't try it. it's getting late now. i presume the professor is beginning to think we are not going to finish pitching our camp. come, we'll go back and get to work." the work went rather slowly, however, for the lads were too full of the subject of the wild stallion to devote their whole attention to putting their camp to rights for the night. then again, they had to go all over the story for the professor's benefit. "do you think we could catch one of these wild ones to take back east with us?" asked tad. "you couldn't catch one yourself, but you might be able to buy one for a small sum from the horse-hunters," the guide informed him. "how much?" "depends on the animal. perhaps twenty or twenty-five dollars." "then, i'll do it. i could get him home for as much more, and he'd be worth at least two hundred dollars. perhaps i might take two of them along, providing i can get what i want." "you ought to be a horseman," laughed the guide. "you've got the horseman's instinct." "he is a horseman," volunteered stacy. "there aren't any better." "thank you," glowed tad. "i'll pull you out next time you fall in, for that." they were very jolly at supper that night. they had nothing to trouble them. water was near by and they were soon to participate in the most exciting event in their lives, a wild-horse hunt. "do you think they will be able to find us!" questioned walter. "who, the horses?" returned ned. "i hope they do," laughed the guide. "no; master walter means bud stevens and the gang. find us? why, those fellows could trail a cat across the desert maze if they happened to take a notion to do so." there being plenty of dry stuff about, the boys built up a blazing camp-fire as soon as night came on. gathering about it they told stories and sang songs. "i move that stacy chunky brown favor us with a selection," suggested ned. "he has a very rare voice--an underdone voice some might call it." "yes, chunky," urged walter. "you haven't sung for us since we started." "me? i can't sing. besides it might scare the wild horses," protested stacy. "i guess there's no doubt about that. but we'll take the chances." "yes, do sing, chunky," added walter. "it may soften ned's hard heart." stacy cocked an impish eye at ned rector. "all right, i'll sing," decided the fat boy, clearing his throat. "stand up," thundered ned. "have some respect for the audience." stacy stood up. "what are you going to favor us with?" questioned tad. "it's a little thing of my own," grinned stacy. "hope you'll like it." "oh, we'll like it all right," chuckled ned. "the audience will please refrain from applauding until the performer finishes." "what's the name of the piece?" demanded walter. "hasn't been named. you can name it if you wish." "go ahead, go ahead. never mind the name," chorused the lads. stacy surveyed the upturned, laughing faces of his companions and then launched out in a shrill soprano: it's all day long on the alka-li, where the coyotes howl and the wells run dry, where the badgers badge in the water holes, and the twisters twist the old tent poles-- right up from the alka-li. "yeow!" shrieked the pony rider boys. "it's a new poet. hurrah for the poet lariat!" shouted ned rector, jumping up and down, slapping his thighs in his amusement. "go on, give us another verse," laughed the guide. "that's real po'try that is." "is there another verse?" cried walter. chunky nodded solemnly. "hush! he is going to sing some more," cautioned tad butler, holding up his hand for silence. "ahem," began stacy. throwing back his head he began again: when the wind blows high o'er the desert maze, and sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze, then the pony rider boys they lose their pants; don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- that hide in the alka-li. stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. but if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. the boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse: don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- that hide in the alka-li. professor zepplin and tom parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous pony riders. no such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the san antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great nevada desert. "sing it again! sing it again!" commanded the boys. they hauled the protesting chunky to his feet, stood him on a box of pickled pigs' feet, compelling him to begin the song all over again. "it's all day long on the alka-li. where the coyotes howl and----" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-o-ki! k-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" a long wailing sound--a dismal howl, suddenly cut short the joyous ditty. "what's that!" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" "coyotes," laughed the guide. there seemed to be hundreds of them. from every peak in the range their mournful voices were protesting. all at once out in the black maze of the desert another bunch of them began their weird wailing. "we're surrounded," announced the professor. "shall we get the guns?" asked walter. "no, they're expressing their indignation at chunky's song," jeered ned. "let 'em howl. i don't care. if they don't stop i'll sing some more," threatened the fat boy. chapter xiv fun in the foothills the professor found difficulty even in driving the lads to their beds that night. when they did finally tumble in and pull the blankets over them they were unable to sleep, between the howling of the coyotes and their laughter over stacy brown's new-found talent. "they'll go away when the moon comes up," called the guide when the boys protested that the beasts kept them awake. "why can't we shoot at them?" asked stacy. "it will alarm the wild horses," said the guide. "we don't want to chase them off the range. neither would the horse-hunters like it if we were to begin shooting." "go to sleep!" commanded the professor. then the boys settled down. after a time the moon came up, but instead of quieting the coyotes it seemed to have urged them on to renewed efforts. they grew bolder. they approached the camp until a circle of them surrounded it. out of stacy brown's tent crept a figure in its night clothes. it was none other than stacy himself. in one hand he held a can of condensed milk that he had smuggled from the commissary department that afternoon. he wriggled along in the shadow of a slight rise of ground until he had approached quite near the beasts. he could see them plainly now and stacy's eyes looked like two balls. the animals would elevate their noses in the air, and, as if at a prearranged signal, all would strike the first note of their mournful wail at identically the same instant. suddenly the figure of the pony rider boy rose up before them, right in the middle of one of the unearthly wails. "boo!" said stacy explosively, at the same time hurling the can of condensed milk full in the face of the coyote nearest to him. his aim was true. the can landed right between the eyes of the animal. the coyote uttered a grunt of surprise, hesitated an instant, then, with tail between his legs, bounded away with a howl of fear. "yeow! scat!" shrieked the fat boy. the whole pack turned tail and ran with stacy after them in full flight, headed for the desert. tom parry, aroused by this new note in the midnight medley, tumbled out just in time to see stacy disappearing over the ridge. the guide was followed quickly by the other three boys of the party and professor zepplin. "hey, come back here!" shouted parry. the fat boy paid no attention to him. he was too busy chasing coyotes across the desert at that moment to give heed to anything else. "get after him, boys! if he falls they're liable to pile on him and chew him up before we can get to him!" commanded the guide. over the ridge bounded the pajama brigade. the coyotes, frightened beyond their power of reasoning, if such a faculty was possessed by them, were now no more than so many black streaks lengthening out across the desert. the lads set up a whoop as they started on the chase after their companion. "rope him, somebody!" shouted parry. "haven't any rope," answered tad, with a muttered "ouch!" as his big-toe came in contact with the can of condensed milk. laughing and shouting, they soon came up with stacy, however, because he could not run as fast as the other boys. tad caught up with him first, and the two lads went down together. in another minute the rest of the party had piled on the heap. "get up!" shouted tad. "somebody's standing on my neck." "yes, and--and you've pushed my face into the desert," came the muffled voice of chunky brown. laughing and all talking at once, the knot was slowly untied. two of them grabbed the fat boy under the arms, while a third got between the lad's feet and picked them up, much as one would the handles of a wheelbarrow. in that manner they triumphantly carried stacy back to the camp. reaching his tent, they threw the fat boy into his bed. the tall, gaunt figure of the professor appeared suddenly at the tent entrance. some of the boys darted by him, the others crawling out under the sides of the tent, all making a lively sprint for their own quarters. "young men, the very next one who raises a disturbance in this camp to-night is going to get a real old-fashioned trouncing. not having any slipper, i'll use my shoe. do you hear?" not a voice answered him, but as he strode away the moon-like face of stacy brown might have been seen peering out at him. quiet reigned in the camp of the pony rider boys for several hours after that. yet they were destined not to pass the night without a further disturbance, though the professor did not use his shoe to chastise the noisy ones. it lacked only a few hours to daylight when the second interruption occurred. and when it arrived it was even more startling than had been the fat boy's chase of the cowardly coyotes. there was a sudden sound of hoof-beats. "ki-yi! ki-yi!" shrieked a chorus of voices. a volley of shots was fired as an accompaniment to the startling yells. a moment later and a body of horsemen dashed into camp, which they had easily located by the smouldering camp-fire. the pony rider boys were out of their tents in a twinkling. "wow!" piped stacy. bang! bang! two bullets flicked the dirt up into his face. bud stevens and his companions were in a playful mood again. "hey, you! better look out where you're shooting to!" warned stacy. bud let go another volley. "the professor'll take you over his knee and chastise you with his shoe, if you don't watch sharp," said stacy. "come out of that. where's the kiddie? i want to see my kiddie!" laughed bud stevens. by this time, with his companions, he had dismounted, turning the ponies loose to roam where they would. the whole camp, aroused by the shouting and shooting, had turned out after pulling on their trousers and shoes. tom parry, piling fresh fuel on the embers of the camp-fire, soon had the scene brightly lighted. there was no more sleep in camp that night. professor zepplin accepted the new disturbance with good grace. "we're going to eat breakfast with you," bud stevens informed them. "that's right. what we have is free," answered the professor hospitably. "that's what i was telling the bunch," nodded bud. "our chuck wagon'll be along when it gets here. we've got a schooner with six lazy mules toting it down along the edge of the foothills. if it ever gets here we'll stock you up with enough fodder to last you the rest of your natural lives." "a schooner, did you say?" questioned stacy, edging closer to the cowboy. "yep; schooner." "where's the water?" "say, moon-face, didn't you ever hear tell of a prairie schooner!" chunky shook his head. "well, you've got something coming to you, then," replied bud, turning to the others again. "when do you start your horse-hunt? i presume that's the purpose of your visit here?" asked the professor. "yep. soon as the wagon gets here with the trappings. after breakfast we'll look around a bit. been some of them through here to-day, i see." "yes, how did you know that!" questioned tad. "we crossed the trail just at the edge of the camp here when we came in. didn't you see them?" "we saw one of them and the tracks of the rest----" "yes, we--we--we saw the white horse----" "the angel?" demanded bud, interested at once. "i don't know whether you'd call it an angel or not. it struck me that it was quite the opposite," laughed tad. "it was a white stallion, and when i got in its way it just bowled me over and rolled me down the hill----" "the white stallion, fellows," nodded bud. "i told you so. come along, kiddie, and show me that trail. i'll tell you in a minute if he's the one." tad took the horse-hunter to the trail that he had followed up the mountain side. bud lighted match after match, by the light of which he ran over the confusion of hoofprints. finally he paused over one particular spot, and with a frown peered down upon it. "that's him. that's the angel," he emphasized. "why do you call him that?" "because of two things," answered bud. "first place, he's white. that's the color angels is supposed to be, most of 'em says. then, if you'll look at his hoof-mark, you'll see the frog is shaped like a heart. more angel. then again--that's three times, ain't it?--he's got a temper like angels ain't supposed to have." "so i have observed," agreed tad, with a laugh. "and that's why we call him the angel. we'll get the old gentleman this time or break every cinch strap in the outfit." there was rejoicing among the horse-hunters when they heard that it was indeed the angel himself whose trail they had come upon. "he's got the finest bunch of horse flesh with him that you'll find anywhere on the desert," averred another. "old angel won't travel with any scarecrows in his band. he's proud as a peacock with a new spread of tail feathers." "s'pose you don't know how many there are in the band, eh, kiddie?" questioned bud. "twenty-one and a colt," answered tad promptly. "oho! so--but tom parry told you, of course." "tom parry didn't," objected the guide. "master tad read the trail himself." "shake," glowed bud, extending his hand to tad. "you're the right sort for this outfit. we'll let you help point the bunch into the corral when we get them going. you'll see stars before you get through with that job--stars that ain't down on the sky-pilot's chart." "it won't be the first time, mr. stevens. i've seen enough of them to make a fourth of july celebration, already." just after breakfast, to which the camp had sat down at break of day, the horse-hunters began their preliminary work. bud directed two of his men to work south, two more to ride north, while he would take the center of the range. "what i want," he explained to the boys, "is to find where the wild horses are waterin' these days. they've been around these parts for more than two weeks, so we know they've got a nice cold water hole somewhere." "what were they doing on the desert?" asked walter. "i thought they had just come across." "no; they were out for a play. that shows they had had plenty to eat and drink. professor, i think i'll take the kiddie along with me," announced bud, much to tad's surprise, and, judging from the expression of the lad's face, pleasure, as well. professor zepplin glanced at the guide inquiringly. parry nodded his head. "he'll be all right." "yes, you may go, tad. but be careful. don't let him get into any difficulties, mr. stevens. he's a venturesome lad." "guess he's able to wiggle out of anything he gets into," grinned the horse-hunter. "come along; take a hunch on your cinch straps, a chunk of grub in your pocket; then we're ready to find where the angel washes his face every morning and night." tad lost no time in getting ready for the trip to trail the wild horses to their lair, and in a few moments the horse-hunters rode from the camp, followed by the envious glances of the pony rider boys. "wish i were going along," muttered chunky ruefully, as he turned his back on them and gazed off across the desert. chapter xv bud promises some excitement the horse-hunter and his young companion laid their course at right angles to the reach of the range. the trail rose slowly to pass between low buttes, leading on under the great spreading joshua trees that capped the range itself. off to the east and south of them, plainly exposed to view, lay the yellow stretch of the ralston valley that went on and on until it eventually terminated in death valley. the dry lake beds in the desert, looked, with the sun shining on them, like great pearls set in the desert maze. tad thought they were water, but bud stevens informed him that they were filled with water only after a heavy thunderstorm, or in the early spring. "you ought to have come down here earlier in the season," he told the lad. "it's a pretty bad time to cross the desert now." "yes, we know that. but we are not looking for easy trips," laughed the lad. as they moved slowly along, the cowboy horse-hunter explained many of the secrets of the trail to his young companion, as well as describing horse-hunts in which he had taken part in the past. "but i don't understand why they have come all the way across the desert to get into this range?" said tad. "why did they not remain on the other side where, i understand, there is plenty of forage?" "it's a peculiar thing, kiddie, but hosses, wild or tame are like human beings in some ways. they like to get back home." "what do you mean?" "wild horses always will go back to the range where they were born. sometimes they run away from the range ahead of a storm; sometimes they are captured and taken away. but if they ever get the chance, back they go to the place where they were born. angel was born in this range, and so were most of the mares and others that have come over with him. when a halfbreed cherokee came into camp and told us the band of horses was seen stretched out on the mesa on the other side, i knew they were getting ready to hike across the desert, so we prepared to come here." tad was listening intently. all this was new to him and much of it not entirely understandable. "did you ever notice how animals act before a big storm?" asked bud. "no; i can't say that i have." "next time you see a lot of horses stretched out on the ground on their sides, heads close to the ground, all looking as if they were asleep, you'll know there's a big storm coming." "why do they do that?" "i don't know, unless it is to rest themselves thoroughly before running away from the storm that they know is coming." "how do they know a storm is coming, unless they can see it?" marveled the boy. "kiddie, you'll have to ask the horses. bud stevens don't know--nobody knows. a fellow with whiskers and wearing spectacles one of--of them scientific gents--told me once that it was a kind of wireless telegraph, that newfangled way of sending ghost messages. said they got it in the air. mebby they do; i don't know. they get it. sometimes you'll see the colts running up and down. that's another sign of storm." "that's strange. i never heard it before," mused the lad. "and speaking of colts, did you ever know that sometimes a band of horses will take a great fancy to a frisky young colt?" "no." "yes. they'll follow the colt for days, with their eyes big and full of admiration for the awkward critter. and they'll fight for him too. but 'tisn't often necessary, 'cause very few horses will bother a colt. ever see a hoss fight?" tad admitted that he had not. "ought to see one. it's the liveliest scrimmage that you ever set eyes on. beats that one back there on the desert, when you plunked me on my head in a water hole. jimminy! but you did dump me proper," grinned the cowboy. "hope you don't lay it up against me," laughed tad. "no. got all over that. i got what was coming to me--coming on the run. say, got the trail on your side there? they seem to have shuffled over to the northward a bit." "yes, i'm riding on their footprints now." "that's all right then. don't want to let it get away from us." "where do you think they are heading, mr. stevens?" "for the mesas up the range further. there's plenty of grazing there and there must be water close by. what we want to do, to-day, is to locate them and find out just where they go for their water. then, when the schooner gets down to your camp, we'll haul our outfit up in the range and build a corral to drive them into." "do you always make a capture?" "us? no. sometimes the leaders of the band are too smart for us. they beat us proper. why, they're sharper than a goldfield real estate man, and those fellows would make you believe an alkali desert was a pine forest." "look there!" interrupted tad, pointing. "what is it, kiddie?" demanded the horse-hunter, pulling up sharply. "one of the horses, i think it must be the leader, seems to have left the trail here and started off at right angles." stevens rode over to the other side of tad, and gazed down, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. "yes, that's the angel. don't know what he's side-tracked himself here for. he can't see far, so it was not an observation that he was about to take. he's either seen or scented something. hold my pony while i take a look." the cowboy dismounted, striding rapidly away with gaze fixed on the trail ahead of him. a few moments later he returned. "find anything?" asked tad. "the big one scented something, or thought he did." "but where did he go?" "turned just beyond here and followed along the same way the others were going. you'll find his trail joining ours after we get on a piece. i'd like to know what he thought he smelled," mused bud. "i didn't know horses could scent a person or thing like that." "what, horses? wild horses have got a scent that's keener than a coyote's." "there's the white stallion's trail again," exclaimed the lad. bud nodded. "told you he'd come back." for the next hour they rode along without anything of incident occurring, tad constantly adding to his store of knowledge regarding mountain and plain. the lad was himself a natural plainsman and proved himself an apt pupil. all at once bud pulled up his pony sharply and studied the ground. "what is it?" questioned tad. "we've struck luck for sure. boy, i'll show you something that'll make your eyes stick out so you can hang your hat on them," cried the cowboy exultingly. "you--you mean we have come upon the wild horses?" asked the lad. "yes, and more. come this way and i'll show you. see this trail?" tad nodded. "well, it was made by another band of horses." the announcement did not strike tad as especially significant. "they headed for the mesas, too?" "looks that way," grinned bud. "and they're headed for trouble at the same time. there's going to be music in the air pretty soon, kiddie, and you and i want to be on hand to hear the first tune." tad gazed at him questioningly. "this second bunch of horses is led by a big black stallion known to the hunters as satan. he's up to his name too. he's one of the most vicious cayuses on the open range. don't you see what this trail means?" the lad confessed that he did not. "it means that satan is on the trail of the angel. when satan and the angel meet there'll be the worst scrap you ever heard of, kiddie." "will they fight?" "will they fight?" scoffed bud stevens. "guess you never saw two wild stallions mix it up." "no." "there's bad blood between satan and the angel and there has been for a long time. the black stallion has been on the white one's trail for more than a year. i don't know what it's all about, but i know that, if they come up with each other, there is going to be trouble. if they don't look out we'll bag the whole bunch. i wish our outfit was here. i suppose we ought to hustle back and get ready for the drive, but i'm going to see satan and the angel meet, if it's the last thing i ever do. come on--we'll have to ride fast." putting spurs to their ponies, they set off at a fast pace over the uneven, rugged trail. chapter xvi the battle of the stallions the trail grew hotter as they advanced. "see, satan's running now." the pursuers increased their speed, although they could not hope to travel as rapidly as the black stallion and his followers. the wild horses' trot had by this time become leaps, as the followers could plainly see from the trail that had been left behind. satan and his band were traveling in single file, their whole attention being centered on running down the angel. "do you think satan scented the others?" asked tad, when they struck a level piece of ground so that they could relax their vigilance a little. "no doubt of it at all. but he didn't know it was just then. he only knew it was a horse. he knows now that the other bunch is ahead of him." "how do you know that?" queried tad. "by the trail," replied stevens. "don't you see, the angel is going faster. they are both on a run now." "then the angel must be afraid. is that it?" "not much. he wants to find a better place in which to fight. this place is bad medicine for a horse battle. they're all heading for the mesas, just as i thought first." the cowboy was leaning well forward in his saddle, eyes on the trail, instead of looking ahead. tad, on the contrary, was straining his eyes, hoping to catch sight of the two bands of fleeing horses; but not a sign of them did he see. bud was the first to inform him that they were nearing the object of their chase. "satan's going slower. he is coming up with the others. let up a little, and don't talk in a loud tone. we don't want to disturb them nor let either of the bands get an idea they are followed. they might race off to some other part of the range. we want to catch them all later, if we can." their ponies were slowed down to a trot, with bud stevens leading. all at once he held up his hand for a halt. tad pulled up shortly. "what is it? do you see them?" he whispered. bud shook his head. "not yet. we're close to them, though. jump off and tether your nag. we've got to go on afoot. they'll smell our ponies if we ride any further." moving rapidly, the man and the boy, led their mounts in among the trees, where they made them fast with the stake ropes. then both started on a jog-trot along the trail. "how far do we have to go do you think?" "don't know. hope it's not far or we're liable to miss the show." "i can run as fast as you can if you want to go faster." "hark! hear that?" exclaimed bud. "yes, what was it?" "they're lining up for the battle. that was a stallion's scream of defiance. it is a challenge for battle. there goes the other one. that's the angel telling satan to come on and fight. now satan's answering him." it was all just so much noise to tad butler. the meaning of the harsh sounds conveyed nothing to him, but to bud stevens they were full of meaning. "careful, now. we're getting near." both men sped along as fast as their feet would carry them, but without making a sound that might have been heard a dozen yards away. "hist!" warned bud, crouching low. grasping his companion by the arm, he crept to the right, finally emerging from behind a rise of ground which had shielded their progress. "look there," he whispered. tad looked. below him lay a broad, open mesa, its upper end within a stone's throw of where he stood. but that was not what attracted his attention. a band of horses of many colors and sizes stood arrayed on each side of the little plain. advanced a few yards from the band on the right, was a magnificent black stallion, pawing the earth and uttering shrill challenges. on the other side of the field was the angel. he was not pawing the earth. instead he was standing proudly, his curving neck beautifully arched, his pink nostrils distended and held high. "what a wonderful animal!" said tad under his breath. "and that black! i can understand why he is called satan. what are they going to do?" "fight! don't you understand? they're getting ready to settle their old score, and a merry mix-up it'll be," replied the cowboy in a whisper. "yes, yes," breathed tad, scarcely able to curb his excitement. "there they go!" with a wild scream satan and the angel bounded into the center of the field. as they neared it each swerved to his right and dashed by, avoiding his opponent. "act as if they were afraid of each other," said tad. "they're not. they're trying each other out--sparring for an opening as it were. you'll see in a minute." the fighters returned to the charge. they did not flinch this time. with a rush they came together, rearing in the air, jaws wide apart. their fore-feet struck out. both stallions broke, wheeled and kicked viciously. neither had landed a blow. next time they came at each other walking on their hind feet. they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring, their hoofs making such rapid thrusts that the eye could scarcely follow them. satan reached for the head of his antagonist with a quick sweep. the white stallion blocked the blow cleverly. [illustration: they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring.] yet, in doing so, he had left an opening. satan took instant advantage of it. the black stallion's head shot forward. it reminded tad of a serpent striking at its victim. "ah! he landed!" exclaimed the cowboy. a fleck of crimson on the creamy neck of the angel showed where the vicious teeth of the black stallion had reached him. yet, no sooner had the wound been inflicted than the angel whirled. it was like a flash of light. a white hoof shot out catching the black on the side of the head, sending him staggering to his haunches. the white animal was upon him with a scream of triumph. just as it seemed that the angel was about to run him down, the black sprang to his feet, leaping to one side, and as the angel passed, the hind hoofs of satan were driven into his side. the angel uttered a cry of pain; it was returned by one of triumph from his antagonist. "oh, what a pity to see two such magnificent animals seeking to kill each other! do you think one of them will be killed, mr. stevens?" "they may. you can't tell. hope there won't be a knock-out, 'cause we want both of those fellows and we'll get them too. i tell you, we're in luck this trip. we'll make a haul that will be worth a few thousand dollars, you bet. there they go again." changing their method of attack, the fighters began rushing, whirling, kicking and so timing their blows that their hind feet met with a crash that might have been heard a long distance away. the shiny coat of the black did not show that he had been wounded, but the watchers knew he had, for they had seen the teeth of the white animal buried in his side at least once. a vicious charge of satan's, threw the angel from his feet. he struck the hard ground with a mighty snort, but was on his feet in an instant, returning to the charge, mouth open, feet pawing the air. the two men could see the eyes of the desperate antagonists fairly blaze, while their shrill cries thrilled tad through and through. never in his life had he gazed upon such a scene--two giants of the equine world engaged in mortal combat. it was a scene calculated to make the blood course more rapidly through the veins of the boy, who, himself, possessed so much courage. and it did, in this case, though as a lover of horses his heart was filled with pity for the one who was to lose the battle. as yet there was no indication as to which this would be. they seemed equally matched, and thus far honors had been about even. "think the black can whip him?" he asked. "don't know, kiddie. i'll make a bet with you; take your choice." "thank you, i don't bet," answered the lad. "if i did, i couldn't bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are trying to kill each other. ah! there goes the black flat on his back!" before satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven against him with unerring aim. yet, the blow while it must have hurt, served to assist satan to roll over. as a matter of fact he was kicked over, and thus helped to spring to his feet. each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping. on each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses, stood stolidly observing the conflict. neither side made an effort to participate in the battle. here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field, only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother. "it's queer they do not take a hand," marveled tad. "no; they never do. they look to their leader to fight their battles for them. when the battle is ended you will notice something else that will interest you." "what?" "you'll see when the time comes. now watch them go at it." and they did. it appeared as if each of the combatants was determined to put a quick end to the conflict. there was no lost time now. it was give and take. blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. now, one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid evolutions. "i wish the boys might see this," breathed tad, fascinated by the sight in spite of himself. "so do i," grinned bud. "did you ever see a battle of this kind?" asked the lad. "not like this. i've seen stallions fight, yes, but never such a scrap as this. looks as if they'd be fighting all day. but they won't." "why not? they seem as strong as when they began." "they are, but they're getting careless. they're taking longer chances every round. first thing you know, one of them will get kicked into the middle of next week. whoop! that was a dandy!" the angel had planted both hind hoofs fairly on the side of satan's head. satan had gone down. but when the white stallion made a leap, with the intention of springing upon his prostrate victim, the black rolled to one side, and in a twinkling had fastened his teeth upon his adversary's leg. only for a brief second did he cling there, then throwing himself out of the way sprang to his feet. the two animals met with a terrific crash, head-on. biting, kicking, screaming out their wild challenges of defiance the battle waxed hotter, faster and more furious. the mares in the herds showed signs of uneasiness. they might have been observed tossing their heads and shifting almost nervously on their feet, but making no effort to move away or out into the field. "are the mares getting excited?" asked tad in wonder. "no. they see one of the stallions is going to get his knock-out in a minute." "which one?" "i don't know." "but how can they tell that, if we are unable to see either one of them weakening?" "more ghost telegraphy, i guess," answered bud, not for an instant removing his gaze from the fascinating scene before him. he, too, was becoming excited. he could scarcely restrain himself. all at once, despite his caution, bud stevens uttered a whoop. "the black's got him!" "no, the angel's got him!" shouted tad butler excitedly. "no, he hasn't! it's the black, i tell you. see! there, he's kicked the angel halfway across the mesa." now it was the angel's turn to do some kicking. he did, and with terrific effect. both hind hoofs were planted in the black's abdomen. not once, but again and again. yet the black was not thus easily defeated. with the sledge-hammer blows raining all over him, he struggled to his feet, and, with a desperate lunge, fastened himself upon the neck of his adversary. back and forth struggled the black and the white now, like a pair of wrestlers. "now, who do you think's got him, hey?" laughed bud. "why, the black'll eat his head off." "i said angel was going to win, and i think he is," retorted tad. the white with a mighty toss of his powerful neck, threw satan off, the fore feet of the angel smiting and knocking satan down. then followed a series of gatling-gun-like reports as the angel's hind hoofs beat a tattoo on the head of his prostrate victim. the black was conquered. satan had been knocked out by the angel, in the greatest equine battle that human eyes ever had gazed on. "aren't you glad i don't bet?" laughed tad, his eyes flashing with the excitement of it all. "i'd been willing to lose on that fight," grunted the cowboy. "is he killed, do you think?" asked the lad. "no; he's just dizzy after the wallops he got on the head. you'll see him get up in a minute." the angel had backed off a few paces and there he stood, head erect, waiting as motionless as a statue until the moment when his fallen adversary should rise, if at all. slowly the black pulled himself to his feet. his head came up. he eyed the now calm white stallion half hesitatingly. the watchers fairly held their breath, for it was a dramatic moment. "they're going to fight again," muttered tad. "he's licked! he's got enough!" exclaimed bud. the black turned his back upon the white stallion, and with lowered head, dejection and humiliation apparent in every line, every movement of his body, walked slowly back to his own band. the angel followed at a distance, almost to the lines of the enemy. then he paused, galloped back to the center of the field, and throwing up his head uttered a long, shrill scream of triumph. one by one the mares of satan's band detached themselves from his ranks, and, with their colts, trotted across the field to join the angel's band. chapter xvii on a wild-horse hunt a corral, constructed partially of brush on its wing ends, and of canvas for the corral proper, had been erected in one of the wide sage-covered draws of the san antonio range. across the opening of the corral, which resembled a pair of great tongs, the distance was fully half a mile. bud stevens had decided to place the trap for the wild horses here in this open space in preference to laying it in the mountains. there was more room for operations in the open, he said. then again, the wild horses, as he knew from personal observation, were strong and full of fight. "i guess we'll have to tire them all out before we can hope to get them in the corral," he told his men after they had finished their work of preparation. the wagon with the horse-hunters' outfit had driven in late on the night following the battle of the stallions, and early next morning the horse-hunters, accompanied by the pony rider boys and their own party, started out to make camp in the mountains, where they were to remain while the hunt lasted. the battle which tad and bud had seen furnished a fruitful topic for discussion, and the two were kept busy relating the story of the fight until long after midnight. but, while watching the battle, bud stevens had not lost sight of the object, of his trip into the mountains. he had calculated exactly where the stock had found a mountain spring, and it was from that point that the hunters were to start the animals on their trip to the corral. the plan of operation was laid out with as much care and attention to details as a general would employ in planning a battle. the pony rider boys were to participate in the chase. they could scarcely wait for the moment to arrive when they would be given an opportunity to show their horsemanship. in the camp in the mountains they were told with great detail just what they were expected to do. "i think you had better leave chunky at home," warned ned. "he'll stampede the whole bunch just as you are ready to drive them into the corral." chunky protested loudly. "guess i can stick on a pony as well as you can," he retorted. "i'll vouch for that," smiled tom parry. "he'll do," decided bud. "now, you fellows are all to string out in single file, following me until we have circled the herd. we should have them pretty well surrounded by noon. at that time they'll be at the spring filling up. when i'm ready to close in, i'll fire a shot. each of you will fire in turn so that every one in line may be notified. if the critters refuse to drive, then we'll have to whip them into a circle and tire them out. but first, we must get them out on the open, no matter which way they go, then work them into the draw as fast as we can." the horse-hunters nodded. they understood perfectly what they were expected to do. and the boys were to be scattered among the men at intervals instead of traveling together. it seemed very simple to them, but they were to learn that wild-horse hunting was a man's task. "are we allowed to rope if we get the chance?" questioned tad. "not during the run. of course, if you see an animal escaping after we have rounded them up, and you can do so without losing any of the others, rope if you want to. i reckon you'll have your hands full if you try it," concluded the horse-hunter. "are you going out, professor?" smiled the guide. "no, thank you. i think i shall remain close to camp and collect geological specimens. the boys will get into just as much trouble if i go with them as they would were i to remain at home. i suppose there is more or less peril in these wild hunts?" "yes, it's going some," laughed bud. "but i guess none of them will get very badly knocked out if they obey orders and don't get in the way of a stampede. those wild critters won't stop for nothing." a scout came in late with the news that the herd was less than five miles from where the hunters' camp was located. "that makes it all the easier. we'll start at daylight," said stevens. "the plans will work out just right. now you'd better all turn in and be ready for the hurry call in the morning." next morning all ate breakfast before the first hot wave trembled over the crest of the mountains across the broad desert. there was bustle and excitement in the camp. when ponies had been saddled, ropes coiled and final preparations made, bud stevens looked his outfit over carefully, nodded his head and mounted. "you boys don't want to do any shouting after we get out on the trail, you understand," he said. "we have to work quietly until we get them surrounded; then you may make all the racket you want. the more the better." the pony riders nodded their understanding of the orders, and the company of horsemen set out across the mountains. they made a wide detour so as not to alarm any of the stragglers who might not have followed the main body of horses to the watering place for their noon drink. a careful examination of the trail showed that the angel and his band, as well as satan and his few faithful followers, were well within the circle. "we've got the whole bunch inside," exulted bud, turning to tad. "now, boy, do your prettiest. we want to bag 'em all. if we do, i'll make you a present of any horse in the outfit." "how about the angel?" questioned tad, with a twinkle in his eyes. bud hesitated. "what bud stevens says goes," replied the cowboy. "the one who catches the stallion on these hunts, however, usually has the right to keep him if he wants to. if you want the angel you've got to rope and take him after we get them rounded up." "no, i wouldn't do anything like that," laughed tad. "if i catch the angel i'll make you a present of him." at twelve o'clock, by the watch, they had completed the circle, or rather three-quarters of a circle, about the band of wild horses, leaving an opening toward the broad draw where the hidden corral had been located to trap the unsuspecting wild animals. stevens drew his gun, and, holding it above his head, fired two shots. the signal was answered, almost instantly, by two shots some distance to their rear. like the rattle of a skirmish line, guns popped in quick succession, the sounds growing further and further away as they ran down the long, slender line of horsemen to the eastward. "close in!" commanded the leader quietly. "ride straight ahead; never mind me. i shall move further on before i turn. good luck. don't try to get in the way of a stampede. you can't stop them if they try it altogether." "i'll look out," smiled tad. then they separated. tad could not hear a sound, save the light footfalls of his own pony. the mountain ranges might have been deserted for all the disturbance there was about him. he had ridden on some distance when a loud snort suddenly called his attention to the right and ahead of him. there stood the angel, facing him angrily. tad was so surprised at the suddenness of the meeting that he pulled his pony up shortly. for a moment they stood facing each other, then the wild animal with a loud scream of alarm, turned and went crashing through the brush. from the sound, a few seconds later, the lad knew that the stallion had gathered his band and that they were sweeping away from him at a lively pace. "here's where i must get busy," laughed the lad, the spirit of the chase suddenly taking strong hold upon him. he touched his pony lightly with the spurs, drawing in on the reins. the little animal leaped away, tad uttering a shrill yell, to warn any of the other hunters who might be within reach of his voice, that he had started on the trail of the wild band. he heard a similar cry far off to his right and knew that bud stevens had heard and understood. "i believe they're coming back," said the lad, realizing that the sound of galloping was plainer than it had been a few moments before. "i wonder what i ought to do. i'm going to try to head them off if they come this way," he decided. all at once he saw the wild horses first from behind a huge rocky pile. uttering a series of wild yells and whoops, swinging his quirt and sombrero above his head, the lad rode straight at the herd, his pony seeming to enter into the full spirit of the fun. to tad's surprise the leader of the herd deflected to the northward, running along a line almost parallel to that which the boy was following. tad pressed in the rowels of his spurs a little harder, uttering a chorus of shrill yells. "they mustn't get through," he fairly groaned. "they shan't get through! no, not if i ride my head off!" suddenly a volley of shots sounded some distance ahead of him, followed by a series of yells as if the mountains were alive with savage redskins. it was bud stevens. the wild herd had come upon him just as they were about to turn northward and dive into the fastnesses of the mountains. observing him they turned slightly to the west and continued on their mad course. "good boy!" bud shrieked. "draw up on 'em! draw up on 'em!" tad did. it was a race, but a most perilous one. to the boy it seemed as if the feet of his pony were off the ground most of the time, his run having merged into a series of long, curving leaps as it reached from rock to rock. down a steep slope suddenly plunged the herd. tad saw the flying pony of bud stevens directly abreast of them. the lad, apparently feeling no fear, brought his quirt down sharply on the flanks of his mount. the pony hesitated, rose and took a flying leap fully ten feet down the mountain side before its feet braced sharply and thus saved pony and rider from plunging on over. now tad was yelling at the top of his voice, as that seemed the proper thing to do under the circumstances. the wild band was heading for the open, just as bud stevens had planned. but the fleeing horses were seeking to get out on the open plain where they might soon outdistance their pursuers. tad and his pony went down that rugged mountain side as if the pony were a mountain goat. the boy never had experienced such a thrilling ride, and the jolts he got made his head dizzy. "m-m-my, this is going some!" he gasped. tad was shouting for pure joy now. when his mount landed on all fours among the foothills he was not more than two minutes behind bud stevens himself. "great! great!" floated back the voice of the horse-hunter, who, turning in his saddle, had observed tad's leaping, flying descent of the mountain. tad admitted to himself that this was riding, and he compared it with the day he first rode his own pony up the main street in chillicothe, missouri. that ride, at the time, seemed a very exciting one. since then he had acquired more skill, else he never would have been able to shoot down the rugged mountain at almost express train speed. they were now out on the desert prairie. bud was trying to point the leaders in to send them to the southward. now that tad was on level ground he was able to put on more speed. very slowly, indeed, his pony straightening out to its full length, he drew up on the racing herd. "guess i'd better not yell any more till i get abreast of them," he decided, which was good judgment, as bud stevens said to him afterwards. "lay back a little!" shouted bud when the boy got too close. "they're liable to dodge behind me at any second and break through our line." tad slackened his speed, at which the wild band drew away from him almost as if he were standing still. then, he put spurs to his mount again, and drew up abreast of the trailers. at the head of the line the horse-hunter was fighting with the leaders, trying to turn them toward the place where the great corral was hidden. suddenly that which bud stevens had feared occurred. the white stallion's forefeet plowed the earth. cowboy and pony shot by him, and the wily stallion slipped behind them. followed by his band, the angel headed off across the desert in the very direction that the hunters did not want him to go. "nail him!" bellowed bud. tad needed no further command. already his keen eyes had noted the move. putting spurs to his pony he raced to the white stallion's side, leaving bud far to their rear. the angel sought, in every way in its power, to shake off the boy who so persistently hung at its side. all at once the stallion reached over, fastening its teeth in the neck of tad butler's pony. tad, however had been quick enough to foresee the move and had jerked his little mount to one side. yet, he had not done so quickly enough to save the broncho from a slight flesh wound. slackening its speed, the angel then made a vicious lunge at the lad's left leg, biting right through the heavy chaps with which his legs were protected. the boy swung his quirt, bringing it down again and again on the stallion's pink and white nose, until the beast, unable to stand the punishment longer, uttered a snort, changing its course more to the southward. "i've turned him! i've turned him!" shouted tad. he had accomplished what the leader of the horse-hunters had been unable to do. bud stevens, far to the rear on the desert, tossed his sombrero in the air, uttering a long, far-reaching yell of approval. chapter xviii roped by rough riders tad replied with an exulting yell. the band of wild horses was headed toward the corral. yet they refused to enter, just when they were upon the point of heading in between the hidden wings. some instinct, it seemed, warned them to beware. the line straightened out, and a few minutes later the animals began racing in a circle four miles wide. "i'm afraid my pony never'll be able to stand this grilling. but we'll keep going as long as we've got a leg left to stand on," laughed the plucky lad. "drop out and let me take a round with them. we've got to tire them out," shouted bud, putting spurs to his pony and dashing up beside tad. the lad regretfully pulled his mount down to a walk, then rode out on the desert some distance, so as to be out of the way when the circle once more came his way. "guess it's just as well," he muttered. "the pony couldn't have stood up much longer. my, those wild animals can travel!" a heavy coating of gray dust covered both boy and horse, except where here and there the gray was furrowed with streaks of perspiration. tad gave his mount the reins, and sat idly watching the cloud of dust rolling over the desert, showing where bud stevens was driving the wild-horse band in an effort to tire them, so that they might be easily headed into the great corral. they soon swept by tad, and on out over white alkali desert once more. on the next round bud motioned to tad to take up his end of the relay. "give it to 'em. drive 'em till they can't stand up!" bellowed bud. but the lad scarcely heard the horse-hunter's voice. already he had been swallowed up in the great yellow cloud and was riding hard by the white stallion. discovering that he had another rider beside him, the angel made a desperate effort to run the lad and his pony down that he might break the line and head off to the northwest. tad beat him over the nose with his quirt again, and the stallion promptly changed its mind, for the pink nose was still tender from the drubbing tad had given it a short time before. "the men are lining up for a drive," warned stevens when the herd thundered by him again. "i'll keep behind you. we're going to try to drive them in this time. they're weakening fast." "you want me to hold the leader?" asked the boy. "yes. keep him up. don't give him a second's leeway. the rest will follow him; don't worry about them." "where are the other fellows?" "over to the east. they're hiding until the herd gets close enough; then they'll appear, raising a big noise. that's the time you and i will have our hands full." "strikes me our hands have been pretty full," answered the lad, his face wrinkling into a forced grin. bud stevens slackened the speed of his pony, dropping back and disappearing in the dust cloud. "after all, i guess the other fellows will have the hardest work," mused the lad. "they've got to stop the rush while all i have to do is to keep on going, following that big, white stallion. i wish i could rope him, but i guess he would have the broncho and myself on our backs in no time." tad turned his attention to the work in hand. he did not know just where the other horse-hunters were secreted, but his eyes were fixed on a low-lying butte some distance to the eastward. he saw no other place from which they could carry out the manoeuvre successfully. tad grew a bit anxious as the wild horses curved more and more to the eastward. in a few moments they would be too far to the left to permit of heading them toward the hidden corral. "i guess they must be going to let us drive them around the circle once more," he decided, "no! there they come!" with a yell, followed by a rattling fire of revolver shots, a dozen ponies shot from behind the low-lying butte. the horse-hunters hurled their bronchos right against the wall of fleeing animals. volley after volley was fired into the ground right under the very feet of the wild horses. here and there a rider was unseated in a sudden collision in the dust cloud with a charging wild horse. "they've turned them!" bellowed bud stevens. the pony rider boy now began to realize the truth of this, for the angel came bounding toward him, crowding right up against the side of tad's pony. tad was using foot and quirt, yelling like a wild indian to frighten the big, white stallion into keeping to the left. so successful were his efforts that the animal did give way a little. "i've headed him!" shouted the lad in wild glee. never had he had such an exciting day as this one was proving itself to be. he gave no thought to the danger of the chase. and now that he heard and recognized the shouts of his companions he was spurred to even greater efforts than before. why this post of honor had been given to him he did not know. but bud stevens was not far behind. bud was ready to stop the stampede that he momentarily expected, but which did not come. "give way a little!" came the command. tad recognized that he had, in his enthusiasm, been crowding the white stallion a bit too much. he drew off a little, not, however, decreasing his speed. already the band of wild horses had entered the wide-spreading wings of the corral, but because of the dust that enveloped him, tad was unaware of this. he continued at his same terrific pace, with the tough little broncho rising and falling under him as he fairly flew over the uneven ground. the horse-hunters had fallen into a triangle formation with the apex to the rear. they were driving the wild horses before them, using their guns in what appeared to be a most reckless fashion, shouting as if the whole band had gone suddenly mad. on down between the brush barriers, that were now apparently rising out of the ground, sped the frightened band of wild horses. the white stallion began to understand that they were trapped. angel whirled suddenly and made a desperate effort to take the back trail. tad and his pony dashing down the slight incline like a projectile, hit the stallion broadside. the collision was so sudden that the lad had a narrow escape from being hurled over the head of his own pony. it was only the convulsive grip of legs to the broncho's side that saved him from a bad spill. with quick instinct he brought his quirt down on the broad back of the angel. smarting under the stinging blow and the surprise of the collision the white stallion whirled about again, heading right into the yawning corral. the lad was now in the very midst of the crowding, fighting animals. he was battling every whit as desperately as were they. bud stevens had fallen back. he knew tad was somewhere ahead in the mix-up, but he was powerless to get to him at that moment, nor could his voice reach the lad. it was then that the boy realized where he was. "i'm in the corral!" he cried, discovering that he was hemmed in by the canvas walls of the main enclosure itself. "and i guess i'm in a mix-up that will be hard to get out of." the wild horses were charging about, screaming with anger and fear, rearing, biting, kicking, bowling each other over in their desperate efforts to escape. on every side, they found themselves met by the canvas walls, which none thus far had had the courage to assail. "there's the black stallion--there's satan," cried tad in surprise. "i didn't know he was here." the black's eyes were gleaming with anger. his lost courage was slowly returning to him. satan was now ready to give battle to man or beast. all at once he dashed straight at the canvas wall, rose to it and cleared it in a long, curving leap, his rear feet ripping the cloth down a short distance as the hoofs caught it. the keen eyes of the white stallion were upon him. in another instant his glistening body had flashed over the enclosing walls. "oh, that's too bad!" groaned tad. at that moment half a dozen horsemen appeared in the enclosure; as if by magic they threw themselves across the opening made by the two stallions, and thus made an impassable barrier. tad had seem them coming, and divined their purpose. a daring plan suddenly flashed into his mind. with a shrill yell, he dug in the rowels of his spurs. the broncho, understanding what was wanted of him, rose to the canvas well, clearing it without so much as touching it with his hoofs. but while this was going on another scene was being enacted just outside the barrier. a few horse-hunters had been sent around there to head off just such an attempt at escape as had been made. with them was stacy brown. he was sitting on his pony, rope in hand when satan cleared the wall. he saw the dark body of the stallion plunge over. instinctively the fat boy rose in his stirrups. his lariat whirled twice over his head, then shot out. it sped true to the mark, catching satan by the left hind foot just as he was finishing his leap. "yeow!" yelled chunky. the black stallion ploughed the ground with his nose, as the boy took a quick hitch of the rope about his saddle pommel. that was where chunky came to grief once more. his pony's feet were jerked out from under it by the mighty lurch of satan when he went down. stacy brown and his broncho were thrown flat on the ground in a twinkling. the lad's right leg was pinned under the pony, but the boy, with great presence of mind, held the rope fast to the pommel. ropes flew from all directions, now that the stallion was down. in a moment more they had satan entangled in a maze of them. the horse-hunters were shouting and yelling in triumph at the fat boy's splendid capture. so busily engaged were they in subduing the black that, for the moment, they lost sight of the fact that the angel, followed by tad butler on his broncho, had cleared the barrier too. nor did tad give heed to them. with rope unslung he was stretching through the foothills at a breakneck pace, on the trail of the angel. "there goes the angel, with the kid after him!" bellowed a cowboy. three men leaped into their saddles and were off like a shot. tad butler slowly, but surely, drew up on the racing stallion. the pursuers saw him unsling his rope, holding the coil easily at his side. "he's going to cast," cried the cowboys in amazement that the slender lad would undertake alone to capture the powerful animal. "he'll be dragged to death!" warned one. "don't try it, kiddie!" shouted another at the top of his voice. a chorus of warning yells were hurled after the intrepid tad, to all of which he gave no heed. his eyes were fixed on the flashing body of the white stallion ahead of him, every nerve tense for the shock that would come a moment later. all at once the pursuers saw tad's right arm describe the familiar circle in the air. then his lariat squirmed out. the angel, running ahead of the boy could not see the rope in time to dodge it. the loop of the lariat dropped neatly over his head and suddenly drew taut. the proud stallion which for years had defied the skill of the wild-horse hunters, went down to an inglorious defeat. but he was up like a flash. then began a battle between the slender pony rider boy and wild stallion that is talked of among the wild-horse hunters of the desert to this day. three times had tad thrown the angel before the others caught up with him, the lad's arms being well-nigh pulled from his body in the terrific lunges of the fighting angel. the ropes of the cowboys reached out for the maddened animal the instant they were within reach. such a shout went up as had probably never been heard on the range before when finally they had the white fighter securely roped down. the pony rider boys had distinguished themselves this day. tricing up one of the stallion's forward legs, so that he hobbled along like a lame dog, the hunters started back to the corral, shouting, singing and firing their revolvers, with tad butler proudly sitting his broncho at the head of the procession. not an animal had escaped from the other hunters. it had been a magnificent round-up. chapter xix winning their reward the horse-hunters had bound the black and left him, while they entered the corral to assist in roping the rest of the herd that were dashing wildly about. every time a rope swung above a broad-brimmed sombrero, and shot out, a wild horse came down. "i fell in, but i got him," greeted chunky brown, triumphantly, as tad butler rode up to him. tad laughed heartily when he saw his companion, stacy brown, proudly sitting on the head of the angry, snorting black stallion. "you did, indeed, chunky. how did you ever do it?" "just like any other experienced man would," replied the fat boy, in an important tone. "we got them both, didn't we, tad!" "yes." "and we'll keep 'em, eh!" "oh, no, chunky. we couldn't do that. these horses belong to the hunters. they spend a great deal of money in preparing to capture them. it would not be right for us to expect to keep these two. we've been well paid for our labor in the fun we have had. don't you think so?" "well, yes," decided stacy a little ruefully. "let's see if we can help them," concluded tad, riding up to the edge of the corral. "orders?" he called, as soon as he could attract bud stevens' attention. "yes; you might ride around to the entrance and come in. you can help us rope and hobble the stock if you want to." tad did as directed. there was no sport of the range that he took a keener enjoyment in than he did in roping, and by this time there were few men who could handle a rope more skillfully than he. ned and walter were assisting in guarding the narrow entrance to the canvas corral when tad finally rode through, entering the enclosure, where the excited animals were charging back and forth and round and round. bud was sitting on his pony in the center of the milling animals, directing the operations. first the hunters would rope and throw an animal; then they would bind up one of the front legs at the elbow, after which the horse was released. when the animals had staggered about the enclosure a few times trying to throw off the leg-binders, they were quite willing to stand still and nurse their anger. "sail in, boy!" called bud. tad picked out a little bay that was kicking and squealing, dodging every lariat that was thrown at it. his first shot missed. the lad coiled his rope deliberately. "i'll see that you don't dodge me this time, mr. bay," tad muttered, and began slowly following the animal about the ring. the instant the bay's head was turned away from him tad let go the rope, and the next second the stubborn animal lay on its side, another cowboy having made a successful cast over its kicking hind legs the moment it struck the ground. tad released his rope, then started for another cast. so he went on from one to another, and with as much coolness as if he had been roping wild horses all his life. after half an hour's work young butler saw bud motioning to him. tad rode up. the boy was bare-headed, having lost his sombrero somewhere in the enclosure, and not having thought to look for it, even if he had realized its loss. "take a rest," directed the horseman. "i'm not tired." "yes, you are, but you don't know it. first thing you know, you'll tumble off your pony with a bad case of heat knock-out. your face is as red as a lobster. too bad the stallions got away," added bud, who had been so thoroughly occupied in the corral that he had given no heed to what had been taking place outside. "lost the stallions?" questioned tad, elevating his eyebrows. "yes, satan and the angel." "why, mr. stevens, we didn't lose them." "i know, we got them in the corral all right, but that isn't getting them. they always manage to give us the slip somehow." tad's eyes danced. "then you've got a surprise coming to you, mr. stevens. both stallions are lying outside the corral at this minute, tied up so tightly that they won't get away again." "what! you're joking." "no, i'm not. i mean it," laughed the lad in high glee. bud bent a steady look upon the boy. he saw that tad was speaking the truth. "how did it happen, kiddie?" "chunky roped the black by one of its hind feet just as the animal was taking the jump. chunky got a bad fall, but he held fast to the black till the others could get their ropes on it." "hurray!" shouted bud, carried away by his enthusiasm. "but what about the angel, eh? get him too, did you say?" "yes." "how?" "i jumped the fence after him, and ran a race with him out into the foothills, where i managed to get my lariat over his head and pulled him down. we had quite a scrimmage, but i should have lost him if i hadn't had help. the boys came to my rescue just in time." "huh!" grunted the cowboy, observing his companion with twinkling eyes. "you've got anything roped and hobbled that i ever saw." that was bud's only comment at the moment, but it carried with it a world of praise, causing tad to blush. all the rest of the afternoon was devoted to securing the animals that they had captured. not a horse had escaped. shortly after sunset the task was completed and the horse-hunters gave utterance to their feelings in a series of triumphant yells. in the meantime three of the men had been sent back to bring over the camp outfit, which, owing to the fact that it had to follow a round-about trail, did not get in until some time after dark. ned and walter had accompanied the men back to camp to assist in packing their own outfit, tad and stacy remaining to keep watch over the prizes that they had captured. dinner that night, though a late one, was an occasion of boisterous good-fellowship, the two happy pony rider boys coming in for much good-natured raillery. "don't want to join us, do you, kiddie?" asked bud quizzically. "i'd like to, of course. but it is not possible," answered tad. "we'll be off in the morning with our stock, you know. better come along. you'll dry up and blow away down on the desert. it's had medicine where you're headed for." "we're used to taking our medicine," laughed tom parry. "you probably have noticed as much in the short time you've known our bunch." "you bet i have," laughed bud. "and you take it in big doses, too." "allopathic doses," interjected the professor. "don't know what they might be," answered bud. "sounds as though it might be something hard to swallow, though." this bit of pleasantry caused a general laugh. the fun continued until late in the evening. next morning the camp was astir at an early hour. the captured horses were found to be considerably subdued after being roped all night. bud's first work in the morning, after breakfast, was to take the two stallions in hand. they were freed of their bonds, and after a battle during which nearly every member of the party had been more or less mauled by the spirited beasts, the horse hunters succeeded in saddling and bridling satan and the angel. bud stevens rode them about in turn, to the delight of the pony rider boys who had never seen such bucking. "let me ride now," begged stacy, after stevens had to some extent subdued satan. the horseman permitted the lad to take to the saddle, but no sooner had chunky done so, than satan hurled him clear over the corral. chunky, nothing daunted, came back smiling and tried it again, this time with entire success. satan did not again succeed in unseating him. tad mastered the angel without being thrown, and amid the cheers of the cowboys, who shouted their approval of his horsemanship. all was now in readiness for the start of the cowboy band and their great herd of horses. stevens had directed his men to take the two stallions outside the corral and stake them down securely. then the men began driving the rest of the captured stock from the canvas prison. at first the animals evinced an inclination to run away. but with one leg in a sling this was not an easy task, and the horsemen rounded up the bunch with little difficulty. "here, here!" cried tad. "you're forgetting the stallions, mr. stevens. you've left them staked down out back of the corral." "have i?" grinned bud. "what did you want me to do with them?" "take them with you, of course," answered tad, as yet failing to understand the horse-hunter's plan. "don't you want them, kiddie?" "want them--want them?" stammered tad. "yes. they're yours, yours and the fat boy's." "oh, no, no, mr. stevens! i couldn't think of such a thing." "master tad is right," approved the professor. "we have not the least claim in the world on those animals. we----" "say, professor, who's running this side show?" demanded bud. "why--why, of course it's your hunt, but----" "all right then, seeing as it's my outfit, i've decided that i don't want the stallions. look here! we'd have lost part of that bunch, at least, if it hadn't been for your kids. master tad alone saved the herd from scattering all over the ralston desert. no, sir, i'm getting off cheaply. the stallions belong to the boys, and that's all there is to be said. s'long everybody. come up to eureka on your way out, and if i don't cut the town wide open for you, my name ain't bud stevens." with a wave of his sombrero, bud put spurs to his mount and galloped away to join his companions, who had started the herd on its way to eureka, where the animals were to be shipped east. tad and stacy were too full of surprise to express their feelings. chapter xx visited by a halo the pony rider boys turned again to the desert maze. a week had elapsed since bud stevens and his party had left them. one evening, after a hard day in the saddle, the guide was sitting thoughtfully in his tent, when professor zepplin entered. "sit down?" asked the guide. "for a moment only," answered the professor. "weather's fine to-night." "yes, even though we have no water to speak of. do you consider our situation at all serious, mr. parry?" "same old story, professor. sage brush and alkali. tanks full one day, dry the next. there's no accounting for the desert. every time i get out of the desert maze, as somebody has called it, i chalk down a mark on the wall." "i am beginning to understand that it does hold perils of its own," answered professor zepplin, thoughtfully. "traveling over the desert is no picnic--that's a fact. got to take it as it comes, though. if we go dry one day, most likely we fill up the next, or the day after that. don't pay to get down in the mouth and fret." "yes, i understand all that. but i don't wish to take any great chances on account of the boys." "the boys?" tom parry laughed. "don't you worry about them. those boys would thrive where a coyote would die at sight of his own eternal starvation shadow." the professor shook his head doubtfully. "turn 'em loose on the desert and they'd swim ashore somehow. especially young butler. he's quiet--he doesn't say much, but when he gets busy there's something doing. for sheer pluck he's got it over anything i ever saw--like a circus tent. well, don't lose any sleep worrying about water. we'll catch a drop or two of dew out of a cactus plant some of these nights. see you in the morning. good night," concluded the guide, rising and knocking the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel. they had been working slowly toward the death valley region, and water was becoming more and more scarce as they proceeded. indeed, the problem of where to find sufficient water for their needs had become a serious one. for the last three days all the water holes that the guide had depended upon to replenish their supply had failed them. what lay before them none knew. when the camp awakened, late the next morning, the guide was nowhere to be seen. his pony likewise had disappeared. but they did not trouble themselves over parry's absence, knowing that he had not left them without good reason and with many a sharp joke at each other's expense proceeded to get the breakfast ready. they had just sat down to the table when tom parry came riding in, covered with dust. "morning, boys. fine day," he greeted, with his usual inscrutable smile, which might indicate either good or bad tidings. "prospecting?" questioned tad. "taking my morning constitutional. going to be hot enough to singe the pin feathers off a bald-headed sage hen to-day," he informed them, slipping from his saddle. after beating a cloud of alkali dust from his clothes he joined the party at the breakfast table. "find any?" asked tad, eyeing him inquiringly, for tad had an idea as to the object of the guide's early morning ride. "nary," was the comprehensive reply. "have to take a dry shampoo to-day, i reckon." "i suppose there is no water in sight yet?" asked the professor, he not having caught the meaning of the brief dialogue between tad and tom parry. "no, sir. not yet. we'll be moving as soon as possible after breakfast. better use sparingly what little water you have left in your canteens. you may need it before we strike another water hole," he advised. as usual, however, the spirits of the pony rider boys were in no way affected by the shortage of water. time enough to worry when their canteens were dry. these days, tad and stacy were occupying all their spare time in working with the two stallions they had captured. the angel, under tad's kind but determined training, was advancing rapidly and already had been taught to do a few simple tricks. stacy, on his part, was not doing quite so well with satan. the latter, like his namesake, was inclined to be vicious, biting and kicking whenever the evil spirit moved. ahead, on all sides of them as the sun rose that morning, lay wide stretches of gray, dusty soil, blotches of alkali alternating with huge patches of scattering sage brush, with no living thing in sight. overhead burned the blue of a cloudless sky; about them the suffocating atmosphere of the alkali desert. it was not a cheerful vista that spread out before the lads. the ponies, suffering for want of water, took up the day's journey with evident reluctance. with heads hanging low they dragged themselves along wearily, half in protest, now and then evincing a sudden desire to turn about and head for the mountains. "what ails these bronchos?" grumbled ned rector. "guess they're afraid of heat prostration," replied chunky. "don't blame them. i'm half baked myself." "glad you know what ails you," laughed ned. "you ought not to feel bad about that, seeing it's your natural condition." as they plodded on the guide's eyes were roaming over the plain in search of telltale marks that would reveal the presence of that of which they were in most urgent need--water. the landscape, by this time, had become a white glare, and the blue flannel shirts of the pony riders had changed to a dirty gray as if they had been sprinkled with a cloud of fine powder. their hair, too, was tinged, below the rims of their sombreros, with the same grayish substance, while their faces were streaked where the perspiration had trickled down, giving them a most grotesque appearance. "how do you like it, chunky?" grinned ned. "oh, i've seen worse in chillicothe," answered the fat boy airily. "the dust in main street is worse because it's dirtier." "judging from the appearance of your face at this minute, i'm obliged to differ with you," interjected the professor, his own grim, dust-stained countenance wrinkling into a half smile. "do we take a rest at midday, guide?" parry shook his head. "think we'd better keep going. only be worse off if we stop now. hungry, any of you?" stacy made a wry face and felt of his stomach, which action brought a laugh from the others. just then stacy stiffened, then uttered a loud sneeze that shook him to his very foundations, causing satan to jump so suddenly that he nearly unseated his rider. "whew! thought my head had blown off. guess we're all getting the grippe," he grinned, as the others began sneezing. "alkali," answered parry. "you'll like that and the sage brush taste in your mouth more and more as you get to know them better." "excuse me," objected ned. "i prefer talcum powder for mine, if i've got to sneeze myself to death on something. what time is it?" "dinner time," answered stacy promptly. "i'll take ice cream." "dry toast will be more in your line, i'm thinking," suggested ned. "or a sandwich," added walter humorously. "hurrah, fellows! walt perkins has cracked a joke at last!" shouted ned. "yes, it was cracked all right," muttered chunky maliciously. "put him out! put 'em both out!" cried ned and tad, while tom parry's stolid face relaxed into a broad smile. "it appears to me that you young gentlemen are very humorous to-day," laughed the professor. "it's dry humor, professor," retorted ned. tad unslung his lariat. "i'll rope the next boy who dares say anything like that again," he threatened. "see, even the burros are ashamed. they're hanging their heads, they're so humiliated." "i don't blame them. mine's swimming from the heat," rejoined the guide. "say, what's that?" demanded chunky, pointing ahead of him, with a half-scared expression on his face. "i don't see anything," answered the other lads. "chunky's 'seeing things,'" suggested ned. the fat boy was pointing to a bright circle of light that hung over the desert some five feet from the ground, directly ahead of him. the peculiar thing about it appeared to be that the circle of light kept continually moving ahead of him, and at times he caught the colors of the rainbow in it. stacy looked intently, but the bright light hurt his eyes and he was forced to lower his eyelids a little. this made the circle seem brighter than before. now professor zepplin had discovered the peculiar thing. "what is that--what does it mean, guide?" asked the scientist. "that--that ring of light?" asked parry. "yes." "that is a halo, sir." "a halo?" chorused the boys. "must be chunky's then," suggested walter. "i agree with you," added ned. "but i don't see what right he has to a halo." "that particular halo is a very common thing in the desert maze," tom parry informed them. "it is caused by heat refraction, or something of the sort----" "yes, yes. oh, yes, i understand," nodded the professor. "i recall having heard of something of the kind in hot countries, and----" "is this a hot country?" asked stacy innocently. "no, you ninny; this is a section of greenland that's been dropped down here by an earthquake or something," laughed walter. "you're mistaken. it was washed down by the flood," corrected ned. all this helped to pass away the hours as well as to make the boys forget their troubles for the time being. perhaps the lads did not fully realize the extent of their predicament. not so the guide, however. he knew that they must find water soon. not many hours would pass before the stock, unable to stand the strain longer, would give out, leaving the party in a serious plight. they would then be without water, and without horses to take them to water. the wild stallions, however, were accustomed to going without drink for long periods at a time, so that they were doing much better than the rest of the stock. tom parry reasoned that they would be able to go through that day and part of the next without fresh supply, and that no serious consequences would result from it. beyond that, he did not attempt to forecast what the result would be. late that afternoon, without having informed his charges, parry varied his course, turning more to the west of south, eventually picking up a copper colored butte that rose out of the desert. reaching it at last, parry dismounted, and, bidding the others wait for him, he climbed up the rocky sides of the miniature mountain, quirt in hand. they watched him until he had disappeared around the opposite side of the butte. when they caught sight of him again tom had descended to the desert, and was approaching them along the base of the mountain. "anything encouraging?" called the professor. parry shook his head. "why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? there must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested ned. "no, i couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly. "why not, please?" asked walter. "because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips. later, upon being pressed by tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. he said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them." camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced. the boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. they then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. after a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper. "our dry spread," ned rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. they had drained their canteens of what little remained in them. "it isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted stacy. "that's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat. chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact. "that is right. not until an hour and a half after meals," agreed the professor. "i imagine we shall have to wait longer than that this time." "never mind; we'll pull through somehow. we always have," encouraged tad cheerfully. "we've gotten out of some pretty tight places, and i am sure we'll manage to weather this gale in one way or another." "gale? huh! i wish we had a gale to weather," murmured walter. "providing it was a wet one," added stacy. "that's so. now wouldn't it be fine to have a rainstorm?" agreed ned, with enthusiasm. "we could cuddle in our tents and listen to the raindrops patter on the roof," suggested stacy. "no; we'd lie down on our backs outside, open our mouths wide----" "like a nest of young robins," laughed tad. "yes. only we'd fill our mouths with water instead of----" "boys, boys!" warned the professor. "i fear you are drifting into questionable dinner topics again." "why, we're talking about water, professor," replied ned in a tone of innocent surprise. "surely you do not object to that?" "not so long as you confine your remarks to the subject of water. that seems to be our principal need at the present time." "speaking of water----" began chunky. "hold on; is this a story or a joke?" interrupted ned. "i heard of a case like ours once," continued the fat boy, without heeding the interruption. "a party of travelers on the desert found themselves without water. in the party was a bookkeeper. he was from the east. well, they were thinking about dying from thirst. but they didn't. the bookkeeper saved them." there was silence in the group for a moment. "i'll be the goat. how did he save them?" asked ned. "he had a fountain pen," replied the fat boy sagely. "y-e-o-w!" howled the pony rider boys. "put him out! put him out!" chapter xxi off on a dry trail "we shall have to divide up our forces to-day, professor. we'll make a desperate effort to find a water hole," announced tom parry. "what do you propose doing? you mean you're going to let us help you?" "yes." "i'm glad." "we'll make a big pull to-day. should we fail to find water there is only one thing left for us to do." "and that?" "leave the burros to shift for themselves. we'll head hack toward the san antonio range as fast as the bronchos will carry us. i don't know whether they'll be equal to the strain or not. if they give out we'll have to walk, that's all." "impossible!" exclaimed the professor aghast. "nothing's impossible when you're up against it. we'll go through with this, see if we don't. just keep your nerve, and----" "but the boys," protested the professor. "look at them," said parry. "they're somewhat the worse for wear, it's true, but they're all right, every single one of them. boys, come over here!" the lads hastened to obey his summons. "what is it, mr. parry?" questioned tad. "we've got to do some real work to-day, boys, and i want you to take a hand." "we are ready for anything, sir," spoke up ned. "yes, i know that," replied parry; then went on: "this is the situation. we are without a drop of water. all the water holes that i have been depending upon are dry and there is no certainty that we shall find any that are not in the same condition if we continue on our journey. we can go along for another day, perhaps, so far as we are concerned." "but the stock won't," interposed tad. "no." "i noticed this morning that some of the ponies were pretty gaunt in the flanks." "regular scarecrows. we've got to make an organized search for a tank, and the sooner we begin the better off we'll be--or the worse," added the guide under his breath. "if we fail, we'll ride all night, taking the back trail. we ought to hold out long enough to reach the last water hole we left. though even that may be dried up by the time we get to it." "then you want us to spread out, as it were, and cover all the territory about here?" questioned tad. "that's it. you've caught the idea." professor zepplin shook his head. "i don't like the idea. the boys will be lost." "they mustn't, that's all," replied the guide, with a firm setting of the lips. "i think we can arrange so they will find their way back to camp all right. listen! this is my plan. master tad will ride west, due west. master ned, on the other hand, will proceed east, and i'll go south. each of us will ride as far as he can until noon. if by then none of us has found any trace of water, we'll all turn about and hurry hack to camp." "yes, but how do you expect the boys to find their way hack?" demanded professor zepplin. "i'm coming to that. to begin with, i'm going to splice the ridge poles of the tents together, making a flagpole of them. on this we'll tie a shirt or something, planting the pole on the top of that ridge there. while the boys will be too far away to see it from where they should be by twelve o'clock, they can get near enough, by using their watches as compasses, so they can pick it up. each one will take a rifle with him, and in the event of finding water he is to remain there, firing off the gun at frequent intervals." "what'll we be doing here all the time?" interrupted walter. "starting at twelve o'clock, you will begin firing a rifle to help guide the boys in. fire a shot every five minutes. no chance to get lost at all. do you think so, professor?" "it would seem not. did i not know from past experiences how easy it is for the boys to get into trouble, i should not hesitate an instant." "anyway, we've got to do it. we are at a point where we shall have to take chances. we are taking some as it is. now, hurry your breakfast. i'll fix up the signal pole while you are doing so, then we'll be off as soon as you have finished." both tad and ned were enthusiastic and anxious to show themselves capable of taking a man's part in the proposed operations. "if chunky only had a fountain pen now all this trouble would be unnecessary," teased ned as they were hurrying through their breakfast. the fat boy's soulful eyes held an expression of mild protest, but he made no reply. the meal finished, tad and ned brought out their rifles, which they loaded, taking with them a box of cartridges each. the guide did the same. the flagpole had been planted and from its top fluttered a pair of pink pajamas belonging to the professor. "that ought to scare all the coyotes off the desert," commented ned as the party surveyed the result of the guide's work. "it will serve still another purpose," grinned the guide. "some traveler may see it. in that event he'll head for it, thinking it's some one in distress. if he does, you may be able to get a few drops of water from his canteen, providing it's not as empty as our own." "oh, how dry i am," whistled ned softly. "there doesn't seem to be much probability of our meeting strangers in this desolate place," commented the professor. "what time do you think we shall see you back? have you any idea?" "somewhere about sunset, in all probability." "i'd like to go along with tad," said stacy. "why--no, i think you'd better not," said the professor. "please. i know i shall be able to help him. you do not need two boys in camp with you, professor." "yes; he might as well go along, if he wants to," decided the guide. "very well, then. but walter must remain here." "use your old ponies. do not take the stallions," advised parry. "if the stallions were to get away from you while you are off on the desert alone it would leave you, and perhaps us as well, in pretty bad shape. and, by the way, professor, when you begin firing your signals, go to the top of the hill yonder and shoot straight up into the air. the sound will carry further than were you to shoot from here. you've no idea how perplexing this desert maze is to those not familiar with it and its tricks." "i'm learning fast," smiled the professor. "furthermore, i am convinced that i shall know all about it if i live long----" "never," answered parry promptly. "no man ever lived who knew all about the desert. i----" "if we rough riders don't get started pretty soon we'll be back before we get started," warned stacy humorously. "you're right. we are wasting time. now, masters tad and ned, you understand what you are to do?" "we do," answered the boys. "follow my directions to the letter. if you do you will keep out of trouble. if you do not, there's no telling what may happen." "we are to find water. that's what we are going out for," added tad. "exactly. but the instant you hear a gun fired, turn about and ride home. that will mean either that the time's up, or that one or the other of us has found what you are looking for. keep your eyes clear for signs and for crusts of alkali that may have a water tank under them." "we'll do our duty, mr. parry," answered tad. "i know it. good-bye and good luck!" the three lads swung their hands in parting salute, as they left the camp at an easy gallop, tad and stacy riding side by side, ned rector moving off alone. ascending the rise of ground where the pajamas were drooping listlessly from the top of the signal pole, tad and stacy slipped down the opposite side of the hill and disappeared from view. the two lads were destined to pass through some exciting experiences before they rejoined their companions. "i hope we don't get lost," said stacy, apprehensively, as they glided across the desert. "we mustn't!" "yes; but what if we do?" insisted the fat boy. "it will be because you disobeyed orders, chunky. you and i have a task to perform, and we're going to do it like men. the lives of our companions may depend upon our own efforts--yours and mine." "i can't see the professor's pajamas," insisted chunky. "i believe we are lost already, tad." "then we'll stay lost," answered tad shortly. chapter xxii in the hermit's cave the conviction that they did not know where they were grew upon stacy as they proceeded. not that stacy cared particularly whether they were lost or not, but it gave him something to talk about. "don't talk so much, chunky," begged tad, after they had gone on some distance. "you should keep your eyes out for signs." "what kind of signs?" "water signs. come, be serious for a little while. you can have all the sport you want when we get back. i think, chunky, that we can both work to better advantage if we separate----" "what, you want to get rid of me so soon?" "no, no! listen! you ride off there to the right, say half a mile. keep within sight of me all the time, and watch carefully for what we are in search of. we shall be able to do twice as effective work in that way." "i see. i guess that would be a good idea. got anything to eat in your pocket?" "some dry bread. i'll divide with you. you should have brought something." the fat boy, well satisfied now, rode away to the north, munching the dry food that tad had given him. so long as chunky had plenty to eat, nothing else mattered. tad soon espied what appeared to him to be a cloud on the horizon ahead. after a time he discovered that it was a range of irregular buttes. on some of them he eventually made out what looked like scattering trees. tad increased the speed of his pony as much as he thought the animal would stand. if there were trees, there surely should be water as well, he reasoned. after a time he succeeded in attracting the attention of stacy, whom he motioned to him. the fat boy put spurs to his mount, racing along one side of the triangle, heading for the range, for which he observed that tad was riding. it was now a test of speed to see which one should get there first. tad having the shorter distance to travel, made the mark ahead of his companion, though with little to spare. "you started before i knew what you were up to," laughed stacy. "i can beat you on an even start." "haven't any doubt of it, chunky. but let's see what's to be found here. it looks promising. you hold the horses while i climb up among the rocks." "there's a man up there!" exclaimed stacy. "what's he doing? i wonder if he's a hermit? looks as if he might be." "i'll find out. if some one is living here, there's water," cried tad triumphantly, leaping from his saddle and tossing the bridle reins to his companion. the lad ran lightly up the rocks toward the point where he saw the stranger standing, observing them suspiciously. as he drew nearer to the figure, tad felt some apprehension. the man was thin and gaunt, a heavy growth of beard covering his face so completely as to hide everything except the nose and eyes. "i believe he's crazy," muttered the lad, when he got near enough to note the strange expression in the fellow's eyes. as yet, the man had not spoken a word. "how do you do, sir!" greeted the boy. the hermit, for such he proved to be, grunted an unintelligible reply. "we are looking for water. my friends are camped off yonder, a dozen miles or more, and our water is all gone. please tell me where i can find some?" "got money?" "yes, yes, i've got money. i will pay you for your trouble if that is what you want. let me have a drink first and take some to my companion; then i will do whatever you wish in the way of paying," begged the lad. the hermit eyed him with a steady, disconcerting gaze that gave tad a creepy feeling up and down his spine. "you want water?" "yes, yes." a moment's hesitation, then the hermit grasped tad by the arm and strode rapidly back among the rocks. pushing aside a growth of tangled vines he stooped to enable him to enter the opening that was revealed, dragging tad in after him. [illustration: the hermit grasped tad by the arm.] "see here, where are you taking me?" demanded the lad, pulling back instinctively from the dark opening. the hermit made no reply, but tightening his grip, which was of vise-like firmness, jerked the boy into the center of the chamber. tad observed by the single ray of light that penetrated the place through the mat of vines at the entrance that they were in a cave. "you want water?" snapped the hermit. "yes, i do want water more than anything else in the world at this minute, but there is no necessity for dragging me to it. i can walk." "water in there," answered the hermit, thrusting tad into a dark recess. no sooner had he done so than the lad heard a heavy wooden door slammed shut and a bar thrown across it from the outside. tad, instantly realizing that he was being shut in, threw himself against the barrier with all his strength. but he might as well have tried to break through the rocks which walled him in on the other three sides. he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that chunky might, perchance, hear him and come to his rescue. chunky could use the rifle that hung in the holster on tad's saddle and intimidate the hermit if he understood tad's predicament. at that instant the lad's ears caught the faint trickle of water. the sound stirred him to sudden action. "where was it?" he asked himself, his hands groping over the rocks about him. "here it is!" he cried exultingly. what he had found was a tiny stream that was creeping down the side of the rocks. tad pressed his lips against the cool stones, enabling him to lick a few drops of the precious fluid into his parched mouth. never had anything tasted so refreshing to him. "a-h-h-h-h!" gasped the boy, taking a fresh breath preparatory to another draught. "it's almost worth being made a prisoner for this. i'll bet chunky would wish to be in here if he knew. and i almost wish he were." as if in answer to his expressed wish, the door was suddenly pushed inward, a heavy body was hurled in, landing in a heap on the rocky floor. the door slammed shut and the bar once more fell into place. for the moment tad could not determine what had happened. "i--i fell in," moaned a voice from the heap. "chunky!" cried tad. "how did you get in here?" "i--just dropped in," wailed the fat boy. "get up! don't be a baby! come here and have a drink of water----" "water? water?" fairly shouted stacy, leaping to his feet, bumping against a rock in his haste. "where? where?" "here. put your lips against the rock right here. there, you have it. does it taste good?" "u-m-m-m." "now, you've had enough for the moment. tell me how you got here? how did you happen to come up?" questioned tad. "the--the wild man--say, tad, he looks like a monkey, doesn't he?" "i hadn't thought of it in that light. i guess you're right, though, chunky." "well, he went out on the rocks and motioned to me. i told him i couldn't leave the ponies. he said you wanted me right away, and he came down to help me stake the ponies. he was awful kind," mused stacy, as if talking to himself. "go on," urged tad. "we've got to think about what's going to become of us." "that's all. he just led me up here. said you were inside getting water. then--then he threw me in. think i hurt the floor when i hit it, tad?" "i guess not quite so bad as that," laughed the lad. "i want you to strike a match while i look around the place." stacy did so, taking his time about it. by the dim light thus made, they discovered a little pool of water in a far corner of the chamber, where the trickling stream had found it's way. with their drinking cups, which, with their canteens, the boys always carried, they dipped the pool almost dry, filling their canteens with the cool, refreshing water, after having first fully satisfied their thirst. "got anything to eat?" questioned stacy, his thoughts turning to food. "yes, and i'm going to keep it," answered tad promptly. "that's mean." "see here, chunky. we are prisoners. we don't know when or how we are going to get out. i have a few crusts of bread left and i propose to keep them, because we may find ourselves starving later on. you'll be glad then that i saved the bread. what do you think the hermit intends to do? did he say anything that gave you any clue?" "nope." "we'll wait a while and if he does not let us out, we'll have to find a way for ourselves." for a time they made the best of their situation, stacy grumbling now and then, tad bright and cheery, though in his heart he felt far from cheerful. "i'm going to try to break the door down," announced tad finally, after listening intently. "i can't hear anything. i believe the hermit has gone away and left us. get up here beside me. take hold of my hand and we'll rush it together." they did so, throwing their combined weight against the door. "ouch!" yelled stacy. "never mind, try it again," encouraged tad, laughing in spite of himself. once more they hurled themselves on the obstruction. it resisted all their efforts. tad lighted a match, examining the door carefully. the light revealed a heap of blankets in a corner of the chamber, where the old hermit slept. "must be his bedroom," decided chunky. "we've got to try something else," announced tad. "got your knife!" "yes." "out with it. we're going to whittle. lucky for us that our knives are big and sharp. hold a match while i mark out the spot we're going to try to cut out." tad had sounded the door with his fist until he found the place where the bar on the other side held it. he also discovered sockets for an inner bar, by which the hermit probably locked himself in at night. then he began cutting. "you start in here and keep to your side so you don't cut my hands," the lad directed. the crunching sound of their knives began immediately, the work going on more slowly in the darkness than would have been the case had they had light. now and then the lads would pause to listen. not a sound penetrated to their prison. tad thought this very strange, unless perhaps the hermit might be lying in wait to fall upon them in case they did succeed in freeing themselves. "say, tad." "well?" "i've got an idea." chunky's knife had been silent for a few moments. "what is it?" "let's burn down the old door." "how!" "i'll show you." stacy scraped industriously for a time, then lighting a match applied it to the spot on which he had been working. the splinters caught fire burned up briskly then went out. stacy repeated the process with a similar result. "i guess that will help a little," decided tad, running his fingers over the spot. "just like singeing the pin feathers off an old hen--the feathers burn, but the hen doesn't," grumbled stacy. "whew! the smoke's getting thick in here. we've got to stop the burning or we'll suffocate," warned tad. "wish i had an ax. i'd make short work of the old door." they then began working with a grim determination, stacy ceasing his joking. at last a tiny ray of light showed through the heavy door. "hurrah!" shouted tad. "i see daylight." "then give me some bread. i'm hungry." "not yet. we're not out of our prison," laughed tad. "keep cutting. it will take all of an hour to make an opening large enough for me to get my hand through----" "i got my finger through," cried stacy triumphantly. "ouch!" he yelled as a club of some sort was brought against the door on the outside with terrific force, bruising the end of the lad's finger. "the hermit is out there waiting for us!" gasped tad, with sinking heart. chapter xxiii lost in the desert maze a rifle shot sounded from the camp of the pony rider boys. at regular intervals shot followed shot. it was the warning signal agreed upon to notify the others that water had been found. ned rector had ridden into camp with the joyful tidings that he had discovered a water tank about three miles to the eastward. immediately walter sprang for his rifle, and running to the top of the little hill began shooting into the air. ned, in the meantime, not waiting for the return of the others, had fetched the water-bags from the burros, and started off at a rapid pace to bring back water for the stock. his canteen he left for professor zepplin and walter. "it's horrible stuff, but it is water," breathed the professor as he swallowed the brown alkali fluid. "if ever i get a drink of real water again, i know i shall be able to appreciate it." in the meantime walter's rifle was booming its warning over the desert maze. two hours later, tom parry, hot, dusty and well-nigh spent, rode into camp with the steam rising from his pony in a thin, vaporous cloud. "have you found it?" he called hoarsely. "yes; ned's found a water hole," the professor informed him. "give me a drink, quick. the alkali's cutting furrows in my throat," he begged. "never got such a hold of me before." the professor pressed his canteen to the guide's lips, and parry drank eagerly. a few moments later he pulled himself together sharply. "i'm going to take the stock out to the water hole," he announced, starting the burros off across the desert. "i'll water the stallions when i return." "you had better let me attend to that," protested the professor. "you're in no shape to go out in the sun again." "that's all right, professor. but tell me how i am going to get out of the sun?" begged parry, with a grim smile. "the tent----" "hotter than the sun. no, i guess i can stand it if those boys are able to. by the way, have you seen anything of the other two?" "i'll ascertain if walter has discovered them yet." walter's straining eyes had failed to make out tad and stacy, however, so the professor bade him continue firing his rifle. this was a pleasant occupation for walter, for, like his companions, next to a pony he loved a gun. ned had returned with the water-bags, and parry had finished watering the stock. it was now near sunset. "no signs yet?" questioned the guide, joining walter on the knoll. "not a thing." "that doesn't seem right. stop your firing and come get some supper. we must eat and put ourselves in shape or we'll be good for nothing. did those boys take any food with them?" "i think i saw tad stowing something in his pockets before he started. i'm sure i did," spoke up ned rector. "there's a lad who knows his business," approved parry, moving toward the camp with walter. "why have you discontinued the shooting?" demanded the professor in surprise. "to eat. half an hour's intermission will make little difference. if the lads are on their way, we'll be able to call them in before it gets dark. if not, then i shall go out to look for them. they're all right. i think you need feel no concern over them." "must have gone a long way," spoke up ned. "yes, they undoubtedly followed orders." "and perhaps exceeded them," added the professor. it was a real supper that they sat down to that evening, with hot coffee, fried bacon and other good things, and the party would have been a jolly one had tad and stacy been on hand to participate in it. walter hurried through his meal, then took his position on the hill once more, where he renewed his signaling with the rifle. all at once he uttered a shout, following it with a quick volley of six shots, thus emptying his magazine. "do you see them!" called parry, hastening over to the knoll, and joining walter. "i think i see a cloud of dust approaching over the desert," he made reply. "where?" walter pointed with his rifle. "yes, that's the boys, i guess. nothing but a broncho could kick up the alkali like that. i'll go back and have their supper ready. you keep on shooting. the light is growing fainter and they won't be able to find their way in otherwise." "is it the boys?" called the professor, as they saw parry hastening toward them. "i think so. put the coffee on, master ned. they'll want to boil the alkali out of their systems as soon as they get here." "that's the time tad butler got left," chuckled ned rector. "he's always been around when there was any glory coming. but when it comes to finding water where there isn't any, i guess they can't beat ned rector." "what's that boy shooting so rapidly for?" asked parry. "he's excited about something," answered ned. "he's dancing around as if he's suddenly gone crazy. what's that? he's calling and motioning to us. guess he wants you, mr. parry." "what is it!" called the guide, making a megaphone of his hands. unable to make out what it was that walter was shouting to him, tom parry deserted the camp-fire, where he was assisting to get the second supper, and hastened to the knoll. "what's the trouble, my lad?" "come and see. i want you to take a look at that pony. he's tearing across the desert as if something were chasing him. but i can't make out anyone on his back." "the light is weak and he's throwing a lot of dust. of course there's some one his back, and there must be two horses." the guide shaded his hands, gazing off across the plain. "what--what----" he stammered. "wasn't i right, mr. parry?" "that's very strange. i don't understand it at all." "that's what i thought." "there's only one pony and he's riderless," exclaimed tom parry. "i'm afraid something has happened. it may not be one of our ponies, however. we'll know in a few minutes." the running animal was drawing steadily nearer the camp. those over by the camp-fire were busy getting the meal ready for the two missing lads. the pony reached the foot of the knoll. observing parry and walter there, the little animal shied, making a wide detour, and finally galloping up to the camp. walter and the guide hurried down. "hello!" cried the professor, as he saw the horse dash in. "what does this mean!" "why, it's tad's pony!" exclaimed ned in amazement. "is that master tad's mount?" called the guide as he approached them on the run. "yes. do you think there's anything wrong?" questioned ned. "looks that way. don't let him get away. i want to look the critter over. perhaps we may learn something." ned caught the pony without difficulty, and led it to the guide. parry went all over the animal, even going through the saddlebags. "the rifle and the rope are missing. everything else seems to be in order," he announced. "then i'll guarantee that tad's all right," spoke up ned. "that's what i think," agreed walter. "he's taken his gun and rope up into some mountain or other and while he was away the pony got away and started for home." "is that your opinion, mr. parry?" questioned the professor. "what's the use in offering any opinions? i don't know. but i'm going to find out. let's see. we have a new moon to-night. i've got about two hours before it goes down. i want you all to remain right here in camp until i return. even if it's until to-morrow. i'm going out to look for the boys." with that parry hastily filled his canteen, slung one of the bags of water over the back of his pony, and springing into the saddle dashed away, following the trail that the returning broncho had left. chapter xxiv conclusion "no use trying to go any further to-night, chunky." "where'll we stay, then?" "right here, i guess," answered tad. "it's as good a place as we'll find." but to understand this, we must take up the fortunes of tad and stacy, whom we left imprisoned in the hermit's cave. after waiting for a full hour in the cave, following the hermit's blow on the door, the lads not having heard anything further of him, had renewed their whittling. after long and arduous effort they had succeeded in making an opening in the wood sufficiently large to enable tad to push his hand through. before doing so, however, he made reasonably sure that the hermit was not standing there with a club ready to bring it down with crushing force. being satisfied on this point, tad thrust a hand through. his upturned hand had grasped the bar that held the door in place. pushing upward with all his strength he felt the bar give. stacy, with ready resourcefulness, began forcing up on tad's elbow. in a moment more they had the satisfaction of hearing the bar clatter to the rocks. yet one end of it had stuck in its socket, still holding the barrier in place. they tried their former tactics. backing off, both lads rushed at the heavy door. it gave way with a suddenness that they had not expected. the boys tumbled out, each landing on his head and shoulders, then toppling over to his back. there was a lively scramble. they were up in a twinkling, fully expecting to find the hermit standing over them. to their surprise, they found themselves entirely alone. to their further surprise, neither of their ponies was in sight when they stepped out on the rocks. upon examining the hoof prints a few minutes later they discovered that one animal had set off on the back trail, while the other had apparently gone in the opposite direction. after a brief consultation they decided that they must start back on foot. without a moment's hesitation, the lads, laying their course by tad's watch, started pluckily toward camp, many miles away. after a few hours night overtook them. they still had the moon, however, and by its light they trudged along for two more weary hours. then the moon's light left them and tad decided that it were worse than useless to continue. absolute darkness had settled over the desert maze as the boys dropped down, footsore and weary after their long tramp in the stifling heat. "got anything to eat?" asked stacy. "that i have, and a canteen of water besides. we have a lot to be thankful for yet, chunky. haven't we?" "i'll tell you after i try the bread," answered the fat boy. tad laughed merrily. "always a humorist, aren't you?" "except when i fall in somewhere," replied stacy. "how does the bread go?" "fine!" "aren't you glad you didn't eat it up back there in the hermit's cave?" "oh, i dunno. if i'd eaten it then, i wouldn't have to eat it now." "oh, chunky, you're hopeless. i shall have to give you up----" "what do you think has become of those ponies?" interrupted the fat boy. "guess they must have gotten away and gone home--at least one of them," answered tad. "wrong." "why?" "one went one way and the other another, didn't he?" "yes. what of that?" "if they'd gotten away they'd both traveled together. one of them was ridden away and i'm thinking the hermit was on his back. i'll bet he carried my broncho off." "you mean you think your broncho carried him off?" laughed tad. "i didn't give you credit for so much sense, chunky. i guess you are right at that. the ponies surely would have left together. seems to be our luck to lose horses. guess my gun has gone, too, but i picked up the rope back by the mountain." "glad i didn't bring my rifle along," chuckled stacy. "i'll bet i'd be throwing good-bye kisses after it now if i had." "i don't understand what that old man meant by making us prisoners unless it was that he wanted a horse to get out of the desert maze. if that was his reason, i don't blame him," laughed tad. "mr. parry did us a real service when he advised us to leave our stallions back in camp. they surely would have been gone by this time, and we never could have caught them again." "yes; i can see satan legging it for the hills," replied stacy. "legging it is his strong point." they had finished their slender meal by this time and drunk their fill of water from the canteens. as a result, they felt better than they had felt at any time during the past three days. "we have a long, hot walk ahead of us to-morrow, unless they come out to look for us, chunky," averred tad. "yes. and i love to walk," replied stacy, with droll humor. "especially when the sun is one hundred and fifty in the shade, or where the shade ought to be. if ever i come down in this baked country again, i'm going to bring that sweet apple tree out of uncle's orchard, even if i have to drag it all over the desert with me." "think we'd better make our beds and turn in?" suggested tad. "i guess. i'll take a drink of water first; then i'm ready." in a few moments the plucky lads had stretched out on the still hot ground, without feeling the least fear. they were too self-reliant to feel any fear, and they had passed so many nights in the open that the mysterious darkness of the outside world held no terrors for them. they knew there was nothing to harm them. tad was beginning to doze off when stacy nudged him in the ribs. "what is it?" asked tad sharply. "i think the girl forgot to put a fresh pillow case on my pillow to-day. the pillow feels awful rough." "oh, go to sleep. dream all the funny things you wish to, but don't bother me till daylight." from that moment until long past midnight the boys slept soundly, neither having moved since he lay down for his night's rest. even when the coyotes began to howl, off on the desert, the lads merely stirred, only half conscious of what the sound meant. but when the howls gradually drew nearer, chunky cautiously opened one eye. the night was so dark that he could not see anything about him. the beasts drew nearer. tad was awake now. "keep still, don't scare them until i give the word," he said in answer to stacy's poke. emboldened by the quietness, the coyotes kept creeping closer and closer, their mournful howls increasing in volume every minute. all at once tad reached down for his rope. he lay still for a few minutes until satisfied that the animals had not observed his movement. suddenly the great loop shot from his hand. a quick, violent tug at the other end, a wild, frightened howl from the cowardly beasts, and all but one, with tails between their legs, fled over the desert. "i've got one, chunky," yelled tad. "quick! help me here, or he'll get away!" it required all the strength of the two boys to hold the animal that tad had roped in the dark. gradually they shortened up on the rope, tad standing in front of his companion until he felt the animal dangerously near. then he let out a swift kick. by good luck, it laid the coyote flat. tad was upon the beast before, in its half-dazed condition, it could rise. together they tied the animal's feet, its jaws snapping at them viciously before their task was completed. there was no more sleep for the lads that night. they feared the coyote would gnaw the rope in two, if left alone. all during the night the boys were obliged continually to jerk on the line about its neck to keep the beast from doing this very thing. morning came at last. making a harness from a piece of the rope, they bound up one of the animal's forefeet, just as bud stevens had done with wild horses. then they released the hind feet. mr. coyote hopped about like a rabbit for a time, snarling and snapping, to their keen delight. they felt no fear of him, though mr. coyote had several times expressed a willingness to fight his captors. after eating their remaining crumbs of bread, the boys decided to move on. tad, believing that he knew the direction to follow, did not wait for the sun to rise. yet, although they were not aware of the fact, they already had strayed far from the trail. "i'm afraid the coyote is going to be a drag on us, much as i should like to take him along," said tad. stacy begged to keep the animal, and tad decided to try it. the next question was, how to move it. it was finally decided that one boy should lead the coyote while the other prodded it from the rear when the animal lagged. at noon they halted to rest, draining the last drop from their canteens. then they started on again, suffering more and more from the heat as they proceeded. about the middle of the afternoon tad halted, gazing helplessly about him. "chunky, we're lost in the desert maze. i don't know where i am any more than if i were in the middle of an ocean. i'm pretty nearly exhausted, too." "so's the coyote," comforted stacy. "but we've got to keep on going. my watch is missing. i must have lost it where we slept last night. i can only guess at the direction we ought to take. have you any idea where we are?" stacy gazed at the sky meditatively. "on a rough guess, i should say we were on the nevada desert." "oh, come on! come on!" still clinging to the angry coyote, the lads took up their weary tramp. the baking alkali burned their feet almost to the blistering point; the burning, withering heat made their heads whirl; the desert began to perform strange antics, while the halo that they had seen a few days before again appeared before them, first whirling like a giant pin wheel, then oscillating in a way that made them giddy. "chunky, i can't stand this any longer," cried tad, suddenly sinking to the ground. "i'm ashamed of myself to give way like this." stacy moved around to the sunny side of his companion, placing his own body where it would shade tad's head from the sun. the fat boy took off his sombrero, unheeding the burning rays that were beating down on his own head, and began to fan tad with the hat. "i don't believe i can go any further, chunky. you are still in fairly good shape and you'll be able to make the camp if you go on. leave me and make a try for it." "you--you want me to go on without you? want me to leave you here to--say, tad, do you think i'm that kind of a coyote? i'd thrash you for that if you weren't already properly done up. you'll feel better when night comes and your head gets cooled off. in the morning we'll make another attempt to get out of the desert maze. you lie still, now." thus admonished, tad closed his eyes. at last the sun went down, and with its passing, came a breath of refreshing air. they inhaled long and deeply of it. after a little, stacy got up. "where you going?" demanded tad, opening his bloodshot eyes. "going to tie up my dog, then go to bed." five minutes later both were sleeping the sleep that comes from utter exhaustion of mind and body. stacy awakened first, his eyes opening on the burning blue above him. after a few moments he rolled over on his stomach to gaze at the coyote. instantly something else attracted his attention. what he saw was a crossed stick on a standard. the whole resembled a cross, standing barely six inches above the ground. the lad eyed the strange object inquiringly, then wriggled over toward it. "maybe there's water here. i'll see," he muttered. stacy began digging industriously with knife and hands. after a time the knife struck some hard substance. this, upon further digging, proved to be a bottle. the boy pulled his find out quickly. "there's a piece of paper in it," he exclaimed in surprise. "guess somebody must have thrown it off a sinking desert schooner." stacy drew the paper from the bottle. "'to the lost on the desert maze,'" he read "that's me and the coyote. 'water ten paces to the east. grass peak fifteen miles to the east. belted range about eighteen miles west. cross piece on stick, points due east and west. a traveler.'" with a sharp glance at his sleeping companion, stacy tramped off ten paces. there being no sign of water, the lad began stamping about with his heels. suddenly the alkali crust gave way beneath him. one leg went through. he felt it plunge into water. "y-e-o-w!" howled stacy. tad butler scrambled to his feet, rubbing his eyes. "water! water! water! i fell in!" shrieked the fat boy, dancing about joyously. "i've found a key to the desert maze, and i've unlocked one blind desert alley with my foot." the lads drank and drank of the villainous, brown fluid. then, after having laved their faces and filled the canteens, they set out on their journey. grass peak was the hill from which the professor's pajamas had been unfurled to the idle desert breeze. twilight was descending when two gaunt-eyed, hollow-cheeked lads, each with an arm thrown about the other's waist for support, were described, staggering across the desert maze. behind then, at the end of a lariat, slouched a disconsolate, cowardly coyote. a great shout went up from the camp of the pony riders. they dashed out to meet their exhausted companions. hoisting the two boys to their shoulders, they carried them triumphantly to camp. tom parry, the guide, had been thrown by his pony stepping through a crust on the alkali, and had lain all night on the desert. next day he had staggered back to camp, where he found his pony, and after a few hours' rest had taken up his fruitless search again. stacy's pony in the meantime had come in. the boys never knew how the animals got away, though from the fact that tad's rifle was missing, it was believed that the hermit had ridden the pony off, turning it adrift later. but the brave lads had found their way through the desert maze to camp, having passed through hardships and perils that would have daunted stronger and more experienced desert travelers. next morning the pony rider boys struck their tents and broke camp. a few days later they crossed the line into california, where, after loading their stock and equipment into a large stock car, they started for the east. yet, though their summer vacation was rapidly drawing to a close, the pony rider boys had not seen the end of their thrilling adventures. another exciting trip lay before them; one which was destined to linger in memory for many years to come. the story of this, the end of the silver trail, will be related in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in new mexico." the end dave darrin series no. by _h. irving hancock_ dave darrin at vera cruz dave darrin on mediterranean service dave darrin's south american cruise dave darrin on the asiatic station dave darrin and the german submarines dave darrin after the mine layers aviator series no. by _captain frank cobb_ battling the clouds an aviator's luck dangerous deeds boy scout series no. by _george durston_ the boy scouts in camp the boy scouts on the trail the boy scouts to the rescue the boy scout aviators the boy scouts afloat the boy scouts' victory idle hour series no. hilda's mascot--_ireland_ betty the scribe--_turner_ peggy-alone--_byrne_ ivy hall series no. by _ruth alberta brown_ tabitha at ivy hall tabitha's glory tabitha's vacation peace greenfield series no. by _ruth alberta brown_ at the little brown house the lilac lady heart of gold pony rider boys series no. by _frank gee patchin_ the pony rider boys in the rockies the pony rider boys in texas the pony rider boys in montana the pony rider boys in the ozarks the pony rider boys in the alkali the pony rider boys in new mexico the pony rider boys in the grand canyon the pony rider boys with the texas rangers the pony rider boys on the blue ridge the pony rider boys in new england the pony rider boys in louisiana the pony rider boys in alaska circus boys series no. by _edgar b. p. darlington_ the circus boys on the flying rings the circus boys across the continent the circus boys in dixie land the circus boys on the mississippi the circus boys on the plains the battleship boys series no. by _frank gee patchin_ the battleship boys at sea the battleship boys' first step upward the battleship boys in foreign service the battleship boys in the tropics the battleship boys under fire the battleship boys in the wardroom the submarine boys series no. by _victor g. durham_ the submarine boys on duty the submarine boys' trial trip the submarine boys and the middies the submarine boys and the spies the submarine boys' lightning cruise the submarine boys for the flag young engineers series no. by _h. irving hancock_ the young engineers in colorado the young engineers in arizona the young engineers in nevada the young engineers in mexico the young engineers on the gulf [every attempt has been made to replicate the original book as printed. the footnotes have been located at the end of the etext. some typographical errors have been corrected. a list follows the etext. no attempt has been made to correct or normalize printed botanical names. the footnotes have all been moved to the end of the etext. some illustrations have been moved from within paragraphs for ease of reading. (etext transcriber's note)] the desert world. "for i have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still sad music of humanity." wordsworth the desert world. from the french of arthur mangin. edited and enlarged _by_ _the translator of "the bird, by michelet."_ with illustrations by w. freeman, foulquier, and yan dargent. london: t. nelson and sons, paternoster row; edinburgh; and new york. . preface. the area of our present work would be very limited if we understood the word _desert_ in its more rigorous signification; for we should then have only to consider those desolate wildernesses which an inclement sky and a sterile soil seem to exclude for ever from man's dominion. but, by a license which usage authorizes, we are able to attribute to this term a much more extended sense; and to call _deserts_ not only the sandy seas of africa and asia, the icy wastes of the poles, and the inaccessible crests of the great mountain-chains; but all the regions where man has not planted his regular communities or permanent abodes; where earth has never been appropriated, tilled, and subjected to cultivation; where nature has maintained her inviolability against the encroachments of human industry. thus understood, the picture we are about to trace assumes not only vast proportions, but an infinite variety of aspects. here and there, it is true, our eyes will rest on the gloomy spectacle of rugged solitudes, where the soil churlishly refuses almost every kind of product, where the boldest traveller cannot penetrate without a shudder, and where the very beast of prey is rather a visitor than an inhabitant: lugubrious regions, on whose threshold one might write the legend written, according to dante, on the gates of hell-- "lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate." (all hope abandon, ye who enter here.) but, on the whole, these true deserts offer ample material for the admiration of the artist, the meditations of the thinker, the researches of the naturalist and the physician. theirs is that kind of beauty which borders on the sublime, and which impresses us so powerfully in the ocean. and, like the ocean, they awake in the soul the feeling of infinity. they render it forgetful of the tumultuous regions which are perturbed by petty passions, and vexed by the contentions of ephemeral interests, and transport it to the boundless space and the eternal spheres, or allow it to draw back within itself and muse upon its future destiny. finally, what grave problems does the desert place before the man of science! and first, why do life and fertility prevail elsewhere,--here, sterility and death? why does an irrevocable curse seem to weigh upon certain parts of the world, while others rejoice in nature's fairest gifts? it is by examining the constitution of the soil and the character of the climate that we discover the key to this enigma, and recognize in this apparent anomaly a necessary effect of the harmonious laws of the universe. then the desert has a geology and a meteorology of its own; is the theatre of special phenomena, which we do not observe in more favoured regions. life itself is not completely absent from it; specimens of the organic kingdoms are rare, no doubt, but for this very reason are the more interesting. and if, from the desert properly so called, we pass to those countries where the genial air and the abundant waters favour the action of the productive forces, the interest increases with the increasing development of life. the picture changes every moment, and every moment grows more animated. the scenes of the savage world unfold before our eyes like a moving panorama; unexpected incidents and dramatic episodes multiply one upon another. every region appears before us with its primitive aspect, its grand and picturesque landscapes, its characteristic fauna and flora--frequently, also, with its tribes of white, or tawny, or black, or copper-coloured men, whose singular manners, brutal instincts, fierce passions, and wretched condition offer, in all its mournful reality, the spectacle of that "state of nature" celebrated by a great writer as the ideal of virtue and happiness. * * * * * to conclude: the task which i here pursue is the same which i recently commenced by the publication of my "mysteries of the ocean;"[ ] to invite and prepare the general reader and the young for the study of the physical and natural sciences, by bringing before them the most interesting results of the discoveries and the observations with which these sciences have been enriched. only, this new essay is entirely descriptive, and has no didactic pretensions. i have contented myself with sketching the physiognomy of the great regions not yet conquered by civilization, with indicating the more remarkable features they present, the peoples by whom they are inhabited, and the important plants and animals they nourish. the author. [the translator has only to add, that he has made copious additions to the original work, with the view of rendering its scope more comprehensive and complete, and of adapting it specially to the requirements of the english reader. he has also corrected and confirmed m. mangin's statements by reference to the best and most recent authorities, without, he would hope, any injury to the original scheme, or any detriment to the value of m. mangin's agreeable and highly interesting chapters.] a. contents. book i. the deserts of europe and asia:--the landes, the dunes, and the steppes. chapter page i. the desert in france:--the landes of brittany, ii. the landes of gascony, iii. the dunes, or sand-hills, iv. wild scenes of england:--dartmoor and the fen country, v. the steppes:--the desert in russia, siberia, and tartary, vi. animal life in the steppes:--the wild horse and the camel, vii. animal life in the steppes:--wild ruminating animals, rodents, carnivora, birds, viii. inhabitants of the steppes:--tartars, cossacks, kalmucks, kirghiz, mongols, book ii. the deserts of sand:--the deserts of europe and africa. i. the rainless desert--the bed of a sea--the dead sea, ii. arabia deserta and arabia petrÆa, iii. the nubian desert--the great sahara--deserts of africa, iv. phenomena of the desert, v. vegetable life in the desert--the oases, vi. animal life in the desert, vii. the men of the desert, book iii. prairies, savannahs, pampas, and llanos. i. wild plains of the old world:--the african interior, ii. deserts of the new world:--prairies, pampas, llanos, iii. the australian interior, iv. vegetable life in the african plains, v. vegetable life in the prairies, pampas, and llanos of the new world, vi. flora of the australian plains, vii. animal life in the prairies of the old world:--herbivorous animals, viii. animal life in the prairies of the old world--continued:--the carnivora, ix. animal life in the prairies of the old world--continued:--birds and reptiles, x. animal life in the prairies of the new world:--herbivora, insectivora, and carnivora, xi. animal life in the prairies of the new world--continued:--birds and reptiles, xii. animal life in the australian prairies, book iv. the forests. i. the virgin forests, ii. vegetable life in the forests of the old world, iii. vegetable life in the forests of the great islands, iv. vegetable life in the forests of the new world, v. animal life in the tropical forests:--the elephant--the rhinoceros, vi. animal life in the virgin forests:--the great apes, vii. the anthropomorphic apes:--orangs--gibbons--chimpanzees--gorillas, viii. animal life in the forests:--the cebidÆ, or monkeys of america--the lemurs--the sloths--the squirrels, ix. man in the savannahs and the forests:--anthropophagy, x. man in the savannahs and the forests:--the savage races--the negroes, xi. man in the savannahs and the forests:--the malays--polynesians--the north american indians, book v. the polar deserts--the mountains. i. the polar deserts, ii. animal life and vegetable life in the polar deserts, iii. the inhabitants of the arctic wildernesses:--the laplanders, samoiedes, ostiaks, kamtschatdales, eskimos (or esquimaux), iv. the mountains, v. vegetable life and animal life in the mountains, [illustration] the desert world. book i. _the deserts of europe and asia: the landes, the dunes, and the steppes._ chapter i. the desert in france:--the landes of brittany. to those whose imaginations have been kindled by glowing pictures of the african sahara and the arabian wilderness, it will be, perhaps, a matter of surprise to learn that even fertile and civilized europe includes within her boundaries regions which are scarcely less cheerless or desolate, though, happily, of far inferior extent. thus, it would be possible for a frenchman whom the engagements of business, the pressure of limited means, or the ties of home, prevented from undertaking any distant voyages, to obtain a vivid conception of the great deserts of the world without crossing the confines of his own country. in france, so richly cultivated, so laborious, and so blessed by genial nature, there are, nevertheless, a few districts where her sons may wholly forget--may almost disbelieve in the existence of--her cities stirring with the "hum of men," her vineyards and her gardens, her grassy pastures, her prolific meadows, her well-ordered highways, and those "iron roads" which are the incessant channels of such restless energy, movement, and vigorous life. bare and desolate enough, and as yet unconquered by advancing civilization, are the mountains of france: among its gigantic ranges of the jura, the vosges, and the cevennes,[ ] the traveller may still ascend precipitous rocks, may hearken to the deafening roar of foamy torrents, may contemplate with astonished gaze the masses of stone upheaved in some convulsion of the ancient world, may listen to the hoarse cry of the eagle, a s "close to the sun in lonely lands, ringed with the azure world he stands." in the alps, profaned as they now-a-days are by noisy tourists; in the pyrenees, whither alpine clubs have not yet extended their encroachments, he who ascends some or feet may still wander among ice and snow which the sun's rays never loosen, and gather in his mind's eye a picture of the colossal peaks of asia and the new world, of the virgin summits of the himalaya and the cordilleras. there you may follow with entranced vision the swooping wing of the lammergeyer; or trace the nimble feet of the shy chamois; or, like manfred, muse and wonder, while "the sunbow's rays still arch the torrent with the many hues of heaven, and roll the sheeted silver's waving column o'er the crag's headlong perpendicular." mayhap, if favoured by fortune, you may even find yourself face to face, in the abrupt bend of some obscure ravine, with a bear, which, calm and unsuspicious, looks on as you pass by, as if he were ignorant of men, and had never heard the ringing echoes of the hunter's rifle. [illustration: a pyrenean landscape.] it is less easy--in france, at least--to discover the old shadowy, leafy, almost impervious forest. the most celebrated--that of fontainebleau--despite its enormous trees, its rudely broken surface, its stags and roebucks reserved for imperial sport, despite its few adders and problematical vipers, is now little better than a rendezvous for amateur artists and listless idlers. its well-kept avenues resound with rapid wheels, and you can scarcely stir a step without finding the associations of the place interrupted by the stalls of vendors of cakes or the apparatus of itinerant gamblers. this profanation is surely to be regretted, for the forest exhibits many landscapes of surpassing interest, as the rocks of franchart, the glens of apremont, and, above all, that sahara in miniature, the sands of arbonne. nor would one willingly forget the historical memories which immortalize the famous palace where francis i. received his after-time conqueror, charles v.; where the wayward and half-insane christina of sweden listened with cruel delight to the groans of the murdered monaldeschi; where madame du barry lavished her shameless graces; where pope pius vii. lingered through two years of gilded captivity; and where napoleon bade farewell to his dreams of universal empire.[ ] among the uncultivated regions of france we may mention the marshes of the bresse, of forez, of the sologne, of upper brittany, and of picardy. the greater portion of these marshes, owing to the peat which forms their bed, is vigorously and not unsuccessfully worked. they are traversed by trenches dug at right angles, and on whose border are placed the turf-cutter's little hut, and the furnace in which the peat is baked. their lagoons, and the canals which connect them, swarm with flat-bottomed boats. man, in a word, has taken possession of them; braving the unhealthy vapours which enfeeble his frame and shorten his life, he builds his squalid abode on the rising ground left uncovered by the waters. the largest of these peat-bogs are those of montoir and the grand brière, near savenay, in the department of the loire inférieure. they occupy a considerable area of a vast desolate plain, where a few lean sheep crop an insufficient food from the scanty herbage, and whose sole product is turf. "this country," says jules janin,[ ] "has no other harvest, no other wealth than its peat; neither fruit, nor flowers, nor corn, nor pastures, nor repose, nor well-being; the earth is wild, the sky one of iron. it is a region of stagnant waters, pestiferous exhalations, decrepit men, famished animals." the swampy levels of montoir form the natural vestibule to the armorican peninsula, which of all the french provinces has the longest and the most vigorously withstood the advance of civilization, its ideas, and its modern institutions, and has the most rigidly preserved its primitive character. there are many nooks and corners in brittany scarcely changed in outward aspect or inner life since the remote days when it was a valued appanage of the english crown. they seem to have been plunged in a sleep of centuries, from which the shrill whistle of the steam-engine is only just awakening them. the country is undulating and broken; in the central districts it assumes quite a mountainous character. it is true that its heights are only of moderate elevation, the loftiest not exceeding feet; but they are barren, rude, and sombre in appearance. the coast is picturesque enough to delight the most zealous artist, bordered with high and abrupt cliffs, and lined, as it were, with a beach where the waters of the channel ever break in floods of spray and foam, and where masses of rock lie scattered of immense size and the most fantastic forms. geologically speaking, brittany may be regarded as a prolongation of our english mountains, to which, like all the north-west coast of france, they were anciently united. in some remote era a vast convulsion opened in the solid land a chasm through which the oceans poured their meeting waters, and separated our beloved island from the european continent; the sole condition under which, perhaps, it was possible for the english people to have accomplished their destiny. anchored amid the protecting seas, we are able to regard from afar, like a watchman from a tower, the convulsions that sweep across the face of europe. like the watchman, we cannot refuse to be moved by the spectacle, by the stir and the tumult; but it is only considerations of duty that can induce us to descend from our security, and mingle in the fray. brittany belongs to what geologists call the primitive and intermediary formations. it is divided into three belts or longitudinal trenches: those of the north and south consist of primitive rocks, granite and porphyry; the central appertains to a more recent formation, to the group of intermediary or secondary rocks, composed in the main of schists and mica-schists, quartz, and gneiss. schist prevails over a considerable area, and is prolonged to the very extremity of the peninsula. these hard, compact, impervious rocks, are entirely bare in many places; elsewhere, and over a great extent, they are covered but by a thin layer of clayey and sandy earth, where the sudden slopes of the soil do not allow the rains to settle. here are the plains, often of considerable dimensions, which, bristling with rocks, and broken up by ravines, water-courses, and marshes, constitute the landes of brittany. true deserts these, relieved at distant points by an isolated hut, or by a wandering herd of swine, lean cows, and meagre-looking horses, which obtain a scanty subsistence from the heathery soil, sown here and there with tufts of furze, broom, and fern. under a sky of almost continual sombreness, like that which impends over the pottery districts of england, these landes present a sufficiently sinister and uninviting aspect. the traveller, as he crosses their sepulchral wastes, will hardly marvel that they were anciently a chosen seat of druidical worship. like dartmoor, they would seem to have offered a peculiarly fitting arena for the rites and ceremonies of a creed which we know to have been mysterious in character and sanguinary in spirit. they are covered with its gray memorials: the masses of granite of different shapes known as _maen hirs_, or "long stones," and _peulvens_, which appear to have been employed as sepulchral monuments; _dolmens_, or "table-stones;" and _cromlechs_ (_crom_, bowed or bending, and _lech_, a stone), which antiquaries are now agreed to regard as the remains of the ancient cemeteries or burial places. at camae, near quiberon bay, may be seen a truly remarkable example of the _parallelitha_, or avenues of upright stones, forming five parallel rows, which extend for miles over the dreary moorland. what were their uses it is impossible to determine, for there seems little ground to believe, as some writers would have us believe, that they were "serpent temples," where the old ophite worship was celebrated. we can only gaze at them in wonder: mile upon mile of gray lichen-stained stones, some twenty feet high, laboriously fashioned and raised in their present places by the hand of man some twenty centuries agone.[ ] on these very _dolmens_, where the priests of the tentates were wont to immolate their human victims to their unknown god, the mediæval sorcerers and sorceresses celebrated the black mass, or mass of satan, in terrible burlesque of the roman catholic sacrament, concocted their abominable philtres, and performed their dreary incantations. alas for human nature! in every age it is a prey to the wildest credulity. even in the present day more than one superstition hovers around the monuments of the celtic epoch. the bretons believe them haunted by demons called _poulpiquets_, who love to make sport of the passing stranger, but will sometimes give both counsel and encouragement to those who know how to address them in the prescribed formulas; who, like the ladye in the "lay of the last minstrel," at their bidding can bow "the viewless forms of air." for, in the breton mind, the superstitions of druidism have not been wholly uprooted by the teachings of christianity, still less by those of science and reason. many a dark and dismal legend flourishes in the lonely recesses of the landes.[ ] [illustration: celtic memorials in brittany.] brittany, like england, has its _cornouaille_, or cornwall, and it is here, particularly in north cornwall, that we see it under its most desolate aspect, with its chains of black treeless hills covered with heath and furze; with its deserts of broom and fern, its ruins scattered along the winding roads, its attenuated herds wandering at their will across the moors, and its savage, ignorant, and scanty population. the bretons of cornwall, according to a french writer, are elevated but a little above the true savage life. those who dwell upon the coast live on the products of their fishing, except when the fortunate occurrence of a wreck provides them with temporary abundance. at bottom, they possess the qualities and defects of characters strongly tempered, but absolutely uncultivated. they are as hard and bare as their own granite rocks. persevering, courageous, resolute, they make excellent sailors, the best which france can find; the sea is for them a second country. progress, which they do not understand, inspires them with a sort of terror, a gloomy mistrust. when the railway surveyors first intruded upon their solitudes, these rigid conservatives assailed them with volleys of stones, and when the railroads were laid down flung beams across the lines to overthrow the hissing, whirring trains which threatened to disturb their prescriptive barbarism. they asked but to be let alone--to be suffered to live as their forefathers lived--to be spared the ingenuities, successes, vices, and virtues of the new world. but modern civilization, like thor's hammer, or siegfried's magic sword balmung, will break down the last barriers raised by ignorance and superstition. it will shed its light upon the wilds and wastes of brittany, and compel their inhabitants in the course of years to acknowledge its value and accept its benefits. chapter ii. the landes of gascony. the breton "cornwall" has been called by a popular french writer, "the arabia petrea of brittany." but we might, perhaps, with greater justice apply to this sombre region, peopled as it is with fantastic visions, the name of "land of fear," which the arabs bestow on the great desert. less vivid, it may be, but graver and more profound is the impression produced by the landes and dunes of gascony. these deserts of the south, which michelet terms "the vestibule and threshold of the ocean," appeal less powerfully to the imagination. they are haunted by no historical memories, no traditions or marvellous legends in which man has rudely embodied his dim conceptions of the mysteries of nature; they are crowded with no monuments of antiquity to revive the shadows of the heroes and priests of ancient gaul; and when these are wanting, what shall supply their place? but ample scope exists for the assiduous labours of the naturalist, who here may see at work those unresting forces which have inspired every revolution of the globe's surface; who may contemplate here the phenomena that occur with the same regularity as in the days when man had not been fashioned after his maker's image-- "him framing like himself, all shining bright; a little living sun, son of the living light."[ ] these despoiled plains, these inhospitable wilds, alternately dry and marshy; these sullen pools, these mountains of shifting sand, speak forcibly to his mind of their past history, which is not one of the least curious episodes of the history of the physical world. the department which borrows its name from the landes of gascony is divided by the adour into two wholly dissimilar parts. [illustration: the shepherds of the landes.] to the south of the river lies a rich, undulating, vine-bearing country, rich in pasturage and harvest, sown with pleasant villages and smiling country houses, and watered by full streams and little rivers. to the north, the appearance of the country changes abruptly. when the traveller has crossed the alluvial zone of the adour he sees before him a thin, dry, sandy level of a comparatively recent marine formation. its only products are rye, millet, and maize; its only vegetation, forests of pines and scattered coppices of oaks; beyond these, and they do not extend far, all cultivation ceases, and the soil is stripped of verdure; you enter upon the landes--seemingly vast as a sea--occupied by permanent or periodical swamps; and where, over a space of several square leagues, in an horizon apparently boundless, you perceive nothing but heaths, sheepfolds or steadings for the flocks of sheep that traverse these deserts, and shepherds keeping mute watch over their animals, living wholly among them, and having no intercourse with the rest of humanity, except when once a week they seek their masters' houses to procure their supply of provisions. it is these shepherds only (_landescots_ and _aouillys_), and not, as is generally supposed, all the peasants of the landes, who are perched upon stilts, so as to survey from afar their wandering flocks, and to traverse more safely the marshes which frequently lie across their path. wild and uncouth are the figures which these stilt-walkers present, as they move rapidly over the country, often at the rate of six or seven miles an hour; occasionally indulging in an interval of rest, by the aid of a third wooden support at the back (curved at the top, so as to fit the hollow of the body), while they pursue their favourite pastime of knitting. the dress of the landescot is singularly rude. his coat or paletôt is a fleece; cuisses and greaves of the same material protect his legs and thighs; his feet are thrust into sabots and coarse woollen socks, which cover only the heels and instep. over his shoulder hangs the gourd which contains his week's store of provisions: some mouldy rye-bread, a few sardines, some onions and cloves of garlic, and a flask of thin sour wine. from sunrise to sunset he lives upon the stilts, never touching the ground. sometimes he drives his flock home at eventide; sometimes he bivouacs _sub jove frigido_, under the cold heaven of night. unbuckling his stilts, and producing his flint and steel, he soon kindles a cheery fire of fir-branches, and gathering his sheepskins round him, composes himself to sleep; his only annoyances being the musquitoes, and his fears of the evil tricks of wizard or witch, who may peradventure catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight, as they ride past on their besom to some unholy gathering or demon-dance. an english traveller has sketched in vivid colours the landscape of the landes. over all its gloom and barrenness, he remarks, over all its "blasted heaths," its monotonous pine-woods, its sudden morasses, its glaring sand-heaps, prevails a strong sense of loneliness, a grandeur and intensity of desolation, which invests the scene with a sad, solemn poetry peculiar to itself. emerging from the black shadows of the forest, the pilgrim treads a plain, "flat as a billiard-table," apparently boundless as the ocean, clad in one unvaried, unbroken garb of dusky heath. sometimes stripes and ridges, or great ragged patches of sand, glisten in the fervid sunshine; sometimes belts of scraggy young fir trees appear rising from the horizon on the right, and sinking into it again on the left. occasionally a brighter shade of green, with jungles of willows and water weeds, giant rushes, and "clustered marish mosses," will tell of the "blackened waters" beneath-- "hard by a poplar shook alway, all silver-green with gnarlèd bark; for leagues no other tree doth mark the level waste, the rounding gray."[ ] the dwellings which stud this dreary, yet not wholly unpoetic landscape, are generally mere isolated huts, separated oftentimes by many miles. round them spreads a miserable field or two, planted with such crops as might be expected on a poor soil and from deficient cultivation. the cottages are mouldering heaps of sod and unhewn and unmortared stones, clustered round with ragged sheds composed of masses of tangled bushes, pine-stakes and broad-leaved reeds, beneath which the meagrest looking cattle conceivable find a precarious shelter.[ ] the landes are divided into the little landes, near mont-de-marsan; and the great landes, stretching to the north and west of the department of which that town is the capital, and uniting uninterruptedly with those that occupy the vast country situated south of the gironde. the total superficial area of these plains is estimated at upwards of , , acres, of which two-thirds belong to the department of the landes, and the remainder to that of the gironde. yet the reader must not believe this country to be a desert in the popular acceptation of the word; it has its forests of pines, where the extraction and preparation of resinous matter are carried on with considerable activity. it has its small towns, its pretty villages, its factories, and even its handsome villas. finally, modern industry has cut the landes in two by the bordeaux railway, which traverses them from north to south, and bifurcates at morans to throw off a line to bayonne, and another to tarbes. in shape, the great landes may be compared to an immense rectangular triangle, having for its base the coast, which, from the mouth of the gironde to bayonne, or for a length of more than sixty leagues, is almost rectilineal. but they are separated from the sea by a long parallel chain of lakes and water-courses--a waste of shallow pools--a labyrinth of gulfs and morasses, and then by the continuous chain of the dunes, of which we shall speak in the following chapter. that which is commonly called the great lande is bounded on the north by the _étang_, or lake, of cazau. it is a sandy, treeless plain, and upon which, for a traject of several leagues from east to west, not one habitation worthy of the name is perceptible until the traveller arrives at mimizan, near the southern point of the lake of aureilhan. this lake on the south-west pours its waters into the sea. to the north it communicates, through the canal of st. eulalie, with the lake of biscarosse, which is itself connected with that of cazau. east of this chain of lakes lies the lande; west of it stretches the range of _dunes_, or sand-hills. the lake or pool of cazau is a small sea of fresh water, perfectly clear, profoundly deep, and fourteen to fifteen thousand acres in extent. it has its whirlwinds and its tempests, so that in certain seasons it is perilous to embark on its surface. and were its banks clothed with rich woods, or raised aloft in irregular or precipitous cliffs, it would surely attract as great a throng of tourists as the mountain-tarns and lochs of scotland or cumberland, or the arcadian waters of northern italy. the lake of biscarosse, in form a triangle, with one side formed by the dunes, covers about twelve thousand acres. it derives its name from a village situated at its northern angle, on the bank of the canal which connects it with the lake of cazau. the lake of aureilhan is the smallest of the three; the st. eulalie canal, which links it to the preceding, traverses a series of peat-bogs bounded eastward by gloomy pine-forests, and westward by the interminable dunes, which, by arresting the flow of the rain-waters, have really created these so-called lakes and extensive swamps. enormous quantities of rain fall every year in the landes,--which district the romans would certainly have dedicated to jupiter pluvius,--and find beneath the thin superficial stratum or crust of sand and earth, a sub-soil of _tufa_ and _allios_--in other words, of compact chalk and sand agglutinated by a ferruginous sediment. frequently this _tufa_ possesses all the hardness of stone, and its imperviousness is its fundamental property. hence it follows, that a portion of the heavy annual rainfall remains in the receptacles provided by the hollows and depressions of the soil, and in due time accumulates into marshes and lagoons, until gradually evaporated by the heat of spring. when of old the scared peasants beheld the irresistible advance of these strange ministers of destruction, they had no other resource than to fell their woods, abandon their dwellings, and surrender their "little all" to the pitiless sand and devouring sea. what could avail against such a scourge? efforts were made to repel it. it is said that charlemagne, during a brief residence in the landes, on his return from his expedition against the saracens, employed his veterans, and expended large sums of money in preserving the cities of the coast from imminent ruin; but whether the means employed were insufficient, or whether the imperial resources failed, and other urgent needs diverted the population and their leaders from this struggle against nature, the works were wholly abandoned. of late years they have been resumed, and with greater success, by a skilful agriculturist, m. desbiey, of bordeaux, and an able engineer, m. bremontier, who have called in nature herself to assist man in his war against nature. their system consists of sowing in the driest sand the seeds of the sea-pine, mixed with those of the broom (_genista scoparia_), and the _psamma arenaria_. the spaces thus sown are then closely covered with branches to protect them from the action of the winds. these seeds germinate spontaneously. the brooms, which spring up rapidly, restrain the sand, while sheltering the young pines, and thenceforth the dune ceases to move, because the wind can no longer unsettle its substance, and the grains are held together by the roots of the young plants. the work is always begun on the inland side, in order to protect the farmer and the peasant, and to withdraw the infant forest from the unwholesome influence of the ocean-winds. and, in order that the sown spaces shall not themselves be buried under the sands blown up from the shore, a palisade of wicker-work is raised at a suitable distance, which, reinforced by young plants of sandwort (_psamma arenaria_), check the moving sands for a sufficiently long time to favour the development of the seeds. finally, the work is completed by the construction of a substantial wall, or rather an artificial cliff, which effectually prevents the further progress of the flood, or directs it seaward, to be arrested on its course by the barrier of the sand-hills. unable to force a passage through these natural ramparts, they have excavated certain basins, more or less extensive, more or less deep, which have formed into inland seas, communicating with the atlantic by one narrow issue. it is a noteworthy fact that, owing to the encroachment of the dunes, these lakes have been constantly forced back upon the inland country. fortunately, this menacing invasion of the sands has been checked by the great engineering works executed a few years ago; which, on the one hand, have fixed, and, as it were, solidified the dunes, and, on the other, have provided for the regular outflow of the waters. the landes have thus been opened to the persevering labours of the cultivator. the culture of the pine, and the manufacture of resinous substances, have largely extended, and the time, perhaps, is not far distant when these deserts will almost completely disappear; when these desolate and unproductive plains will pleasantly bloom, transformed into shadowy woods or verdurous meadows.[ ] to so fortunate a result nothing will more powerfully contribute than the embankment of the dunes. these have been, in reality, the true scourge of this country; these were the moving desert, the constantly ascending sea, which had already engulfed forests, villages, even towns, under its billows of sand, and driven before it the terrified inhabitants of the coast. chapter iii. the dunes, or sand-hills. the dunes form the extreme line of the brittany coast for nearly two hundred miles, from the adour to the garonne. they are hills of white sand, as fine and soft as if it had been sifted through an hour-glass. their outline, therefore, changes every hour. when the wind blows from the land, millions of tons of sand are hourly driven into the sea, to be washed up again on the beach and blown inland by the first biscay gale. a water hurricane from the west will fill up with sand square miles of shallow lake, driving the displaced waters into the interior, dispersing them in shining pools among the "murmurous pines," flooding and frequently destroying the scattered hamlets of the people, and inundating their fields of rye and millet.[ ] [illustration: a flood in brittany.] their origin is due to the prevalence of the sea-winds on those points of the coast which are not protected by rock and cliff, and whose slopes of sand descend very gradually to the margin of the waves. their formation is easily explained. the sand of which they are composed is a silicious material, reduced to minute grains, generally rounded, by trituration. these grains, nevertheless, are often too big and too heavy for the wind to take them up and scatter them afar, like the dust of the highways or the ashes of volcanoes. but at low tide the sand, dried by the sun's rays and the action of the wind, offers to the latter a sufficient _holdfast_ to be dragged up the slopes which descend seaward, and deposited at a certain distance. this process being constantly repeated, the heaps are daily increasing in dimensions. it will easily be understood that this accumulation along the shore cannot have taken place where the force and direction of the sands experience periodical or capricious changes; for then the sands cast upon the beach by the winds of the north and west would be driven back into the sea by the winds of the south and east. this is noticeable in many places where the nature of the coast is favourable for the production of such a phenomenon. but on other shores--as on the atlantic littoral of france--the winds which blow most frequently and most violently are from the west and south-west. and it is there we encounter the dunes. those of gascony are by far the most remarkable. northward, they extend as far as the point de grave, which shuts in the mouth of the gironde; southward, to the bank of the adour, and even further, to the cliffs of béarn. here the basin of arcachon constitutes one vast hollow; and some openings exist, moreover, in the department of landes, between that basin and the adour, for the overflow of the waters which descend from the interior. to the north and south of the teste de buch the chain of sand-hills measures from to feet in width. at other points it is still wider; but it narrows towards its extremities, and both at the point de grave and near bayonne does not exceed yards. owing to their extreme shiftiness of soil, the dunes can attain no considerable elevation. the sand deposited by the wind on the summit of the hill is always in a state of precarious equilibrium. it has a constant tendency to be precipitated down the other side; and the higher the summit the greater is this tendency, so that there comes at last a moment when no further accumulation in height is possible. the dune may then extend its basis, may even increase twofold in dimensions, but it no longer rises. let us note, moreover, that owing to its density the sand cannot be carried even by the most violent winds into the higher regions of the atmosphere; and that the dunes, when they have reached a certain elevation, oppose to them an insuperable obstacle. this circumstance would consequently have a salutary effect, and the accumulation of sand would be determined by a law of its own, if the dunes, once formed, had time to cohere. but this is not the case. incessantly does the wind undo or modify its work; and the loftiest hills being the most exposed to its violence, are quickly reduced to the common level. in general, the greatest elevation of the dunes corresponds to their greatest breadth. thus the culminating point of those of gascony is found in the belt situated between the lakes of cazau and biscarosse, where the chain is from to yards across. their average height is feet to feet above the sea-level; but some of the hills in the forest of biscarosse attain an altitude of feet. in the neighbourhood of the mouths of the gironde and the adour, where the chain is considerably narrowed, the height of the dunes is only thirty to forty-five feet. the reader must not suppose that the dunes consist of a single series of sand-hills ranged along the shore. he will, however, have conjectured, from our statements respecting their width, that they really compose a chain of several more or less regular ridges. the hills are separated from one another by valleys, locally named _laites_ or _lettes_. these valleys, where the pluvial waters flow and accumulate, exhibit a striking contrast, in their freshly-blooming verdure, to the naked, barren dunes. the general aspect of the landscape may, therefore, be compared to that of the ocean. there is the same broken surface, the same extent of undulation, the billows of sand being upheaved by the wind like the billows of the sea, and sharing in their mobility. you must see, says a writer, in order to form an idea of those colossal masses of fine sand, which the wind incessantly skims, and which travel in this way towards the inland country: you must see their contours so softened that they look like mountains of plaster of paris polished by the workman's hand, and their surface so mobile that a little insect leaves upon it a conspicuous track; their slopes, at every degree of inclination; their everlasting sterility--not a blade of grass, not an atom of vegetation; their solitude, less imposing than that of the mountains, but still of a truly savage character. you must see, from the summit of one of these ridges, the ocean on your right hand, and on your left the extensive lakes which border the littoral; and, in the midst of this tumultuous sea of tawny sand, green grassy valleys, rich and fertile pastures, smiling oases of verdure, where herds of horses graze, and cows half-wild, guarded by shepherds scarcely less wild than they.[ ] the marked characteristic of the dunes, as we have already said, is their mobility, which renders them a constant menace for the neighbouring populations. to the wind which creates them they owe their frequent changes and their inland movement. while the sea eats into the coast, assisted by the breezes which gradually sweep clear the ground before it, the dunes extend, and drive before them the shallow lakes: these in their turn encroach upon the landes, and until now man has been constrained to recoil, step by step, before his threefold enemy. it is in this phenomenon, rather than in the ungrateful soil of the landes, that we must seek the cause of the curse which has seemed so long to rest upon this country-side. you must go back some twenty centuries to trace the origin of the dunes of gascony. fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago the coast north of the adour was inhabited, and comparatively flourishing. mimizan was then a town and a sea-port, from which were exported the resinous products of the neighbouring forests. the normans disembarked there on several occasions. under its walls, in , was fought a great battle between the allied goths and ostrogoths on the one side, and the béarnais, commanded by a bishop of lescar, on the other. both town and port to-day are buried under the sands. "full fathom five" lie church and convent, and the busy street, the noisy mart, and the once peaceful home. the present village has nearly perished: the dune was not three yards from the church when its progress was recently arrested. other cities, laid down in old charts of the country, but of which not a trace remains, have in this manner disappeared, and entire forests have been ingulfed, now under the sands of the dunes, now under the sands and waves of the sea. some parts of the chain have been rendered to a great extent immovable by the vegetation which has gradually covered them, and these have opposed a formidable obstacle to the encroachments of the sands. yet here and there the barrier has been defied. for example, in the forest of biscarosse the movable dunes, actually sweeping over the ancient hills, have not only filled up the valleys, but ingulfed a great number of pines, and raised themselves several yards above the crest of the oldest trees, planted on the summit of the highest hills. in whose favour, in this struggle of science against the elements, will the victory eventually be decided? the question is one which the future alone can resolve.[ ] chapter iv. wild scenes of england:--dartmoor and the fen country. crossing the channel, and surveying the limited expanse of our own "beloved england," we become aware of certain districts which belong to the desert world. through the ceaseless energy of our race, and the introduction of mechanical inventions which economize time and labour and treble the reproductive power of capital, almost all england has been transformed into a rich and radiant garden, where the waste places are "few and far between," where the solitude of desolation is scarcely known; yet, as already observed, there are districts which retain much of their ancient wildness of character. such a region is dartmoor, the extensive and romantic table-land of granite which occupies the south-western part of the county of devon. in its recesses still linger the eagle, the bustard, and the crane; its solitudes are broken by the hoarse cries of the sparrow-hawk, the hobby, and the goshawk; and the cyclopean memorials of druidism which cover its surface--cromlechs and kistvaens, tolmêns and stone-avenues--invest it with a peculiar air of mysterious awe. it extends in length about twenty-two miles (from north to south), and in breadth twenty miles (from east to west). its total area exceeds , acres. it rises above the surrounding country like "the long, rolling waves of a tempestuous ocean, fixed into solidity by some instantaneous and powerful impulse." a natural rampart is cast around it. deep ravines, watered by murmuring streams, diversify its aspect, and lofty hills of granite, locally called _tors_, of which the principal, yes tor, has an elevation of feet above the sea. its soil is composed of peat, in some places twenty-five feet deep; underneath which lies a solid mass of granite, occasionally relieved by trap (a volcanic rock), and traversed by veins of tin, copper, and manganese.[ ] nearly in the centre of this dismal wilderness lies an immense morass, whose surface is in many places incapable of supporting the lightest animal, and whose inexhaustible reservoirs supply the fountains of many a river and stream--the dart, the teign, the taw, the tavy--all clear as crystal in the summer months, but after heavy rains running redly through the "stony vales." the roaring of these torrents, when angry and swollen, is sublime to a degree inconceivable by those who have never heard the wild impressive music of untamed nature. the tors are remarkable for their quaint fantastic outlines, which, like the clouds, suggest all manner of strange similitudes--to dragons, and griffins, and hoary ruins, and even to human forms of gigantic size, apparently confronting the traveller as the lords and natural denizens of the rugged waste. the principal summits are yes tor, cawsand beacon, fur tor, lynx tor, rough tor, holne ridge, brent tor, rippen tor, hound tor, sheep's tor, crockern tor, and great mis tor. not only must their variety of form delight the artist, but his eye rests well pleased on their manifold changes of colour; purple, and green, and gray, and blue--now softened by a delicate vaporous shadow, now glowing with intense fulness in the sun's unclouded light. dartmoor is traditionally reputed to have been anciently clothed with forest. the sole relic now existing is the lonely _wistman's_ wood, which occupies a sombre valley, bounded on the one side by crockern tor, on the other by little and great bairdown; the slopes being strewn with gray blocks of granite in "admired disorder," as if the titans had been at their cumbrous play. starting from this chaos of rocks, appears a wood or grove of dwarf weird-looking oaks, interspersed with the mountain-ash, and everywhere festooned about and garlanded with ferns and parasitical plants. none of these trees exceed twelve feet in height, but at the top they spread far and wide, and "branch and twist in so fantastic and tortuous a manner as to remind one of those strange things called mandrakes." their branches are literally covered with ivy and creeping plants, and their trunks so thickly embedded in a coating of moss that at first sight, says mrs. bray, "you would imagine them to be of enormous thickness in proportion to their height. their whole appearance conveys to you the idea of hoary age in the vegetable world of creation; and on visiting wistman's wood it is impossible to do other than think of those 'groves in stony places' so often mentioned in scripture as being dedicated to baal and astaroth."[ ] that heathen rites were celebrated here in the pre-historic era seems very probable, the best etymologists agreeing that the name is a corruption of _wise-man_, or _wish-man_; that is, of the old norse god woden, who is still supposed to drive his spectral hounds across the silent wastes of dartmoor. celtic or cymric memorials, as we have previously hinted, are very abundant and very various. there are cromlechs, where the britons buried their dead; stone pillars, with which they commemorated their priests and heroes; avenues of upright stones leading up to the circles, where, perhaps, their priests celebrated their religious rites; kistvaens, or stone-chests, containing the body unburned; tolmêns, or holed stones, whose meaning cannot be determined, but which may probably have had some astronomical uses; bridges, huts, and walled villages, all bearing traces of the handiwork of our "rude forefathers." there is no spot in england so thronged as this with the shadows of a remote, a mysterious, and an irrecoverable past. * * * * * from dartmoor our wanderings take us to the eastern coast, and the district of the fens, now so rapidly yielding to the labour of the agriculturist as to exhibit but rare glimpses of their ancient "savagery." it extends inland, around an arm of the north sea called the wash, into the six counties of cambridge, huntingdon, lincoln, norfolk, northampton, and suffolk, with an area of upwards of , acres. inland it is bounded by an amphitheatral barrier of high lands, and touches the towns of bolingbroke, brandon, earith, milton, and peterborough. into this great basin flow the waters of the greater part of the drainage of nine counties, which gather into the rivers cam, glen, lark, nene, great and little ouse, stoke, and welland, these being linked together by a network of natural and artificial canals. anciently, the fens were pleasant to the eye of the lover of the picturesque; for they contained shining meres and golden reed-beds, haunted by countless water-fowl, and strange, gaudy insects. "dark-green alders," says kingsley,[ ] "and pale-green reeds stretched for miles round the broad lagoon, where the coot clanked and the bittern boomed, and the sedge-bird, not content with its own sweet song, mocked the notes of all the birds around; while high overhead hung hawk beyond hawk, buzzard beyond buzzard, kite beyond kite, as far as eye could see." what strange transformations must this wild region have undergone! there was a time, in all probability, when a great part of the german ocean was dry land, through which, into a vast estuary between north britain and norway, flowed together all the rivers of north-eastern europe--elbe, weser, rhine, scheldt, seine, thames, and all the rivers of east england, as far north as the humber. meanwhile, the valleys of the cam, the ouse, the nene, the welland, the glen, and the witham, were slowly "sawing themselves out" by the quiet action of rain and rivers. then came an age when the lowland was swept away by the biting, corroding sea-wash still so powerfully destructive on the east coast of england, as far as flamborough head. "wave and tide by sea, rain and river by land; these are god's mighty mills in which he makes the old world new." and as longfellow says of moral things, so may we of physical,-- "'though the mills of god grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; though he sit and wait with patience, with exactness grinds he all.'" these ever-active causes have converted the dry land into the fens. the mud brought down by the rivers cannot get away to sea; and, with the _débris_ of the coast, is constantly swept southward by tide and current, and deposited within the great curving basin of the wash, between lincolnshire and norfolk. there it is kept by the strong barrier of shifting sands coming inwards from the sea; a barrier which also confines the very water of the fens, and spreads it inland into a labyrinth of streams, shallow meres, and bogs. the rainfall, over the whole vast area of dull level, has found no adequate channels of escape for centuries; and hence we may understand how peat--the certain product of standing water--has slowly overwhelmed the rich alluvium, and swallowed up gradually the stately forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which once spread far and wide over the blooming country. "many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery," sings shelley; and this dreary outcome of mudbank and bog and mere had its wooded isles, very fair and lovely to behold, redeeming the desolation of the landscape. such were ramsey, lindsey, whittlesea, whose names remind us of their whilome characteristics (_ea_, _ey_, an island). in these green places the old monks loved to build their quiet abbeys, rearing their herds in rich pastures, feeding fat fish in their tranquil streams, and dreaming in the shadow of green alder and stately ash. but these eden-isles were few, and the surrounding marsh was black and dismal enough to scare the boldest spirit, and pestilential enough to sap and undermine the strongest frame. the romans had attempted to drain and embank it, and their _vallum_ may still be tracked along the surface of the marsh-lands, marked to this day by the names of walsoken, walton, and walpoole. in the middle ages, however, it returned to its primeval desolateness--a waste and wilderness, haunted by the foul legends of an unwholesome superstition. in the immediate neighbourhood of the great monasteries of crowland and ely, and of the thriving towns, the good work of drainage went on slowly; but elsewhere the land was given up to the bittern and the heron. no comprehensive scheme was adopted, however, until russel, earl of bedford, cut the great bedford river, twenty-one miles long, and rescued from the desert the rich tract known by his name--the bedford level. "erst a dreary pathless waste, the coughing flock was wont with hairy fleeces to deform; and, smiling with its lure of summer flowers, the heavy ox, vain struggling, to ingulf; till one, of that high-honoured patriot name, russel, arose, who drained the rushy fen, confined the waves, bade groves and gardens bloom, and through his new creation led the ouse and gentle camus, silver-winding streams."[ ] the work was continued by william earl of bedford, who added, in , to his father's old "bedford river" that noble parallel river the hundred foot, both rising high above the land to allow for flood water. it was carried on at a later period under the direction of government surveyors. then came rennie, the great engineer, whose operations effectually shut out the desert, and handed over to the agriculturist nearly the whole level of the fens, some seventy miles in length. works are now in progress for rescuing a further portion of the basin of the wash, to be formed into a new county, and named after the queen. so that now, in tracts once covered by the sea, or knee-deep in reedy, slushy, pestilential slime, the grass grows luxuriantly, the crops wave in golden abundance, or the breeze takes up and carries afar-- "the livelong bleat of the thick-fleecèd sheep from wattled folds." but the dominion of labour has not yet been established over the whole fen-district. there are still dreary nooks, and gloomy corners, and unproductive wastes; wild scenes there are, which few englishmen have any conception of as contained within the boundaries of their own "inviolate isle." romantic scenery, remarks mr. walter white, must not be looked for on the lincolnshire coast. in all the journey from the wash till you see the land of yorkshire, beyond the humber, not an inch of cliff will your eyes discover. monotonous is the prospect of-- "a level waste, a rounding gray" of sand-hills, which vary but slightly in height, and bristle with _marum_. "but tame though it be," continues our authority,[ ] "the scene derives interest from its peculiarity. strange perspective effects appear in those irregular hills: yonder they run out and form a low dark, purple headland, against which the pale green and yellow of a nearer tongue look bright by contrast. here for a few furlongs the range rises gray, cold, and monotonous; there it has a warmth of colour relieved by deep shadows, that change their tint during the hours that accompany the sun while he begins and ends his day. sitting on the summit of those dry hills, you will remark the contrasted landscape: on the one side, the level pasture land, league after league of grassy green, sprinkled with villages, farms, churches, and schools, where work and worship will find exercise through ages yet to come; on the other, league after league of tawny sand, sloping gently outwards to meet the great sea that ever foams or ripples thereupon. on the one hand, a living scene bounded by the distant wolds; on the other, a desert, sea and shore alike solitary, bounded only by the overarching sky. more thoughts come crowding into the mind in presence of such a scene than are easy to express." chapter v. the steppes:--the desert in russia, siberia, and tartary. hitherto we have only been speaking of miniature deserts, of the more limited of the world's wildernesses, where some degree of victory seems to reward man's arduous struggle with nature. those which we have hitherto described are open to the "breath of civilization." the pilgrim who visits them incurs no danger; he has nothing to dread from beasts of prey; the men he meets with obey the same general laws as himself; he is carried into their furthest recesses by the all-embracing railroad. he sees on every hand the efforts of science to confine the desert within ever narrower boundaries; to reclaim the moor, and the fen, and the sandy waste; to reap from the once barren soil an abundant harvest. but if he pass from england or france to germany, and thence across the provinces of unhappy poland, he will find himself daily advancing into a country of more and more savage aspect. he will observe that vegetation loses its happy variety; that the cultivated fields become scarcer; the morass and forest more frequent, and of greater extent; the population poorer, more squalid, and less numerous. wide and dreary intervals separate the different towns; here and there, surrounded by gloomy woods, are scattered the melancholy-looking villages. travelling becomes difficult, for the roads are ill-kept; he has left behind him the modern magician, the engineer; wild wolves haunt his path; and he has good cause to fear the robber's knife. civilization here has left barbarism for centuries to itself; we are approaching the great deserts, the steppes of northern asia. the steppes commence near the thirty-fifth degree of longitude, east of the dnieper, as soon as we quit the fertile plains of the ukraine to enter the country of the don cossacks. they are the characteristic feature of the immense zone which starts from the north-eastern shore of the sea of azov, stretches to the foot of caucasus, between the black and caspian seas, and is thence prolonged beyond the ural range, to the north and south of the metaliferous altaï; but mainly between the latter and the thian-shian mountains, to the seas of okhotsk and jesso. the word _steppe_, supposed to be of tartar origin, primarily signifies an uncultivated plain, a prairie. the steppes, in short, are ordinarily plains of very considerable extent interrupted at intervals by chains of hills or mountains; but, on the whole, of a level, monotonous character, and with a considerable part below the level of the ocean. their area may be roughly computed at , , square miles. occasionally, in traversing them, we meet with lakes or brackish ponds, with forests of pines, even with patches of cultivated ground. sometimes they form lofty and extensive plateaux, as in the case of the plateau of gobi, also called, but most inappropriately, _scha-mo_, or the sandy desert, and _scha-ho_, or the sandy river. the gobi begins upon the confines of chinese tartary, and thence extends over thousands of leagues in a vast expanse of sterile wilderness towards the coast of the pacific. it chiefly consists of bare rock, shingle, and loose sand, alternating with firm sand, sparsely clothed with vegetation. but a large portion of the country, though not less leafless and monotonous, assumes in the spring season the appearance of an undulating ocean of grass, supplying pasturage to the flocks and herds of the mongolian nomades, who wander at will over its vast prairie grounds, and encamp wherever they find a stream of water or sheltering crag. the general elevation above the sea is probably not less than feet. the gobi was crossed by mr. grant, in , and, soon afterwards, by mr. bishop, a correspondent of the _times_. though their general aspect is chill and dreary, the steppes are not without their romantic landscapes, and their vegetation is more varied as well as more abundant than is generally believed. you may find among them wide meads with a soil of sufficient fertility to produce corn in great quantities, although too thin to permit the development of plants which have need of a certain depth. "the most agreeable portion of these plains," says humboldt, "is adorned with small shrubs of the family _rosaceæ_, tulips, and the _cypripedium_. just as the torrid zone is distinguished by the tendency of all its plants to become trees, so some of the asiatic steppes in the temperate zones have the peculiar characteristic that all their flowering herbaceous plants attain to a remarkable height, such as the _saussurea_ and other synantheraceæ, the leguminous shrubs, and, above all, an infinite variety of astragals. if the traveller attempts to go forward, in the small tartar chariots, across these pathless, trackless prairies, he must keep standing, to ascertain his direction, and he will see the plants, interlaced as in a dense forest, bend before his wheels. some of these steppes are grassy plains; others are covered with saline plants, fleshy, articulated, and always green. often, too, one sees afar the glitter of saline efflorescence, like lichens, spreading unevenly over the glassy soil, like newly-fallen snow."[ ] comparing the asiatic steppes with the pampas of south america, humboldt does not hesitate to declare that the former are far the richer. "in that part of the steppes, inhabited by the kirghiz and the kalmucks, which i have traversed," he says, "that is to say, from the don, the caspian sea, and the oural (jaïk), to the obi and the upper irtysh, near lake dsaisang, over a space of forty degrees of longitude, one can never discover, even at the most distant limit, a phenomenon frequent in the llanos, the pampas, and the prairies of america; that horizon vague and boundless as the sea, which seems to support the vault of heaven. seldom in asia was the spectacle offered me of even a single side of the horizon. the steppes are traversed by numerous chains of hills, or covered with forests of conifers. the vegetation of asia, even in the richest pasturage, is nowhere confined to the families of the _cyperaceæ_. a great variety prevails there of herbaceous or frutescent plants. in the spring season, small rosaceæ and amygdalaceæ, with rosy or snow-white blossoms--spiræa, cratægus, prunus spinosa, amygdalus nana--present a graceful appearance. i have elsewhere spoken," he adds, "of the vigorous growth of synanthers, such as _suassurea amara_ and _salsa_, the _artemisias_ and blue _centaureas_, which grow profusely in these deserts, and the leguminosæ, which are there represented by different species of astragal, cytisus, and _caragana_. the fritillaria ruthenica, meleagroides, cypripedium, and tulip, delight the eye with the brilliance of their colours."[ ] this almost exclusively herbaceous, but abundant and various, vegetation of which humboldt speaks, is conspicuous in the spring, in the least favoured steppes, after the rainy season. but it is there of a brief life. in the month of june the heat grows intense, and the dryness excessive. then every herb perishes, cut down by the sun's keen-smiting rays, like the greeks before troy by the arrows of apollo. "bent was his bow, the grecian hearts to wound; fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound."[ ] the dust is whirled off the ground by the wind, and swept about in revolving tornados. the steppes situated in a comparatively low latitude thus alternately assume the most discordant aspects. in winter the heavy rains inundate them, and transform them into impracticable marshes; spring clothes them with a thick carpet of grasses and other herbaceous plants, so that they reveal to the eye leagues upon leagues of delightful sward cropped by numerous flocks. in summer they undergo a third metamorphosis, and are converted into parched and sun-scathed deserts like those of nubia or arabia. these periodical transformations are especially remarkable in the steppes of the black sea, the sea of azov, and the caspian sea; where winter comes attended with abundant snows and terrific tempests. no obstacle can arrest the fury of the gale, which accumulates the driven snow in fearful avalanches, and like the demon in the old german legend, drives before it the wild horses in an access of violence. half frozen by the cold, and exhausted with hunger, they fly in a complete panic. oftentimes their giddy headlong course carries them forward upon the crust of ice which gathers over the waters close to the shore; it cracks, it breaks, and hundreds perish! the melting snow and heavy rains at the end of winter drown the plains under vast sheets of water, which, however, quickly evaporate in the first rays of the sun. rain, in summer, is extremely rare, and as there are neither brooks nor springs to refresh the thin layer of earth in which the herbs and shrubs take root, all these plants enjoy only a butterfly existence; they bloom, they fade, they die, with startling rapidity. the hurricanes are neither less numerous nor less furious in the hot than in the cold season; dust, however, takes the place of snow, when, as is sometimes the case, no tremendous deluge of rain follows in the track of the mighty wind. to sum up: the spring and summer of the steppes are compressed (so to speak) into two months; all the rest of the year seems given over to desolation. two months in the year of bloom, and sunshine, and colour, and beauty, are all that nature grants the wandering mongolian. such being the general configuration of the steppes, one may easily imagine how stern and gloomy is the aspect of these immense plains, with no other interruptions of the soil than their tumuli, no other boundary than the sea. he who has not been habituated from youth to their monotony finds himself wholly unable to struggle against its depressing influence. their dismal solitudes are in truth an immeasurable prison, where he wanders to and fro without hope of escape. in vain does he interrogate the north and south, the east and the west; in vain does he turn from one side to the other; it is always the same uniformity, the same immovability, the same solitude.[ ] chapter vi. animal life in the steppes:--the wild horse--the camel. reference has been made to the numerous troops of wild horse which haunt the steppes on this side of the oural. similar troops of these animals wander over the whole extent of the steppes of central asia, which the most accredited modern naturalists repute to be the original cradle of their race. [illustration: the tarpan, or wild horse.] these horses are called _tarpans_, a word undoubtedly derived from the tartar. shall we look upon them as the representatives of the primitive breed, whence have sprung all the varieties known at the present day; or shall we see in them, as well as in the wandering horses of the prairies and pampas of the new world, the descendants of individuals which had escaped from the thraldom of man? this latter hypothesis seems to be the most probable. but there is good ground for believing that, living a wild life, these animals are gradually returning to the primitive type. they have lost the harmonious graces of form, the beauty, and the vigour which we admire in the high-bred steed, perfected by the assiduous care of man. there seems as great a difference between the arabian horse and the wild horse of the steppes as between the accomplished european gentleman and a malagasy savage. they are of small stature; their limbs are lank; their coat is coarse, woolly, rude, and rough. with the tarpans of the northern steppes it is thick, flaky, and frizzled. their mouth and nostrils are garnished with long hair, not unlike a goat. their colour is generally brown, of the shade called _isabelle_, after a certain queen of france who, in fulfilment of a vow, wore her linen unchanged for a considerable period. a few are black or white. they have a large head, with the forehead projecting above the eyes; a straight chamfer; and long ears, customarily laid back close to the head. the troops of the tarpans are subdivided into groups of twenty to thirty individuals, each group usually living apart, and only uniting in a compact phalanx when a common danger threatens, or a necessity arises of migrating from one region to another. the gaunt grim wolves, which hunger drives from their neighbouring forests; and man, who hunts them hotly, either to reduce them into subjection, or kill them for their flesh, are almost the only enemies they have any reason to dread. the warlike nomade tribes of the black and caspian coasts, and of central asia, have no other breeding-grounds than the steppe which they inhabit. thither come cossack, and mongol, and kirghis, and kalmuck, to choose their chargers. they catch them by means of a lasso, which they throw with surprising dexterity, and in a few days train them into a suitable docility. when in want of their hide or flesh, the nomades hunt them with gun, arrow, or spear; for hippophagy, which a few zealous amateurs are now endeavouring to popularize in france and england, has been practised from time immemorial by the inhabitants of the steppes. [illustration: wild horses terrified by a storm.] these barbarians, however, respect the life of their domestic animals, or sacrifice them only in cases of pressing need. they treat them also with a gentleness unknown to our european grooms and horse-dealers. with them, as with the arabs, the horse is a friend rather than a slave; he is, in truth, one of the family; and it is with great difficulty that his master consents to part with him. our travellers describe the tartar, mongol, and kirghiz horsemen as realizing the celebrated fable of the centaurs,--as becoming, so to speak, one with their horses. the exigencies of their wandering life require that they should be constantly on horseback; it is almost their home, their abode, their dwelling-place; there they are mounted day and night; there they sleep, prepare their food, and take their repasts. true that their cooking is of the rudest and simplest, and their taste not so fastidious as that of an european epicure! if, for example, they would make ready a piece of meat, they insert it between the saddle and the horse's skin, and in this impromptu oven leave it for a few hours, while it undergoes the processes of heat, pressure, and frequent friction, serving in some degree to cook it; then a pinch of salt for seasoning; and lo! a dainty titbit which our cavalier devours with the best appetite in the world. but it is to the inhabitants of the steppes of the black and caspian seas that the horse renders the most estimable services. to make use of a phrase of buffon's, "he shares with them the fatigue of war and the glory of battle;" he provides them with the best and swiftest means of transit; he nourishes them with his flesh, and the mare quenches their thirst with her milk. in _their_ dairies mares take the place of our european milch-cows, and are regularly milked once or twice a-day. the milk, warm, is employed as a medicine. it is thicker and more saccharine than that of ruminating animals, and this, undoubtedly, is the reason that the cossacks, tartars, and kalmucks have succeeded, by fermentation, in distilling alcohol from it, and procuring vinegar by acetifying it. they prepare with it an intoxicating liquor (_koumis_), to which they are very partial, and with which the wealthiest among them consider it an honour to be largely provided. by the side of the horse, we naturally place his humble congener and compatriot, the _ass_. nor need we be ashamed to devote a few lines to this useful animal, though civilization has appointed to it a very different lot from that of the horse. while man has devoted his utmost efforts to ennoble, as it were, and aggrandize the latter, to perfect his capabilities, develop his qualities, embellish and vary his form, for the former he has had nothing but contempt and harsh treatment. he has made the horse the companion of his campaigns, the minister to his sumptuous pleasures, the instrument of his grandest labours. he has dismissed the poor ass to the fields to carry the heaviest burdens, to share in the toil and privation of the peasant. in these different conditions, who will wonder that while the horse has become a strong, graceful, and proud-spirited animal, the ass, on the other hand, remains bowed and bent, with a rough coarse hide, lanky limbs, a heavy head,--always drooping, as if under the weight of continual lassitude and unconquerable melancholy,--and long ungraceful ears, which give his physiognomy an air of ridicule. everything in him bears the impress of degradation. how has he merited so obscure a destiny? alas, he is the victim of an iniquitous caprice of man. for see him in his natural condition; contrast with the well-worn servant of civilization the _onagra_,[ ] the free wild ass of the steppes, with the tarpan, and the parallel will be wholly to the advantage of the former. the onagra is at least of the same size; his ears are short; he carries aloft a well-proportioned head; his skin, of a handsome gray or yellowish-brown, is sleek and shining; his limbs are long, delicate, and nervous. he lives in very numerous troops, and migrates from north to south, and south to north, according to the season. the tartars employ him as a beast of transport and the saddle rather than as a beast of burden. they eat his flesh, preferring it to that of the wild horse. even the domestic ass of the east differs notably from the slow, dogged, ill-used animal of european notoriety. under a more favourable climate, and in the free life of the desert, he has preserved his tall stature, his vigour, and the haughtiness of his bearing. the wealthiest and most distinguished personages do not disdain to mount him or harness him to their carriage. he has a keen eye, a quick scent, a sure foot, a mild and resolute aspect. he accomplishes with ease from six to eight miles an hour; and, lastly--a fact worthy of notice--his life, which with us seldom exceeds fifteen years, in asia is frequently prolonged to thirty or thirty-five. he is less subject to sickness than the horse, and he almost equals the camel in sobriety, docility, and endurance of hunger and fatigue. [illustration: onagra, or wild ass.] whether the tartars and kalmucks, who use mares' milk as a medicine, attribute, as we do, certain therapeutical virtues to the milk of the ass, we are unable to say; but it is certain that this milk forms a portion of their daily food. on account of the strong proportion of saccharine _serum_ which it contains, it is well adapted for the preparation of the fermented drink already spoken of, known to the tartars under the name of _koumis_ or _kamuis_. mr. atkinson speaks of the large leathern _koumis_ sack or bottle, as an important piece of mongolian furniture. one which he saw was five feet eight inches long, and four feet five inches wide, with a leathern tube at the corner about four inches in diameter, through which the milk is poured into the bag, and the _koumis_ drawn out. a wooden instrument is introduced into this bag, its handle passing through the tube, not unlike a churning staff; with this the _koumis_ is frequently agitated. the kirghiz begin making it in april, and its due agitation and fermentation occupy about fourteen days.[ ] * * * * * the horse, and a few flocks of sheep and herds of horned cattle, amply suffice for the wants of the warlike tribes in the south of asiatic russia. these tribes have almost entirely abandoned the use of the camel. but as we advance eastward, we find these gigantic and mis-shapen ruminants in great numbers, the faithful companions and indispensable auxiliaries of the nomades of the east. they wander freely about the steppes, in troops of several hundreds, browzing indifferently on the grass of the wide pastures or the foliage of the bushes. they are without fierceness, and the traveller who intrudes upon their immense domains seems only to inspire in them a benevolent curiosity. "it is impossible to describe," says madame hommaire de hell, "the astonishment they exhibited as we passed them. as soon as they caught sight of us, they ran with all speed towards us, and then stood motionless, with heads turned towards our cavalcade, until we had got to such a distance as to be no longer distinguishable." "gold and silk," says buffon, "are not the true wealth of asia. the _camel_ is the treasure of the east." it is a fact that this animal is wonderfully adapted to supply the wants of the desert races. it may be said to supply them with every object of primary necessity; food, clothing, and even habitation, fire, and the means of transport. the flesh of the young camel, though inferior to beef or mutton, is savoury and easy of digestion; the she-camel yields an abundance of milk as substantial and agreeable to the taste as that of the cow. the camel's skin is, it is true, a coarse wool, but long, tenacious, and readily wrought. the mongols make it into tissues and cord. out of the tissues they weave their clothing, coverings, and tents; with the cord, which is of various thicknesses, they fabricate the harness of their horses and other objects of equipment. camel-leather is not inferior in suppleness and solidity to that which we make use of in europe. the dung of these animals, dried in the sun, serves as fuel not only for cooking food, but even for working metals. finally, as a beast of burden, the camel surpasses every other in strength, swiftness, endurance of fatigue, and, above all, in that proverbial sobriety which enables him to accomplish a journey of several successive days without taking either food or drink. from nature he has received a special organization, which well justifies his arab name of "the ship of the desert." it consists essentially in the structure of his feet, in that of his stomach, and in the species of hunch or hump which he carries on his back. we know, in the first place, that the camel's foot does not resemble that of other ruminants; it is bifurcated, but the two toes, very strong and much elongated, are furnished not with a hoof, but with a short nail, adhering only to the final phalange; they are, moreover, _palmated_; that is to say, reunited near the extremity by a carneous membrane, which is supplied underneath with a veritable thick and horny _sole_. the foot can thus plant itself on a wide surface, and seems expressly adapted to the shifting sandy soil which the camel usually traverses. as for the stomach, beside the four compartments into which the stomach of all ruminants is divided, we notice, on the sides of the paunch, a mass of cubic cells, or partitions, always containing a quantity of tolerably pure water, very drinkable, and kept as a kind of reserve supply; so that more than one traveller, when crossing the desert, and perceiving neither fountain, well, nor stream in which to quench his devouring thirst, has preserved his life at the expense of that of his camel, by killing the poor animal, and opening his reservoir to drink its contents. [illustration: bactrian camel.] the hump, of which the arabian camel, or dromedary, has but one, while the bactrian, or camel properly so called, has two, is, in truth, "a storehouse of solid nutriment, on which he can draw for supplies long after every digestible part has been extracted from the contents of the stomach: this storehouse consists of one or two large collections of fat stored up in ligamentous cells supported by the spines of the dorsal vertebræ. when the camel is in a region of fertility, the hump becomes plump and expanded; but after a protracted journey in the wilderness it becomes shrivelled and reduced to its ligamentous constituent, in consequence of the absorption of the fat."[ ] to be deprived of drink for from eight to ten days is no hardship to the camel. accredited authorities testify that without any serious inconvenience he can go without drink for twenty-three and even twenty-five days. in the way of solid food, a ball of cake weighing from a pound to a pound and a quarter, will suffice him for a whole day. often when he has set out on his journey fasting, he contents himself with browsing on the way a few green or dry bushes, and in the evening sups on a handful of dried beans. but this singular abstemiousness is not his sole good quality; his vigour, his docility, his swiftness render him equally valuable. the ordinary burden of a small camel is from to lbs.; a large camel will carry lbs. or upwards, from thirty to thirty-five miles a-day; but the _maharis_, or those which are used for speed alone, will travel daily from twenty to thirty leagues. the camel of the steppes, in eastern europe and central asia, is, as i have already hinted, the bactrian or camel strictly so called. this animal differs from his african congener in several very important physical characteristics, and perhaps also in some moral peculiarities. his two humps are smaller than the one hump of the dromedary. he is a little larger than the latter; his average stature is from six feet and a half to seven feet. his hair, of a deep chestnut brown, almost woolly on the humps, the head, and the upper part of the neck, is short and smooth on the body, and hangs in long fringes below the neck and around the fore-legs. he endures without inconvenience the most opposite temperatures, great heat and extreme cold, so that his habitat naturally ranges over an immense extent of country. he is found throughout the zone of the steppes, even to the confines of siberia, on the borders of lake baïkal; he was formerly still more common in hindostan, but has now almost disappeared, owing to the great consumption entailed by the military expeditions of our east indian government. the camel is an excellent traveller, but his gait is rough and awkward, and almost insupportable by those who have not been long habituated to it. in this relation we may borrow an anecdote from madame hommaire de hell:[ ] her dragoman, a frenchman, named antoine, curious to essay this new species of equestrian practice, begged a kalmuck in the escort to lend him his camel. the request being readily granted, he perched himself on the extremity of the saddle, in "measureless contentment" with his lofty post, and by no means mindful of the malicious smiles exchanged between the cossacks and the camel-drivers. scarcely had the beast advanced four paces, however, before his face turned pale, and he clung to the saddle, with a most pitiful countenance, and imploring help in the most agonizing tones. "one need be a kalmuck," says madame de hell, "to be capable of enduring the trot of a camel. his jerky gait shakes the body so severely, that a long journey is a positive punishment, even for the cossacks. the unfortunate antonio, left some distance behind by the escort, made a vain effort to overtake us; he was compelled, willy-nilly, to retain his steed as far as the caspian sea, where he arrived about two hours after ourselves. i have never seen a man more _demoralized_. his groans, when he was lifted off the camel, were so lamentable, that we really hardly knew what to think of his condition." as for the camel's moral qualities, the same lively writer furnishes a very different estimate to what we gather from the majority of travellers. she represents him as idle, pettish, and very vindictive. "all that we had read," says she, "of the rapidity of these ships of the desert; their insensibility to fatigue, to hunger, to thirst; their tractability to the will of man exceeding the obedience of the leaf to the wind, was completely contradicted by the conduct of these quadrupeds, little careful to maintain their reputation for agility. despite of a stout cord passed through one of the nostrils, and which caused them a sharp pain every time they became refractory, they would not march more than two successive hours without flinging themselves on the ground. we had to battle with them incessantly to rouse them from their torpor, and prevent them from biting one another. whenever a camel-driver pulled a little roughly his animal's guiding-string, we heard a succession of cries, all the more frightful from their resemblance to the human voice. in a word, these camels behaved so ill during their short journey, that we entirely lost the good opinion our great naturalist (buffon) had given us of their species, in descriptions more poetical than true." notwithstanding antoine's discouraging experience of camel-riding, madame de hell, a few days afterwards, essayed the same experiment, with the result that, like her poor dragoman, she made a vow never to repeat it. somewhat later, she had an opportunity of witnessing a very curious illustration--and one very amusing to the lookers-on--of the natural vindictiveness of these rough steeds. we give the adventure in her own words:-- "everybody knows that the camel possesses the faculty of ruminating the food already stored in one of his stomachs, and that he willingly enough grants himself this pleasure when he has nothing to eat; but it is not generally known, perhaps, that he possesses sufficient malice to make, when an opportunity arises, this prerogative a means of vengeance. "i had noticed in the morning that one of our camel-drivers appeared on bad terms with his beast. he vainly tried to master him by punishment, pulling with all his might the cord which passed through the animal's nostril; the latter was obstinate, and threw himself every moment on the ground, a proof of rebellion. the kalmuck, irritated by the struggle, profited by a halt to dismount, and inflict severe chastisement on the recalcitrant; but the camel, disdainfully raising his long neck, followed with so malicious an eye all his tyrant's movements, that without doubt he was revolving some project of revenge in his head. and so it happened that he quietly waited until the kalmuck stood opposite to him; then, opening his great mouth, he ejected full in the camel-driver's face a double volley of masticated herbs, mixed with slaver and all sorts of filthiness. it would be impossible to describe the air of satisfied vengeance with which the camel raised his neck, and moved his head from one side to another, as if in quest of applause. what astonished me most in this affair was his master's moderation after undergoing such an outrage. he wiped himself coolly, remounted his saddle, and caressed the neck of the ill-bred animal, as if he had received the most flattering compliment. a good understanding being thus strangely re-established, they went on their way peaceably, without giving another thought to what had taken place." chapter vii. the animal life of the steppes:--wild ruminating animals--rodents--carnivora--birds. besides those species of which we have just spoken, and which man has subjugated to his service, the steppes nourish a host of other animals which seem for ever destined to a savage life. some are spread through the entire zone of the steppes, and include representatives of the genera or species belonging to the temperate latitudes of europe. but most of them are circumscribed in more or less limited habitats, out of which they would not meet with the conditions of climate or provision that are essential to their existence. the mammalia which are found in the plains of eastern europe and central asia belong principally to the orders of _ruminants_,[ ] _rodents_, and _carnaria_. cuvier divides the ruminants into two great sections: one comprising the ruminants without horns (genera, _camel_, _lama_, and _chevrotain_); and the other, those _with_ horns. the latter he again divides into ruminants with decaying or wooden horns (these are the _cervidæ_ of the new nomenclature), ruminants with membraneous horns (as the giraffes), and ruminants with hollow horns (oxen, goats, antelopes, sheep). * * * * * [illustration: the eland (_antilope oreas_).] the section of ruminants without horns is represented in the steppes by the camel. of the three groups of horned ruminants, one only is wanting in this region of the old continent--namely, that of the ruminants with membranous horns; but we meet there with varieties of all the species included among the cervidæ, except the reindeer, which is confined to the glacial countries of both continents. the common european stag is found on this side of the oural, in the steppes bordering on the forests, where he prefers to seek an asylum. the _ahu_, or roebuck of tartary, inhabits the valleys and plains which stretch to the north of the himalaya and along the chain of the thian-chan. deer wander in troops, or in isolated couples, in all the temperate and fertile portions of the zone of the steppes, and the eland is spread over all asia between the th and st degree of latitude. the latter is the largest of all the cervidæ. it ordinarily attains, and sometimes exceeds, the stature of the horse. his antlers, spread out perpendicularly to the axis of his head, take at first a nearly horizontal direction, then spring upwards in an abrupt curve. at their extremity they terminate in a broad palm, set with sharp snags around its outer edge. their weight, for adults, averages from fifty-five to sixty-five pounds. the eland has a short robust neck, which is necessary to enable him to support the burden of his branching honours; but which, joined to the projection of his shoulders, and the disproportionate length of his fore-legs, gives him a very ungraceful aspect. nor can he browse the herbage without making a great digression or falling on his knees. the male, moreover, under the throat has a sort of goître, or swelling, garnished with a rude pointed beard. the female wears a beard, but has no goître. the neck is surmounted with a short, stiff, blackish mane. the rest of the hair is of a pronounced gray. the eland inhabits the marshy plains and banks of rivers; he dreads the heat, and to escape it will often remain during the long summer days plunged up to his neck in the cool waters. he lives with his comrades in tolerably numerous herds. the first birth of the female is only one; afterwards she produces two at a time. frequently the eland attains a prodigious stature. an individual killed in the altaï measured four feet and a half in height to the shoulder, and four feet and a third in length. his flesh is said to be light and nourishing; his hide excellent for making shoulder-belts; and his antlers are converted to the same uses as the horns of the stag. * * * * * among the hollow-horned ruminants i may mention the _saiga_, a kind of antelope which inhabits the asiatic steppes, and is met with even in poland. in figure he takes the poetical elegance of the gazelle; his horns are of a clear yellow colour, and of a transparency which rivals that of tortoise-shell. his forehead is covered with transversal folds; he has no muzzle, properly speaking, but a kind of snout like that of a hog. it is said that he drinks through his nostrils. the saigas travel in herds of about two thousand each, of whom a certain number keep always some distance in advance, in the rear, and on the flanks of the main host, so as to watch over their security. * * * * * another kind of gazelle, the _dseren_, is peculiar to the mongolian deserts, and named by the inhabitants the _yellow stag_. his stature is little inferior to that of the deer. the female is without horns. * * * * * the _moufflon_,[ ] the original of our domestic sheep, sometimes strays into the plains of central asia, but prefers the solitude of the mountains. his general size is that of a small fallow deer, but though clothed with hair instead of wool, he bears a closer resemblance to the ram than to any other animal. in summer his hair is close, but in winter it becomes rough, wavy, and slightly curled. on the upper part of the body it is brown, but the under part and insides of the limbs are whitish. the hair is considerably longer under the throat, and about the neck and shoulders, than elsewhere. we may refer, in this connection, to the _egagra_, or wild goat, which cuvier considers to have been the original stock of the numerous races of goats spread over various regions of the globe. * * * * * the steppes nourish two species of _rodents_: the varying hare (_lepus variabilis_), so called because he changes from tawny gray in summer to white in winter; and a gray squirrel, which is probably only a variety of our common european squirrel. he is not a climber and a "haunter of the woods," like his congener. he abounds in the mongolian steppes, where he lives in holes excavated under the earth, like the rats and rabbits. he is, however, much more ingenious than the other troglodyte-rodents; he shelters the entrance to his abode under a domed roof, skilfully constructed of dry herbs woven together, and covered with clay. these works closely resemble the mounds upheaved by moles. * * * * * the carnaria of the _felidæ_, or feline family, are wanting, or nearly so, in the immense zone which we are considering. except a species of lynx, the _chilason_ or _chulon_, whose existence has been recognized in the north of tartary; and a few tigers which adventure into mongolia, we may say that the asiatic steppes, and, therefore, also those of europe, are exempt from these inconvenient guests. the most dangerous, and almost the only enemy which man and the herbivora have reason to dread, is the _wolf_. this animal, now very rare in western europe, where his race will soon disappear, is still found in great numbers in the wild lithuanian forests, in russia, and all northern and central asia. to him, as to other animals of the _canidæ_, cold appears more favourable than heat, and it is in countries where the average temperature seldom rises high he attains his greatest dimensions. in lithuania wolves are often met with which measure three feet and a half in length, without the tail. those of northern asia are also of a great size and nerve, of terrible strength and audacity; they have been seen to pounce on a sheep, and carry it off at full speed. they intrude in quest of victims into the towns, the villages, and the encampments; combat to the last with their enemies; and when vanquished die without a groan. generally they lurk in the woods and forests; but hunger, according to the proverb, drives them forth from their lairs. then they assemble in vast hordes; they pursue, they assail, they defend, with ingenious tactic, skilfully availing themselves of the disposition and accidents of the ground. their manoeuvres vary according to the nature of the game or the enemy. in general, if a man preserve an upright bearing and a bold countenance, they will not attack him; they follow him stealthily, however, prepared to pounce upon him if, unhappily, he should stumble or falter. but the wolves of tartary, far from sharing in this deference towards the lord of creation, display a singular bitterness against him. "it is remarked," says the jesuit missionary huc, "that the mongolian wolves attack man more willingly than any animals; one sees them sometimes galloping through innumerable flocks of sheep, without inflicting any injury, in order to dash upon the shepherd. in the neighbourhood of the great wall they frequently descend upon the tartar-chinese villages, enter the farms, turn aside with contempt from the domestic animals which they encounter, and penetrate even into the interior of the houses to select their victims, seizing them invariably by the throat and strangling them. not a village in tartary but has every year to deplore some calamity of this kind. one might say that the wolves of this country sought specially to avenge themselves on men for the blood-thirsty war the tartars wage against them." and it is true that in their pursuit of these animals the inhabitants of the steppes display not only an ardour which would be legitimate, but a fierce and uncontrollable cruelty. [illustration: capture of a wolf by a kirghiz horseman.] "they pursue them everywhere _à outrance_," remarks m. huc; "they regard them as their chief enemy, on account of the terrible losses they inflict upon their flocks. the news that a wolf has made his appearance in the neighbourhood is for everybody a signal to 'mount and ride away.' and as each cavalier has always two or three saddled horses in waiting near his tent, the plain is speedily covered, as if by enchantment, with a cloud of eager horsemen. their weapon is a long rod.[ ] thus, in whatever direction the wolf may seek to escape, he encounters a band of determined adversaries, whose cry, as they precipitate themselves upon their traditional foe, is 'no quarter!' there are no mountain-sides so rugged or so difficult, that the nimble horses of the tartars cannot pursue him thither. the cavalier who finally overtakes the beast, flings a lasso round his neck as he passes at full gallop, and drags him in his rapid track to the nearest tent. there they firmly bind up his muzzle, that they may proceed to torture him with impunity, closing up the tragic scene by flaying him alive, and then setting him free. in the summer the miserable animal will live in this condition for several days; but in winter, exposed without his furry coat to the rigour of the season, he dies almost immediately, frozen to death."[ ] it is generally considered that the wolf is an animal as cowardly as he is fierce, because he flies before man when man does not retreat before him, and because he kills unoffending animals. but we forget that man acts in a precisely similar manner. numerous experiments, and especially those of cuvier, have clearly proved that the wolf is fully capable of being domesticated, is very sensible of kindly treatment, and will as readily grow familiar with, and attached to, his master, as the best of dogs. we must, therefore, refer his ferocity to the instinct of self-preservation and of a vengeance too frequently excited; just as at the cape of good hope, the unfortunate bosjesmen, formerly treated like beasts by the dutch colonists, though naturally of a peaceable disposition, became active and cruel aggressors, and daring assailants, against the enemies who had exhausted their patience. * * * * * two other wild beasts of the dog genus, the _korsak_ and the _karogun_, are eagerly hunted by the tartars, especially by the kirghiz. but the chase, in this instance, is carried on for industrial purposes. the fur of these animals is very valuable, and the kirghiz hunters carry thousands every year to the great market of orenburg. the korsak is a species of fox. in colour he closely resembles the jackal; but he has a long tail, with a black tuft at the tip, and on each side of the head a brown stripe extends from the eye to the muzzle. he ranges over all the steppes of tartary, and lives in burrows like the foxes. the natives pretend that he never drinks. he is a very handsome animal, and when, towards the close of the sixteenth century, several individuals were brought to europe, he became quite the fashion. all the great ladies of the court were desirous of possessing one, which they tended in their chambers, and when promenading in the parks, often led about like a spaniel. the mania was of brief duration, but it clearly showed how easily the animal could be tamed and reared. buffon has confounded the karogun with the isatis or polar fox, and other animals with the korsak. he is equally distinct from the one as from the other, and the kirghiz never make a mistake, though they hunt for both in the same districts. his skin is of an ashen gray on the back, and a pale yellow under the belly. his fur is not less precious than that of the korsak. * * * * * the wild ornithology of the steppes comprises some migratory palmipedes, a few gallinaceæ, and some predatory birds of the falcon family. gulls, wild ducks, herons, curlews, and especially pelicans, people the shores of the black sea, the sea of azov, and the caspian, with the banks of the rivers that flow into them, and the neighbouring pools. the cossack and kalmük chiefs, who now ardently cherish the love of falconry that was so marked a trait in the character of the mediæval nobles, hunt these birds with much enthusiasm, save, indeed, the pelican, whose flesh is not edible. the _herons_ form, in the order _grallatores_ and the tribe _cultirostres_ (knife-like beak), a family (_ardeidæ_) composed of numerous species, several of which inhabit or frequent the marshes, lakes, and streams of the region of the steppes. "o'er yonder lake the while, what bird about that wooded isle, with pendant feet and pinions slow, is seen his ponderous length to row? 'tis the tall heron's awkward flight, his crest of black, and neck of white, far sunk his gray-blue wings between, and giant legs of murky green."[ ] the most remarkable species is the great white heron (_ardea alba_), or yellow-billed white egret, clothed in plumage of snowy white, with a long yellow bill, long lank limbs, and black feet; length about forty inches. on the nape and the croup his feathers are long and flexible, wavy, and with tapering ends; they are eagerly sought after for purposes of adornment. we may also mention the great bittern, the "bird of desolation" (_botauris stellaris_)--which the french expressively name _eau-mère_, or "water-mother," and which derives its zoological appellation from the latin words _bos_ and _taureau_, in allusion to the booming, bellowing sound of his hoarse voice. his plumage is of a pale yellow, marked with brown and nest-coloured zig-zag patches and shades. from the fulness of the feathers about his neck, he presents a very quaint, and even ridiculous appearance; but he is a bird of courage, and even of ferocity, striking with keen bill at the eyes of his antagonist. when attacked by dogs or other carnivora, he will throw himself upon the ground, and fight with both claws and bill unto the very last. [illustration: . great bittern. . white heron or egret. . curlew.] the _curlew_ is allied to the ibis, differing from it only in secondary particulars, and notably in the form of his bill, which is thinner, and rounded in its whole length. his tail resembles the hen's; the plumage of the head, neck, and fore part of the back, is light reddish-gray, streaked with dark-brown; the hind part of the back is white, with dark narrow longitudinal markings; the tail, breast, and abdomen are white, the former crossed with black bars, and the latter with dark marks and spots of a similar shape to those on the back. the female lays four excessively large pyriform eggs, about three inches long. the cry of the curlew is loud, wild, and plaintive. these birds assemble in numerous flocks, and live on the sea-coast and the marsh-border, feeding on worms and molluscs. at breeding-time they separate into pairs, and haunt the wild hills and dreary moorlands,-- "remote from human sight, in lonely pairs their vernal flight they speed o'er heathy mountain rude, on some waste marsh's solitude, to the tall grass or bristling reed their wild unnestled young to breed." the species of _pelican_ which inhabits the shores of the black and caspian seas is the common (_pelicanus onocrotalus_). we must not pass unnoticed this well-known wader, which has for ages been invested with an atmosphere of song and fable, and which is specially remarkable for the bright yellow membranous pouch attached to the lower mandible of his long robust bill. this pouch, says broderip, will hold a considerable number of fish, and thus enables the bird to dispose of the superfluous quantity which may be taken during fishing excursions, either for his own consumption or for the nourishment of his young. "in feeding the nestlings--and the male is said to supply the wants of the female, when sitting, in the same manner--the under mandible is pressed against the neck and breast, to assist the bird in disgorging the contents of the capacious pouch; and during this action the red nail of the upper mandible would appear to come in contact with the breast, thus laying the foundation, in all probability, for the _fable_ that the pelican nourishes her young with her blood, and for the attitude in which the imagination of painters has placed the bird in books of emblems, with the blood spirting from the wounds made by the terminating nail of the upper mandible into the gaping mouths of her offspring." it is usually in the evening or the morning that these birds gather about the lonely shores to fish in company, like a party of sociable izaak waltons, and proceeding, as nordmann remarks, upon a systematic plan, which is apparently the result of a kind of concerted agreement. they select a suitable station--a shallow bay with a smooth bottom. there they arrange themselves in a half-circle, the bill turned towards the ground, and keeping at a distance of from ten to twelve feet. with their wings they beat the water hurriedly, and sometimes plunge in up to their middle, gradually wading towards the beach, and driving the fish before them into a very narrow channel. now the feast commences, and other birds never fail to profit by the ingenious labours of the pelican. nordmann counted, on one occasion, forty-nine pelicans fishing together in this fashion on the shores of the black sea. "besides these forty-nine," he adds, "there were assembled on the heaps of algæ, confervæ, and shells cast ashore by the sea, hundreds of sea-mews, sea-swallows, sea-daws, preparing to snatch the fish out of the water, and to divide amongst themselves the remains of the banquet. finally, several grebes swimming in the area circumscribed by the semicircle of fishers, while this space was still sufficiently broad, played their part at the welcome feast, frequently plunging after the scared and terrified fish." the _bustard_ and the _grouse_, or heather-cock, are common enough in the prairies of central asia. crows and numerous birds of prey also flock thither in search of their dead or living prey. travellers speak of a _black eagle_ of mongolia which the mongols and kalkas train to hunt the _moufflon_, the yellow goat, and the saiga. we cannot find the bird described under this name by any naturalist, nor can we determine whether he is an eagle properly so called, or whether he is not rather the cosmopolitan black kite (_milvus ater_), which rises so fiercely on his plumed wings, "and hunts the air for plunder." we may mention, as also proper to central asia, the _aquila bifasciata_ of dr. gray, and several species of buzzards, hawks, and falcons. these _raptores_ live very peacefully in the desert solitudes, where none disturb them; and so little do they fear man, that they venture into the mongol encampments and carry off the provisions destined for the travellers' refreshment. an incident of this nature is recorded by the abbé huc, who, with his companions, was at the time preparing to sup on a quarter of a kid skilfully "dished up" by their tartar neophyte, samdadchiemba. "we had just seated ourselves," says m. huc, "in a triangle on the grassy sward, having in our midst the lid of the pot which served instead of a dish, when suddenly a noise like thunder broke over our heads. a great eagle fell like an arrow on our supper, and rose again with the same rapidity, carrying off in his claws some slices of kid. when we had recovered from our surprise, we had nothing better to do than laugh at the adventure. however, samdadchiemba could not laugh, not he; he was exceedingly wroth, not on account of the stolen kid, but because the eagle, in flying off, had insolently buffeted him with the tip of his wing.... [illustration: the eagle of the steppes, and the antelope saiga.] "the eagle," adds our author, "is found almost everywhere in the deserts of tartary. you see him sometimes hovering and wheeling round and round in the air; sometimes, perched upon a hillock in the middle of the plain, he remains there for a long time as motionless as a sentinel. often we encounter him on the ground, apparently larger than an ordinary sheep; when we draw near, he is compelled, before he can rise into the air, to make a long detour, agitating his heavy wings; after which, succeeding in lifting himself a little above the ground, he soars aloft at pleasure." * * * * * the erpetological fauna of the steppes is little known, and is probably very scanty. unfortunately, this region has not been explored by scientific naturalists, and the unprofessional travellers who have visited it do not appear to have met with any reptiles which seemed to them worthy of detailed notice. atkinson, however, speaks of the stony ridges of the plain as "swarming with _serpents_."--"i observed," he says,[ ] "four varieties: a black one, three feet eight inches long, and about one inch and an eighth in diameter. another was of slaty-gray colour, from two to three feet long, and smaller in diameter than the black snake. this breed was numerous, and often difficult to see, they so nearly resembled the colour of some of the rocks. we also found some of an ashy-green and black, with deep crimson specks on the sides; as they moved along in the sun the colours were most brilliant." another, which mr. atkinson's companions killed, was of a dark-brown, with greenish and red marks on the sides, and evidently very venomous. he measured five feet two inches and a half without his head, and four inches and a quarter round his body. chapter viii. the inhabitants of the steppes:--tartars, cossacks, kalmÜks, kirghiz, mongols. the steppes of tartary and mongolia, interrupted, says humboldt,[ ] by chains of mountains of various aspects, separate the ruder peoples of northern asia from the primitive races, which have been for ages civilized, of hindostan and thibet. their existence has influenced the destinies of mankind in various important ways. they have rolled back the populations towards the south, and more than the himálaya, more than the snow-crowned peaks of serinagur and goorkha, have raised an obstacle to the alliances of peoples, while opposing, in the north of asia, insuperable barriers to the refinement of manners and the genius of the arts. but it is not only as barriers that history should regard the plains of central asia; they have several times let loose on earth a torrent of calamity and devastation. the pastoral races of the steppes--mongols, getæ, alans, and huns--have convulsed the world. if, in the course of ages, intellectual culture has directed its course from east to west, like the vivifying light of the sun, barbarism at a later period has followed in the same track, when threatening to plunge all europe into darkness. a people of tawny shepherds, tou-kin (that is to say, turkish) in origin, the hioung-nou, inhabited, under tents of skin, the elevated steppe of the gobi. long formidable to the chinese power, a horde of the hioung-nou was driven back towards the south into central asia. the impulse which they gave spread uninterruptedly even into the native country of the fins, on the borders of the oural, and thence the huns, the avars, the chasurs, and various mixtures of asiatic races, poured forth in furious violence. the hunnish hosts first appeared on the banks of the volga, then in pannonia, and finally on the banks of the marne, and on those of the po, ravaging the beautiful fields where, from the days of antenor, the genius of man had accumulated its glorious monuments. thus from the mongolian deserts blew a pestiferous wind, which choked even in the cisalpine plains the delicate blossom of art, the object of such tender and continual cares. our english traveller, atkinson, has called the steppes "the cradle of invasions;" and this not only because from their solitudes issued the hordes which devastated europe in the first centuries of the middle ages, but because russia and austria have found therein those truculent soldiers of repulsive aspect who, in their hands, have become, even in our own day, the scourge of the free and civilized nations they would fain have subjugated. in the present day the steppes of eastern europe and of asia are still the asylum of savagery, if not of barbarism. the tribes scattered over them are more or less closely allied to that fraction of the human family which ethnographists designate under the name of the "turanian." those of the east belong exclusively to the mongolian branch, and those of the west partly to the mongolian and partly to the turkish, more or less modified by their mixture with the slave branch of the great caucasian family. to all these peoples we commonly apply the term tartaro, or tartars, which originally "was a name of the mongolic races, but through their political ascendancy in asia after chingis-khan (a.d. ), it became usual to call all the tribes which were under mongolian sway by the name of tartar."[ ] it now really belongs to the small tribe of turkic origin which, after occupying turkistan, has spread even into the crimea. we must distinguish from it, however, the cossacks, or kosaks, who inhabit the ukraine, the banks of the don and the dnieper, and who are more closely related to the slave family than the mongolian race. we shall pass in rapid review the principal hordes which inhabit the steppes, from the western border to the eastern extremity of these deserts. the first tribe which we encounter on the shores of the sea of azov and the black sea is that of the tartar-nogáis, who formerly lived north-east of the caspian. "pressed by the kalmüks, or mongolic tribe, the nogáis advanced westward as far as astrachan. peter i. transferred them thence to the north of the caucasian mountains, where they still graze their flocks on the shores of the kuban and the kuma." of late years, however, they have begun to settle themselves in permanent habitations, owing to the exertions of a french emigré, count maison, who was appointed their governor in . they now occupy (according to madame hommaire de hell) all the territory comprised between the sea of azov and the river of malochnia-vodi. they number about , souls, spread over seventy villages. their huts are small, with a roof constructed of beams of timber, covered with reeds, which are afterwards loaded with clay and ashes. they occupy themselves wholly in rearing horses and cattle. the horses of the kalmük-kirghiz breed are of moderate stature, but nimble and robust. all the year round they roam across the plains, and in winter seek their provender beneath the snow. the horned cattle are small and puny, the cows yield but a poor supply of milk, and are of scarcely any value. the aged nogáis shave the hair entirely off; the young people preserve a single tuft on the top of the head. this custom compels them to wear constantly a bonnet of wool or lamb's skin. a short caftan over a shirt of cotton or woollen, bound round the waist by a leather belt; loose, wide trousers; in winter a pelisse of sheep's skin and a kind of hood enveloping the head and shoulders, compose the dress of the males. as for the women, they wear above the chemise a caftan of cloth, girded about the form by a large belt ornamented with great metal buckles; they likewise figure in turkish trousers and slippers, with a long white veil fastened round the head, and allowed to fall upon the shoulders; small silver rings adorn the fingers and the nose; heavy ear-drops hang from their ears, the two being frequently linked together by a chain passing under the chin. the young girls dress their hair in a multiplicity of curls, and instead of the veil wear a small red fez, garnished with pieces of metal and all kinds of trinkets. the nogáis are mohammedans, of the sect called sunnites (or believers in the "sunna," the sayings and aphorisms traditionally attributed to the prophet). their name is derived from that of their first chief, the grandson of chingis-khán, who, about , declared himself independent of the kapchakian empire, and established himself with his warriors on the borders of the black sea. * * * * * the kosaks (or cossacks) are, as we have said, slaves rather than tartars. they have blue eyes, red hair, thick lips, a flat nose. nimble, robust, indefatigable, skilful horsemen, they furnish the russian army with a formidable host of irregulars. some have fixed their homes in the towns, but the majority inhabit the villages or _stanitzas_ scattered over the steppes. very few are agriculturists. either they devote themselves to breeding horses and cattle, or live on the small pension allowed them for their military services. nearly all the young and hardy of the males have no other trade but that of arms. the cossack chieftains, their hetmans, or attamans, derive their authority directly from the czar. their religion is that of the russian greek church; and they are, we believe, the only christians in the entire zone of the steppes. bold and resolute robbers in time of war, the cossacks "at home" are peaceable, kindly-natured, and more honest than the russian mongiks. the erroneous ideas which still prevail respecting their character are mainly due to french prejudices, excited by the disastrous events of and , when the jingle of their arms resounded in the streets of paris. but they are not really so black as they have been painted. the traveller passes through the country which they inhabit with the utmost security, and is received in their stanitzas with a hospitable welcome. these stanitzas, if we may credit madame hommaire de hell, present a far more agreeable appearance than the russian villages. they consist of small wooden houses, gaily painted. there is but one story, which is surrounded by a miniature gallery, and seems expressly constructed to please the eye. the interior is exceedingly neat and pretty, indicating an intelligence and an idea of comfort which the russians never exhibit. you will find it enriched with towels, dishes of delft ware, forks, and all the most necessary utensils. usually two huts are built in one block; the first, which we have just described, is occupied for a summer residence; it contains, generally, one room hung with paper of a lively design, and adorned with images, flowers, and trophies of arms, which is reserved for state occasions and the entertainment of strangers. the second hut, built of dried clay, resembles the russian _kates_, consisting of a single chamber, where all the household huddle together during the winter to shelter themselves from the cold. the traveller seldom sees in these stanitzas any but women and children. with the exception of a few gray veterans, who have purchased by forty years of service the right of dying under the home-roof, the entire male population is under arms. thus all the work falls upon the shoulders of the women, who must repair the houses, cleanse and dry the furs, take care of the children, and watch the cattle. the cossack soldiers, regulars and irregulars, are the guardians of the steppes. to them is intrusted the security of the traveller, who is much exposed to the attacks of nomadic turkomen, whose only occupation is robbery. the surveillance of these immense plains is not so difficult, however, nor does it necessitate so large a force as you might suppose. small watch-posts, or platforms, of extreme simplicity of design, are raised at intervals on the higher grounds; they consist of four long stout poles planted in the earth, and supporting a timber floor, which is sometimes sheltered by a roof of timber. these are the observatories, the prospect-towers of the cossacks, who can thus obtain a survey over an immense sweep of country, and exchange signals with one another. the horsemen always remain stationed under the platform, ready to leap into the saddle and to gallop wherever their presence may be required. * * * * * [illustration: cossack horsemen in the steppes.] in the steppes of the caspian sea the cossacks give place to the kalmüks, or olöts, a people of the mongolic race, who originally inhabited turkistan, but abandoned that country, in , for the banks of the volga. their life is wholly nomadic. they encamp under tents called _kibitkas_, formed of a trellis-work of wood covered with thick felt. in stature they do not often exceed the middle height; they are thin and ugly, with a swarthy skin, a large flat countenance, little eyes, broad nose, thick lips, and frizzled beard. they are inoffensive, hospitable like all eastern people, but idle and cunning. their costume differs but little from that of the tartars-nogáis. they profess the lamaii religion, and obey the chiefs whom they themselves elect, and who bear the title of khans. the russian government levies among the kalmük tribes encamped on its territory a body of irregular troops, whom it employs in the defence of its eastern and southern frontiers. according to madame de hell, the kalmüks are as friendly as the cossacks in their reception of a stranger. "the last encampment," she says, "where we passed the night, appeared to us one of the most considerable which we had hitherto met with. the country, almost transformed, was no longer saddened by the great sandy plains of the caspian sea and the manitch.... herds of horses, camels, and oxen furrowed the surface of the steppe, announcing the wealth of the hordes to which they belonged. no hostile manifestation on the part of the latter occurred to disturb our security. happy in receiving us in the very midst of their tents, these good kalmüks never attempted to rob us even of the most trifling article. their desires and their wants are so limited! to tame a wild horse, to roam from one steppe to another on their camels, to smoke, and to drink _koumis_, to shut out the cold airs of winter with smoke and ashes, and to observe devoutly the superstitious practices of a religion which they cannot understand--such is their whole life." at intervals, the traveller who crosses the steppes of the caspian encounters with astonishment, in the most dreary localities, far from every cossack village and kalmük kibitka, a group of men, women, and children with bronzed complexions, with features strongly defined, covered with squalid and grotesque rags, dragging their naked feet over the damp and burning soil, and leading small vehicles loaded with implements and utensils of every kind. he easily recognizes in these beings of sinister mien, audacious mendicants, skilful thieves, musicians, blacksmiths, conjurers--what shall i say?--the _débris_, in a word, of that once great, and perhaps powerful race, now so degraded and corrupt, whose problematical history is the despair of the scholar. the scorn and mistrust of every nation--impatient of all discipline, all education--without law, without religion, without country--these men speak a language which none can understand. of their real name they are themselves ignorant, and they accept with indifference that which is imposed upon them in different countries: in the east, _romany_; in moldavia, _tsiganes_; in italy, _zingari_; in spain, _gilanos_; in france, _bohemians_; in england, _gipsies_.[ ] the germans call them _zigeuner_; the dutch, expressively but intolerantly, _heathens_; the persians, _sisech_; the hindus, _kavachee_; the danes and swedes, _tatars_; and the arabs, _haramé_. their origin has been a theme of speculation for centuries, and all that seems certain, after a vast amount of research and discussion, is, that the cradle of the race was india. to what indian people they should be affiliated is still doubtful; whether to the zuts or djalts of the north; the tshingani, who dwelt near the mouth of the indus; or the tshandalas, chronicled by name in the laws of menou. we know that their first immigration into europe occurred about the close of the tenth century, for we find them referred to in a paraphrase of the book of genesis, written by an austrian monk, about . they are there spoken of as "ishmaelites and braziers, who go peddling through the wide world, having neither house nor home, cheating the people with their tricks, and secretly deceiving mankind." in the fourteenth century a considerable body settled in wallachia, hungary, and the island of cyprus. next, they invaded germany, broke into switzerland, and appeared in bologna and other italian cities. like a besieging army they set down before paris in , but were not suffered to enter its precincts. a few years later they crossed into england, and gradually they overspread the whole of europe. their own account of themselves represented that they came from "little egypt;" that about four thousand of their number had been compulsorily baptized by the king, and condemned to seven years' wanderings, while the remainder had been slain. at first, their wealth, their pomp, and their supposed penitence secured them a favourable reception; but when their wealth was dissipated, their pomp decayed, and their penitence discovered to be a sham, a storm of obloquy broke over their heads. every european government levelled the most arbitrary decrees against them, which continued in force down to the middle of the eighteenth century. various attempts have since been made to civilize and incorporate them with the general body of the population, but these have obtained a very limited success. they still remain a race apart, with their own language (romany tschib), their own traditions, their own customs, their distinct personal characteristics. they still remain a race cursed with the curse of perpetual restlessness; a mysterious impulse constrains them to wander; they live secluded from all other peoples; an atmosphere of secrecy enshrouds their inner life, their language, and their creed. they are gifted with a remarkable love of and capacity for music, and a strange wild charm invests their own gipsy-melodies. their character is a grotesque combination of the most opposite qualities; for they are brave and yet cowardly; revengeful, yet loyal; treacherous, yet capable of the most passionate attachment; indolent, yet energetic; chaste, yet fond of licentious songs and dances. in a word, they are a problem to the ethnologist, the moralist, and the historical student; and fence themselves about with so impenetrable a reserve, that we may well doubt whether the full truth respecting them will ever be ascertained.[ ] the tsiganes or romany are very numerous in southern russia. they pass from town to town, from village to village, sometimes begging or stealing, sometimes exercising their peculiar trades and industries, and providing for their wants more honestly. they never establish themselves permanently in any place. they halt wherever the evening shades may chance to overtake them, stretch a few fragments of woollen stuff across the poles of their vehicles to serve for tents, kindle a fire with herbs, twigs, and dry branches, partly to cook their food, and partly to scare away the wild beasts, and fling themselves down pell-mell to sleep on mats or the naked earth. when morning dawns, they resume their life-long march--giving no thought to the future, no dream to the past--without object, hope, or purpose. [illustration: night encampment of gipsies in the steppe.] the steppes of the interior of asia, from the aral river to the ala-tau mountains, are occupied by the great nation of the kirghiz, who have, from time immemorial, been divided into the great, middle, and little hordes. to the former belongs the territory north of the ala-tau, with portions of china and tartary. they are subject to the sovereigns of the countries in which they dwell. the middle horde inhabits the district between the ishim, irtish, lake balkhush, and khokan. the little (and far most numerous) horde wanders over the grassy plains bounded by the yamba and the ural, turkistan (now a russian province), and the country of the middle horde (or siberian kirghizes). altogether, the kirghizes number upwards of one and a quarter million of souls. they are of turco-tartaric origin, and southern siberia is their mother country.[ ] though owing a nominal allegiance to the russian czar and the chinese emperor, they are virtually independent, and obey only their sultans or chiefs. they are frequently at war. many live wholly by brigandage; suddenly descending, under cover of night, upon the richest _aouls_, or villages, slaying all who resist, and carrying off horses, cattle, and all objects of value, and men, women and children, whom they sell as slaves. these nocturnal razzias are designated, in the kirghiz language, _barantas_. the _yourt_, or tent of these nomades, resembles the kibitka of the kalmüks. we borrow a description of one belonging to a kirghiz chief from mr. atkinson's entertaining pages. "it was formed," he says,[ ] "of willow trellis-work, put together with untanned strips of skin, made into compartments which fold up. it was a circle of thirty-four feet in diameter, five feet high to the springing of the dome, and twelve feet in the centre. this dome is formed of bent rods of willow, one and a quarter inch diameter, put into the mortice-hole of a ring about four feet across, which secures the top of the dome, admits light, and lets out the smoke. the lower ends of the willow-rods are tied with leathern thongs to the top of the trellis-work at the sides, which renders it quite strong and secure. the whole is then covered with large sheets of _voilock_, made of wool and camel's hair, fitting close, making it water-tight and warm. a small aperture in the trellis-work forms a doorway, over which a piece of _voilock_ hangs down and closes it; but in the daytime this is rolled up and secured on the top of the _yourt_. "the furniture and fittings of these dwellings are exceedingly simple; the fire being made on the ground in the centre of the _yourt_, directly opposite to the door _voilocks_ are spread: on these stand sundry boxes, which contain the different articles of clothing, pieces of chinese silk, tea, dried fruits, _ambas_ of silver (small squares, about two and a half inches long, one inch and a half wide, and about three-tenths of an inch thick). some of the kirghiz possess large quantities of these _ambas_, which are carefully hoarded up. above these boxes are bales of bokharian and persian carpets, some of great beauty and value. in another part of the _yourt_ is the large _koumis_ sack, completely covered up with _voilock_ to keep it warm and aid the fermentation. "and near this bag stands a large leathern bottle, sometimes holding four gallons, often much ornamented; so are the small bottles made to carry on the saddle. in another place stands the large iron caldron, and the trivet on which it is placed when used for cooking in the _yourt_. there are usually half-a-dozen chinese wooden bowls, often beautifully painted and japanned. these are used to drink the _koumis_ from; some of them hold three pints, others more. on entering a kirghiz _yourt_ in summer, one of the chinese bowls full of _koumis_ is presented to each guest. it is considered impolite to return the vessel before emptying it, and a good kirghiz is never guilty of this impropriety. "the saddles are placed on the bales of carpets. rich horse-trappings being highly prized by the wealthy kirghiz, many of their saddles are beautiful and costly. if of kirghiz workmanship, they are decorated with silver inlaid on iron, in chaste ornamental designs, and have velvet cushions; the bridles and other trappings covered with small iron plates inlaid in the same manner. "leathern thongs and ropes made of camel's hair are hung up on the trellis-work, common saddles, saddle-cloths, and leathern _tchimbar_. this part of a kirghiz costume is frequently made of black velvet, splendidly embroidered with silk, more especially the back elevation." such is the dwelling of a kirghiz chief in the steppe. [illustration: kirghiz aoul or villager.] the national garment of the kirghiz is the _khalat_, a kind of pelisse, very long and very full, with large sleeves, in silk or cashmere, and of the most dazzling colours; but the poorer warriors substitute for this state dress a horse-skin jacket. breeches fastened below the hips by a girdle of wool or cashmere, high-heeled madder-coloured boots, and a fox-skin cap, rising into a cone on the top, and lined inside with crimson cloth, complete his costume. his weapons are the spear, the gun, the axe, and the cutlass. the women wear a long and copious robe, and a veil of numerous folds, surmounted by a lofty calico head-dress, a part of which falls over the shoulders and covers up the neck. the kirghiz are fierce, cunning, and often cruel, but the life of a guest is esteemed sacred. they have not so much respect, however, for his property, and do not always resist the temptation of plundering him of any article which suits their fancy. equestrian exercises and falconry are their favourite amusements. they love the chase, indeed, with a true sportsman's passion; they love it for itself rather than for the game it secures, for they have no greater dainty than a dish of mutton. their mode of preparing this viand is exquisitely simple. they content themselves with skinning the animal, cutting it into quarters, and plunging it into a pot, where they keep it boiling in a great quantity of water for a couple of hours. generally, to prevent the loss of any portion, they cook with the meat the animal's intestines, without even taking the trouble of cleaning them. the guests arrange themselves in a circle on carpets of felt; the men in the foremost rank, the women and children behind them. the smoking quarters of mutton are removed from the pot; each man draws his knife, slashes off a slice, eats a portion, and passes the remainder to his wife and children, who speedily finish it. the dogs come in for the bones. afterwards, bowls of the liquor in which the meat has been boiled are handed round, and not a kirghiz but swallows the greasy broth with delight. this broth, koumis, and tea are his customary drink; the tea is not made in the european fashion, but becomes a veritable soup, prepared with milk, flour, butter, and salt. in every well-to-do aoul the women keep constantly upon the fire a vessel full of this beverage, which they offer to visitors, just as the turks serve up coffee, the spaniards, chocolate, and the french, wine. * * * * * to the north of the great horde, in the government of irkutsk (siberia), we meet with the agro-mongolian people of the buriäts, numbering about , families. they are given to chamanism, an idolatrous worship widely spread through eastern siberia. their supreme divinity inhabits the sun, and reigns over a host of lesser gods. * * * * * finally, between lake baïkal and the altaï mountains to the north, the ala-tau mountains west, the great wall of china south, and the sea east, stretches the immense territory commonly known as mongolia, and inhabited in part by the tribes which represent the mongol type in all its primitive purity. this great desert, where grassy lands alternate with dry and sandy or saline plains, was formerly the seat of a flourishing empire, established by chingis-khán in , which gave birth to the three mongol kingdoms of krim, kasan, and astrachan. mongolic empires, at a later period, arose in china, turkistan, siberia, southern russia, and persia. the mongolian dynasty lost its hold on china in , and a century later was driven out of russia. in central asia it was rehabilitated in , by the illustrious timur; but a hundred years afterwards the empire was again crushed by its own weight. baber, a descendant of timur, conquered india, and erected there a mongolian throne, which endured until the soldiers of great britain defeated tippoo saib and captured delhi. most mongolic tribes are now under the rule of the nations whom they once had conquered, the tungusic sovereigns of china, the russian czars, and the turkish sultans.[ ] the ruins of mongolian grandeur are still visible in those solitary cities, which the traveller in the desert discovers half overwhelmed in sand. "we met," says the abbé huc, "with an imposing and majestic memorial of antiquity. it was a great city, desolate and abandoned. the crenellated ramparts, the watch-towers, the four great gates, situated at the four cardinal points, were all in perfect preservation; but all was buried three-fourths deep in the ground, and covered with a thick sward. we entered its vast precinct with a profound emotion of awe and melancholy. we saw neither _débris_ nor ruins, but only the outline of a beautiful and spacious city, wrapped in grass and weeds as in a funeral shroud." similar relics of the past are scattered over the deserts of mongolia, but everything connected with their origin is enveloped in shadow. the mongolian family includes several branches, each subdivided into tribes, obeying chiefs of unequal rank. the most numerous people are the kalkas, who occupy all the northern districts. the mongols of the south, dwelling near the great wall, have been affected in their habits and manners by the neighbourhood of the chinese; they have become industrious, and engage eagerly in commercial affairs. but the kalkas, and the other tribes of the great gobi, are still nomadic, reckless, and indolent. their religion is buddhism; they profess for its head, the living buddha or great lama (dalai-lama, or ocean-priest--_i.e._, wide as the ocean), a reverence and a blind obedience, which they also pay to the inferior lamas. "under an external aspect of savagery," says huc, "the mongol hides a character full of mildness and kindly feeling; he passes suddenly from the wildest and most extravagant gaiety to a sadness which has nothing forbidding. timid to excess in his ordinary life, when impelled by fanaticism or revenge, he displays an irresistible impetuosity of courage. he is simple and credulous as a child, and passionately loves stories and legends of the marvellous." the mongols are ugly in feature, of the middle height, agile and robust; their sight is wonderfully keen, their hearing of an extraordinary acuteness.[ ] their wants are restricted to the indispensable necessities of life; of luxury they have no conception; their few pleasures are easily enjoyed; their instincts lead them rather in the path of good than of evil, and their defects, to use an expression of m. huc's, are those of ill-trained children. they need, perhaps, but a well-directed impulse to develop their intellect, and guide them onward to a far higher civilization. in the great human family, it is true that as yet they do but fill the children's place, and it is impossible to say whether their national genius is capable of any great or lasting work. [illustration] [illustration] book ii. _the deserts of sand:--the deserts of europe and africa._ chapter i. the rainless desert--the bed of a sea--the dead sea. the sandy deserts may with equal, nay, with greater accuracy, be entitled salt deserts, rainless deserts, seas of sand; for they present at one and the same time all these characters, and the three last, though less generally known than the first, are the most essential. the soil is generally covered with a thick stratum of sand; but in several places it also exhibits great walls of rock, and in others masses of rolled or shattered pebbles. the subsoil is nearly always of a gypseous or calcareous nature, rarely clayey; wherever it is porous and permeable, it is impregnated with salt, which rises to the surface, or is held in solution in the subterranean basins of water, the thermal springs, the ponds, and the lakes. the saline efflorescences of the deserts of persia and oriental asia not only suffice for the wants of the inhabitants, but supply the great asiatic caravans with their principal article of exportation. the atmosphere of the deserts is not less dry than their sands and rocks. the sky wears a perennial azure, more or less veiled in haze, or rather spotted with a few clouds. johnstone represents them, in his admirable "physical atlas," by two white unequal bands, characterised as "rainless districts." of these the larger occupies all the northern region of africa, and the greater portion of arabia, syria, persia, and beloochistan, embracing an area of ° of longitude over ° of latitude. the other extends over the table-lands of thibet and the gobi. it is in form an irregular ellipsis, obliquely inclined from south-west to north-east. its length is about leagues; its width, . from the former it is only separated by a narrow belt. in the region marked by these two species rain is an extraordinary phenomenon; several years will pass without the clouds shedding a single drop of water. this permanent, and nearly absolute, aridity, establishes a very marked difference between the deserts properly so called, and the landes, steppes, and prairies, condemned as these are during the hot season to a deadly dryness, but in winter inundated with rain or covered with snow; and in spring converted into immense marshes, where an exuberant vegetation makes its appearance, frequently capable of resisting the action of the summer sun and the withering winds. in the rainless districts vegetation is a nullity; it becomes reduced to a very small number of saline plants and dwarf bushes, nourished by the brackish waters which, the soil conceals. finally, the desert region may not only be compared to a sea in its aspect and immensity, but it is a true sea, or at least the bed of an ancient sea, which formerly communicated, and, perhaps, was confounded with the mediterranean, and whose drying up, though still incomplete, took place at a recent geological epoch. we may reasonably conclude that, owing to a series of gradual upheavals, this sea was at first broken up into vast lagoons; that most of these successively disappeared, but not without leaving some certain evidences of the primitive submersion of the continent. "if we might hazard a conjecture," says a recent writer,[ ] "it would be that the same convulsions and upheavals which at the close of the tertiary epoch indented the southern coasts of europe, at the same time drained the ocean which hitherto had rolled over the plains of the sahara, and submerged the low-lying lands, which probably united the canaries and madeira to the mainland." to a similar cause must be attributed the existence of the subterranean waters, springs, ponds, and salt lakes, of which i have already spoken, and of the inland seas--the caspian, the sea of aral, and the dead sea; while the black sea and its offshoots, the sea of azov and the sea of marmora, must have had the same origin. i shall discuss this subject further when describing the great sahara. in eastern and central asia, the sandy or salt deserts alternate with the steppes, and with lands susceptible of a certain amount of cultivation. the vast region which geographers designate the great gobi, or the shamo, is intersected by many grassy steppes and even by fertile fields, where the sedentary mongols, and especially the artons, yearly sow and gather hemp, millet, and buckwheat. the sombre picture of "a barren plain of shifting sand blown into high ridges where the summer sun is scorching, no rain falls, and when thick fog occurs it is only the precursor of fierce winds,"[ ] is true only of special districts, such as the han-hai, or "dry sea," or the desert of sarkha. there, for instance, we meet with no other vegetable than the salsolæ, or salt-worts, which flourish around the small saline pools. of these pools, when seen from a distance, mr. atkinson notices a remarkable characteristic: the salt crystals which accrete upon their banks frequently reflect the orange or crimson hues of flowers, and resemble glowing rubies set in a rich mounting. as we advance in a south-easterly direction, we find the features of the desert region more prominently marked. immense plains of sand, with a bare and brackish surface, called _bejaban_, traverse the whole of persia, from the caspian sea to the indus. they comprise the deserts of kerusan, seistan, beloochistan, and mekran, rich in salts with a basis of soda. "the coasts of the persian gulf," as mrs. somerville remarks, "are burning hot sandy solitudes, so completely barren, that the country from bassora to the indus, a distance of miles, is nearly a sterile waste. three-tenths of persia is a desert, and the tableland is nearly a wide scene of desolation. a great salt-desert occupies , square miles between irak and khorasan, of which the soil is a stiff clay, covered with efflorescence of common salt and nitre, often an inch thick, varied only by a few saline plants and patches of verdure in the hollows. this dreary waste joins the large sandy and equally dreary desert of kerman. khelat, the capital of beloochistan, is feet above the level of the sea; round it there is cultivation, but the greater part of that country is a lifeless plain, over which the brick-red sand is drifted by the north wind into ridges like the waves of the sea, often twelve feet high, without a vestige of vegetation. the blast of the desert, whose hot and pestilential breath is fatal to man and animals, renders these dismal sands impassable at certain seasons." the desert of mekran is separated from that of moultan by the indus. that which lies to the east of kom, in the centre of persia, is more than sixty leagues in extent. of persia, m. forgues observes that the actual reality differs strangely from those glowing eastern landscapes which poets and romancists love to paint. even in those provinces where the winter rains encourage the growth of vegetation, the scene would hardly remind the traveller of "that delightful province of the sun. the first of persian lands he shines upon, where all the loveliest children of his beam. flowerets and fruits, blush over every stream."[ ] "to bare, dry mountain-ridges," says m. forgues, "succeed plains, sometimes incrusted with hard clay, sometimes clothed with thick sand. at the outset of spring, in the months of april and may, the country is coloured with some softer tints, the grass breaks here and there through the granite and the gravel; but in the first summer heats everything grows dry, and the soil resumes its monotonously brown or gray livery. water fails for cultivation, which in the best districts is confined to a few scattered oases. in these vast spaces, when the eye surveys them from some mountain-crest, there occurs nothing to arrest the gaze; and when once the spring has past, the cultured fields become blended with those which the plough has suffered to lie fallow, the clay-built villages with the earth of which their walls are constructed. in these confused landscapes even a considerable town scarcely traces its blurred outline among the accumulated ruins in whose centre it persists in living, and whose extent attests its decadence. it is a marvel if, on arriving at the limit of these monotonous plains, the traveller distinguishes them from the deserts to whose threshold they have generally conducted him. he only recognizes the latter by the dazzling gleam of their saline efflorescence, which stretches far out of sight, and where at intervals abruptly projects some mass of ebon-black rock, transformed by the solar refraction, and assuming in quick succession the most fantastic aspects." i have spoken of the inland seas and salt lakes which testify to the primitive submersion of the whole region of the great deserts. let us pursue our route towards the west, and we shall encounter the most remarkable of these vestiges of a remote past. first, i shall speak of the dead sea, the lake asphaltes, which dean stanley justly designates "one of the most remarkable spots in the world," and which, as the reader knows, is situated in the south of palestine, at a short distance from jerusalem. it is true that "a great mass of legend and exaggeration, partly the effect, partly the cause, of the old belief that the cities of sodom and gomorrah were buried under the dead sea, has been gradually removed in recent years. the glittering surface of the lake, with the thin mist of its own evaporations floating over its surface, will now no more be taken for a gloomy sea, sending forth sulphurous exhalations. the birds which pass over it without injury have long ago destroyed the belief that no living creature could survive the baneful atmosphere which hung upon its waters." but still, for the scientific no less than for the historical student, it possesses an absorbing interest. it is the most depressed sheet of water in the world, lying fully thirteen hundred feet below the level of the mediterranean: as the lake sir-i-kol, where the oxus rises "in his high mountain-cradle in pamere," is the most elevated.[ ] "its basin," to quote dean stanley's graphic description, "is a steaming caldron--a bowl which, from the peculiar temperature and deep cavity in which it is situated, can never be filled to overflowing. the river jordan, itself exposed to the same withering influences, is not copious enough to furnish a supply equal to the demand made by the rapid evaporation. its excessive saltness is even more remarkable than its deep depression. this peculiarity is, it is believed, mainly occasioned by the huge barrier of fossil-salt at its south-west corner, and heightened by the rapid evaporation of the fresh water poured into it. other like phenomena, though in a less striking form, exist elsewhere. but, without entering into its wider relations, this aspect is important, as that which most forcibly impressed the sacred writers. to them it was 'the salt sea,' and nothing more. they exhibit hardly a trace of the exaggerations of later times. and so it is in fact. it is not gloom, but desolation, which is the prevailing characteristic of the sea of death. follow the course of the jordan to its end. how different from the first burst of its waters in mount hermon, amongst the groves of dan and paneas! how different from the 'riotous prodigality of life' which has marked its downward course, almost to the very termination of its existence! gradually, within the last mile from the dead sea, its verdure dies away, and the river melts into its grave in a tame and sluggish stream; still, however, of sufficient force to carry its brown waters far into the bright green sea. along the desert shore the white crust of salt indicates the cause of sterility. thus the few living creatures which the jordan washes down into the waters of the sea are destroyed. hence arises the unnatural buoyancy and the intolerable nausea to taste and touch, which raise to the highest pitch the contrast between its clear, bitter waves, and the soft, fresh, turbid stream of its parent river. strewn along its desolate margin lie the most striking memorials of this last conflict of life and death: trunks and branches of trees, torn down from the thickets of the river-jungle by the violence of the jordan, thrust out into the sea, and thrown up again by its waves, dead and barren as itself. the dead beach shelves gradually into the calm waters. a deep haze--that which to earlier ages gave the appearance of the 'smoke going up for ever and ever'--veils its southern extremity, and almost gives it the dim horizon of a real sea. in the nearer view rises the low island close to its northern end, and the long promontory projecting from the eastern side, which divides it into its two unequal parts. this is all that i saw, and all that most pilgrims and travellers have seen, of the dead sea."[ ] the sinister aspect of the valley of the jordan, especially at the embouchure of the river, impresses itself on the mind of every spectator. there the traveller finds the path narrowed between two abrupt gigantic walls. on the right rises the arabian chain, black and perpendicular; on the left, the judæan range, less elevated, more irregular, and resembling a dismantled ruin. "the valley comprised between these two chains," says the père laorty-hadji, "exhibits a soil closely resembling the bed of a sea which has long been dry. you can discern but a few stunted trees. ruined towns and castles appear in the distance. at the moment of flinging itself into the dead sea, the jordan itself, traversing a muddy soil, changes its physiognomy and colour. it seems to drag reluctantly, towards the motionless lake, a burden of slow and tawny waters. the shores of the dead sea are low on the east and west; to the north and south high mountains enclose it." "these mountains, separated by a formidable cleft, exhibit their beds of red sandstone, overlain by a thick stratum of compact chalk, interrupted by silicious fragments. one is surprised not to see a volcanic crater, when all about, in this convulsed site, the action of fire is visible--the violent, bitter struggle of the two neptunian and plutonian principles, which, during the geological eras, contended for the empire of the world. one might say that here the two antagonistic forces exhausted themselves, that they have equally lost their potency; so much so, that at the close of the combat all has sunk into the silence and immobility of death. and who knows if the volcanic crater, whose absence at first astonishes the observer, is not the dead sea itself? is it unreasonable to admit that after the upheaval of the mountains which inclose it, and which a terrible explosion of subterranean fire will have separated, the neighbouring waters were precipitated into and swallowed up in the yawning gulf which they still fill to-day?... this hypothesis is so much the more probable, because in this fire-scathed region the lake affords manifest indications of an igneous travail even now accomplishing itself sullenly in the bowels of the globe. we know that its name of lake asphaltites is due to the semi-fluid bituminous matter which constantly rises to its surface and accumulates on its shores. with the vapours exhaled by this bitumen under the influence of heat, mingle sulphurous and ammoniacal exhalations, which render the atmosphere of the dead sea dangerous to breathe."[ ] before no one had ventured upon its waters. an irish traveller, named cottingham, was their first navigator; but after a five days' voyage he returned to jerusalem, and died of exhaustion. two years later messrs. moore and beke made a new attempt. for several days they withstood the pestilential exhalations of the lake, and succeeded in proving the deep depression of its basin; but at length, both of them being taken ill, they were compelled to cut short their explorations. in the enterprise was undertaken by a frenchman--lieutenant molyneux--who sounded it in many places, but was speedily carried off by fever. the following year lieutenant lynch, of the american navy, embarked on the lake in iron boats, with competent crews. he navigated its waters for three weeks; but all who composed the expedition were more or less severely attacked, and one of them, lieutenant deane, succumbed. [illustration: the dead sea.] though, as we have said, geographical research has dissipated most of the wild stories formerly accepted in reference to the peculiarly fatal concomitants of the dead sea, it well deserves its expressive name. it _is_ a _dead_ sea: it has neither the ocean's living movement nor deep-sounding roar; the surf and the spray never sparkle on its rocks; that "multitudinous laughter" which homer ascribes to the sea is wholly wanting; the wind never wakes a smile on its passive and sombre countenance. by its shores one might realize shelley's mournful wish, and feel "in the warm air his cheek grow cold, and hear the sea breathe o'er his dying brain its last monotony."[ ] it is lifeless, untenanted; the fish found there, and brought down by the jordan, are dead. unlike the caspian, it is never stirred by the whirr of wings--by the flight of gulls, or pelicans, or sea-mews. the migratory birds sweep across it without even a pause, without seeking the prey which they could not find. its waters are denser than those of other seas: their constituents are different, and mingled in different proportions. laorty-hadji is mistaken in his idea that they repose on a bed of rock salt. rock salt is the chloride of sodium in a nearly pure condition. but the dead sea holds in solution a comparatively small portion of this salt, mixed with large proportions of other salts. its water was analyzed for the first time in by lavoiser, macquer, and sage. experiments have also been made by arcet, klaproth, gmelin, gay-lussac, and, more recently, by boussingault. according to the latter, it contains:-- chloride of magnesium, . chloride of sodium, . chloride of calcium, . chloride of potassium, . bromide of magnesium, . sulphate of lime, . sal-ammoniac, . water, . -------- . it will be seen that it possesses neither chloride of manganese nor chloride of aluminium, no nitrates, and no iodines; that it is, therefore, not _sea water_, properly so called, but a mineral water _sui generis_. the enormous proportion of saline matter accounts for its exceptional density, and justifies the assertion of travellers that a man floats upon its surface like a log of wood; though we can hardly credit the statement of pococke that it is impossible to sink to the bottom. its gravity undoubtedly endows it with extraordinary buoyancy, and to dive to any considerable depth is a matter of difficulty; but in the dead sea, as in other seas, man must employ his strength and skill to keep his body afloat. chapter ii. arabia deserta and arabia petrÆa. the traveller who starts from the southern extremity of the dead sea encounters a succession of deserts. to the east extend wide plains, covered with ruins, where upwards of thirty cities are to be traced in their decay, like palmyra, by the trunks of shattered columns and the wrecks of desecrated temples. this is the once flourishing country of the nabatheans, now haunted by some tribes of idumean arabs. one might not inappropriately call it the vestibule of arabia deserta; a name applicable to all the central and southern districts--that is to say, to nearly three-fourths of the arabian peninsula. there the sea of sand reveals itself in all its nakedness, in all its horrors; with its implacable sky and fiery atmosphere, its sandy billows, its masses of salt, and, in certain places, with its hidden quicksands capable of devouring entire armies. the desert of akhaf, situated towards the extremity of the peninsula, conceals, it is said, several of these abysses, where the hapless traveller, if he set his foot upon them, would be instantly swallowed up. thus even the arabs regard it with an unconquerable dread. it owes its name to a saffite king who would fain have traversed it with his troops, and who saw them perish therein even to the last man. the tradition does not inform us how he himself escaped this immense disaster. [illustration: caravan in the desert.] a european traveller, baron de wrede, undertook nevertheless, some twenty-five years ago, to penetrate into this soul-appalling desert, and attempted to measure the extent and depth of one of these abysses. starting in the morning from saba, under the guidance of a few bedouins, he reached, after six hours' marching, the threshold of the desert of akhaf. "a sandy plain, extending as far as the eye could reach," he says, "and upon which arose innumerable hills in the semblance of waves,--such was the scene presented to my gaze. not the least trace of vegetation was perceptible; not a bird interrupted with its song the tomb-like silence which prevailed around the graves of the sabean army. i remarked three tracts distinguished by a dazzling whiteness. 'yonder are the abysses,' said the bedouins; 'they are inhabited by the spirits who have covered with this deceitful sand the treasures intrusted to their charge. he who dares approach them will assuredly be dragged down under the sand! do not venture there!' "naturally, i paid no attention to this counsel; on the contrary, i demanded to be guided towards them, according to agreement. two hours were consumed by our camels in reaching the bottom of the plateau, where we arrived at sunset, taking up our quarters for the night on the lee side of two enormous rocks. on the following day i insisted that the bedouins should guide me over these tracts. my trouble was in vain; fear rendered them unable to utter a word. furnished with a plumb-lead weighing about a pound and a quarter, to which was attached a rope nearly yards in length, i accomplished this dangerous enterprise. i occupied thirty-six minutes in reaching the first abyss; it was thirty-six feet long by twenty-six feet broad, and formed an inclined plain towards the centre, about six feet deep, which i attributed to the action of the wind. i approached at first with the utmost precaution, in order to examine the sand, and found it to be almost impalpable. i cast my plumb-lead as far as i could; it disappeared immediately; however, the rapidity with which the rope shortened gradually diminished; in five minutes, it had wholly disappeared." baron de wrede has made no attempt to account for this strange phenomenon, which is not, i may add, peculiar to arabia. the late doctor cloquet, who for many years acted as chief physician to the shah of persia, relates that he had seen similar gulfs in the great salt desert, which he considered to occupy the place of lakes suddenly vanished. this hypothesis is certainly admissible, and perhaps very probable; but while in some degree explaining the existence of these abysses of sand, it raises fresh questions which are by no means easily answered; for instance, why have these lakes disappeared, and why have they been replaced by this impalpable and incoherent dust in which heavy bodies sink as in a void? consider, moreover, the remarks made by doctor cloquet in a letter addressed in to the academy of medicine at paris:-- "at fifteen parasangs from teheran,[ ] commences the _salt desert_, which, from east to west, extends to the very frontiers of india. this immense basin, eastward, has no other limits than the horizon; to the west, to the north, to the south, it is bounded by hills of sand which completely represent the dunes of france. the soil, of a fawn-coloured yellow, is composed of clay and sand, exactly resembling the mud which occupies the bottom of a dried-up basin. it is said that at many points a man on horseback will disappear without his body being ever again discovered.[ ] i have seen one of these places, near sivas; the soil is everywhere impregnated with salt mingled with nitre, which crystallizes on the surface. for the rest, if you dig two or three inches deep, you find water, though very brackish in quality. the general opinion is that the desert was once occupied by a sea, which suddenly disappeared on the night that mohammed was born. and it seems to me that there is no reason to doubt this sudden disappearance, since even in our own days, and only a few years ago, the salt lake of ourmiah (urumiyeh), in the province of azerbaïdjan, vanished completely for twenty-four hours; it is true that the waters emerged again from their subterranean basin. i think it almost absolutely demonstrated, from inspection of these localities, that at a remote epoch this sea communicated with the caspian, and formed one united basin of water. i am not sure but that in the south it also communicated with the indian sea, for i have not travelled in that direction. the apparition of the elburz chain has cloven the two basins, and the sea, receiving only inconsiderable streams, insensibly receded, until the day when it was wholly dried up, leaving only two lakes: one, the lake of sivas, which disappeared in the seventh century; the other, the lake of seistan, which is still extant, and receives several of the important rivers of afghanistan. at all events, the great sea itself had disappeared some generations prior to the epoch of alexander. "the great humidity of the soil," adds doctor cloquet, "struck me vividly. does not this humidity appear to indicate the presence of vast subterranean sheets of water, which sweat, so to speak (_transsuderaient_), through the porosities of the earth?" the desert table-land of nadjed, which fills all the central part of asia, is bounded on the west and south by the more fertile and fortunate countries of the hedjaz and the hadramant, which skirt the indian ocean. to the north-east lies the desert of the tih, whose deep sand-drifts lie between palestine and the isthmus of suez, and which the mediterranean washes on the north, on the south-west the gulf of suez, and on the south-east the gulf of akaba. this is the small triangular peninsula which was known to ancient geographers as arabia the stony. a group of ever-famous mountains, hallowed by the sublimest associations, sinaï, horeb, jebel mûsa, jebel bestîn (st. epistème), raise their granitic summits on the southern point of this peninsula. "they are 'the alps' of arabia; but the alps planted in the desert, and therefore stripped of all the clothing which goes to make up our notions of swiss or english mountains; stripped of the variegated drapery of oak, and birch, and pine and fir, of moss, and grass, and fern; which to landscapes of european hills are almost as essential as the rocks and peaks themselves." sinaï, or st. catherine, the loftiest peak in the range, reaches an elevation of feet. it is so closely connected with mount horeb, to the north, that the two mountains really seem but one. ravines, and narrow valleys planted with palm-trees, thorny acacias, tamarisks, and some other shrubs, wind between the abrupt trunks of this grand chain. in one of these valleys stands the monastery of the transfiguration, and on mount horeb rises the church of st. catherine, a shrine held in great esteem by devout greeks. the pilgrims ascend on their knees a large staircase laboriously constructed by the monks. i have no space to recapitulate the sublime historic memories which invest these solemn heights with an interest of their own. the presence of the almighty has clothed their summits with a glory that might not be borne; the thunders of the most high have echoed through their deep dark valleys. at their base the people of israel watched and waited while moses received from heaven the code which thenceforth determined their religious and civil polity. down the side of yonder mighty peak came their prophet and leader, his face bright with a radiance such as was never before on the face of mortal man. they were the scene of a singularly unique history; by which, as dean stanley remarks, "the fate of the three surrounding nations--egypt, arabia, palestine--and through them the fate of the whole world, has been determined." [illustration: mount sinai.] the locality, consecrated by such glorious associations, is also rich in geological interest. it exhibits indubitable traces of the great volcanic convulsions which have so profoundly shaken the shores of the dead sea, and which still growl sullenly under the accumulated rocks. in the time of procopius, the legend runs that men fled from sinaï on account of the gruesome noises which haunted it; and modern travellers, notably stutzen and gray, declare that they have heard at intervals a sound comparable to the dull heavy throbbing of a cyclops' pulse. it might be said that one of the vast arteries which provide for the circulation of the ever boiling and seething flood of lava of our globe passes in this direction at an insignificant depth below the surface. the springs of thermal waters which well out at the mountain-base, the masses of bitumen and lava scattered over the soil, the gigantic rocks which bristle over the whole desert of el-tîh, and whose hue, to adopt the expression of a modern traveller, is that of calcined and fire-scathed matter, are sufficient evidence that this country has been the theatre of dreadful volcanic phenomena. messrs. bida and hachette describe a place named _wâdy-nassoub_, situated a short distance from sarabit-el-kadim, on the road from sinaï to suez. it is gained after traversing ramleh ("the sandy"), a sandy ravine which serves as a retreat for horrible black serpents, both big and little, and for enormous lizards, and which is followed by a narrow valley. "wâdy-nassoub," according to these travellers, "is one of the most magnificent spectacles we have ever seen. it is a circus of twenty to twenty-five leagues in extent, surrounded by huge rocks arranged in successive terraces, and of incomparable beauty of form and colour. its arena is an immense sheet of black basalt, furrowed here and there by torrents of yellow sand. a dazzling sun kindles up this landscape, which is one of incredible splendour." [illustration: lake baudouin (a salt lake).] as you approach the isthmus of suez--which will soon be annihilated, so to speak, by m. de lesseps' great ship-canal--the desert resumes the character which we have seen it bear in persia and central arabia. the rocks, much rarer and less lofty, gradually give place to mountains of sand. salt lakes and fields of salt re-appear. near the shores of the mediterranean lies a pool of salt, still known by that name of lake baudouin (baldwin), which the crusaders imposed upon it. there the salt forms a firm and tenacious crust, on which the camel safely plants its foot. sometimes the iron hoof of a horse breaks through, but beneath this first frail stratum it meets with another of astonishing hardness. "you might think yourself," says a traveller, "on the mer de glace of mont blanc. our camel-drivers collected some large pieces from the surface. nothing can be more brilliant or more transparent than these crystals. it is by tasting them only that you can distinguish them from rock crystal. as we advance, the impression grows overpowering. a plain of dazzling whiteness surrounds us, and is prolonged far beyond our ken. dimly on the left may be perceived, like an indigo-coloured ribbon, the line of the distant sea. the sky itself appears jet black. the reverberation of sound is unendurable." still further, between suez and cairo, the same traveller speaks admiringly of a natural amphitheatre, enclosed between two mountain-spurs, and strewn with _débris_ of rock, and especially with petrified wood. it might be compared to a forest-clearing which the woodmen had just quitted. the splinters are quite fresh, the cloven fragments still expose the notches made by the axe. great trees, divided into beams, resemble long serpents which have been slain by blows from a hatchet. the division is so clear that each gash reveals the concentric tissues perfectly preserved by this mineral embalming, this natural silification. similar petrifactions may be seen in abundance on the plateaux of the makattam, and the amphitheatre now described is not far from the hill, visited by every tourist, which has received the name of the petrified forest. thus it appears that the land deserts, despite the proverbial monotony of their aspect, do not fail to offer to the artist as well as the savant, the philosopher no less than the historian, objects worthy of patient study. everywhere the handiwork of god and the evidences of almighty design awaken the admiration of the thoughtful. whether the picture be sombre or beautiful, grand or appalling, we see that it was conceived and filled up by superhuman power. but we are now in egypt, on the threshold of the world's vast deserts. egypt, kept alive by the fertilizing and genial nile, is but an island in the great ocean of sand which encircles it, and which, far more truly than the red sea or the mediterranean, isolates it from the rest of the globe. chapter iii. the nubian desert--the great sahara--deserts of africa. as soon as we pass beyond the narrow borders of the nile valley we encounter the desert. egypt _is_, in fact, the nile; the nile makes, recreates, preserves, fecundates egypt, which, without this grand and ever-famous river, would immediately cease to be. "everything in egypt," says miss martineau,[ ] with equal truth and eloquence, "life itself, and all that it includes, depends on the state of the unintermitting conflict between the nile and the desert. the world has seen many straggles; but no other so pertinacious, so perdurable, and so sublime as the conflict of these two great powers. the nile, ever young, because perpetually renewing its youth, appears to the inexperienced eye to have no chance, with its stripling force, against the great old goliath, the desert, whose might has never relaxed from the earliest days till now; but the giant has not conquered it. now and then he has prevailed for a season, and the tremblers whose destiny hung on the event have cried out that all was over; but he has once more been driven back, and nilus has risen up again to do what we see him doing in the sculptures--bind up his water-plants about the throne of egypt." the traveller, ascending the famous river which has so long been mixed up with an apparently insoluble geographical problem, sees the desert everywhere present; its yellow boundary-line is vividly traced against the rich emerald-green of the fertile valley, and, as he advances, that line seems to draw nearer and nearer, until the cultivated soil appears reduced to a narrow strip on the river-bank. it has encroached upon many once prosperous and busy sites, and buried deeply the memorials of the old egyptian civilization. "round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away." everywhere outside the valley of the nile, i repeat, lies the desert. west of the arabian chain of heights stretch the vast sandy plains frequented by the arab tribes of the beni-wassel and the arabdé. beyond the eastern chain spread the libyan deserts, which, in the remote distance, merge into the great sahara, and those of the thebaïd, where the early christian anchorites found a dismal asylum. lower, to the south of egypt, extend the deserts of lower nubia. let us ascend the nile as far as korosko, on the right bank of the river, and cross the huge chain of rocky hills which separates the cultivated zone from the desert to which the village just spoken of gives name. these hills, all of equal elevation, assume the form of truncated cones. they are layers of granite superimposed horizontally, and with a depth of colour which makes them resemble at the first glance masses of basalt. they are absolutely bare, and separated from each other by abrupt sinuous gorges, whose bottom is covered deep in sand of golden lights, brought from the desert on the wings of the south-west. long streams of the same brilliant sand descend the slopes opposed to the direction of the wind with graceful undulations, which subside imperceptibly in the blown sand that carpets the floor of these mysterious valleys. the crests of the hills can only be distinguished by their different colours; some are lightly shaded with gray, others with blue or green, and others again with rose or crimson. the reflets of the setting sun on these uniform and many-coloured summits have a marvellous splendour, lighting up the scene until it assumes a fairy aspect, "and all puts on a gentle hue, hanging in the shadowy air, like a picture rich and rare." at certain times it would rather remind the spectator of another of coleridge's conceptions: "a savage place! as holy and enchanted as e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon-lover!"[ ] yet the spectacle is generally one of a rare and peculiar loveliness. "if nature," says m. trémaux,[ ] "had invested with this kind of beauty our verdurous fields of the west, they would have been veritable edens; but to produce, blend, and harmonize these inimitable hues, it requires, under the last beams of the sun, the emanations from the heated sands and those which the day has called into existence from the burning surfaces of the denuded rocks. it is by the side of her greatest horrors nature places her grandest beauties." the horror of the desert does not lie only in its aridity, in its vacuity--this vacuity is not absolute; in default of life, death peoples its solitudes. the glens or gorges frequented by the caravans are lined with stones, symmetrically disposed at certain intervals. these stones mark the places where rest the remains of the hapless pilgrims who have attempted to cross the wilderness, and perished in the attempt. round and about each rugged tomb lie the skeletons of animals which none have troubled themselves to bury in the sand. frequently you may see, on the sandy wastes of africa, or the desolate plains of asia and the new world, these carcasses laid out in two interminable rows; indicating the gloomy track which should be followed by the traveller, and never failing to remind him of the tribute death levies upon mankind in these accursed regions. thus does the desert show itself more relentless than even the hungry ocean, which at least devours its victims whole, and affronts the eye with no traces of its murders. but the moloch of the desert has no shame; it cynically exposes the hideous remains of those whom it has killed; it strews the earth with their bones; it has its museums of skeletons, or rather of preserved animals. m. trémaux observed this curious phenomenon in the ravines of korosko, but it probably occurs elsewhere under similar conditions. on closely examining the carcasses which he met at every step, he was astonished to find them covered with their skin, and presenting still their natural forms, as if the animals had been stuffed or embalmed. he readily distinguished horses, oxen, asses, camels. he observed with no less surprise that these corpses exhaled no odour. they had been dried by the heat before decomposition could commence its frightful work. the skin had hardened; the muscles and internal organs had been reduced into dust and gradually blown away by the wind through the yawning apertures at the two extremities of the body. there remained nothing more, literally, but skin and bone. "this skin had such a consistency," says our author, "such a degree of solidity, that all my efforts to split it were without result. the heaviest stones which i could raise rebounded upon their carcasses with a loud noise, but did not pierce them. if a man dies while a caravan is on its march, he is buried in the sand. i have had no opportunity of examining whether the desert-heat produces the same effect upon his body as upon the corpses of the animals just mentioned; but it ought not to be so, since the human skin has not the same consistency." * * * * * on issuing from these gorges, we enter upon the desert proper by a sandy plain which the djellahs have named the "river without water," and which, very low at first, slowly rises into a plateau of very slight elevation, intersected by some veins of a sandstone similar to that of the conical mountains. then the plain declines anew, and we emerge upon the sea of sand, where the pulverized sandstone alternates with fields of rotted or broken pebbles, and mounds of porphyry and granite. at the foot of one of these mounds, the _tallat-el-guindé_, flourish a few wretched vegetables, among others some gum-trees and doum-palms. the latter trees are also found in solitary mournfulness scattered about the plain. otherwise the _desert of korosko_ is wholly deprived of vegetable life, of "the glory in the grass, and the splendour in the flower." as for water, it must needs be content with that of a few brackish wells, grouped, about twelve in number, at a spot called _el-mourath_. it is there only that the caravans can fill their ill-tanned leather-bottles, in which the already nauseating liquid grows hot, and quickly becomes putrid. its stench and its taste are then so disgustful that the very camels reject it several times before they can constrain themselves to drink of it. [illustration: ravines of korosko.] * * * * * the _desert of bahiouda_, situated in about the same latitude as that of korosko, but on the other bank of the nile, is of a less absolute aridity and nakedness. water is more abundant and less brackish; vegetation is less scanty; and one meets on every side with giraffes, gazelles, wild cattle, and even, it is said, with lions and elephants. great numbers of reptiles, lizards, serpents, and tortoises inhabit the sand and the crevices of the rocks. * * * * * south of the above-named deserts, towards ° n. lat., is placed the limit of the rainless district. under the th parallel the rains do not last above one or two months in the year, and in some years are absolutely wanting; but when they _do_ fall, it is generally in impetuous torrents. as we advance towards the equator they become more regular, and last for longer periods. according to humboldt, the average yearly rainfall in ° n. lat. measures inches; under the equator, inches. in these tropical climes the year is divided into two seasons--one of excessive drought, and one of excessive rain. during the former, the sky is ever cloudless; during the latter, completely overcast. there are, in fact, two rainless belts or districts, one on each side of the equator. in the old world, the northern belt commences on the west side of africa; includes the sahara between ° and ° of latitude; and narrowing as it extends easterly, comprises on the banks of the nile from ° to °. it also embraces the low coast; and portions of the interior of arabia; passes through beloochistan to the base of the himalayas, and terminates with the rainless tableland of thibet. the southern district occurs north of the gareep or orange river in south africa, and includes wide tracts in australia, and a narrow belt in south america. where the earth is blessed with copious showers, vegetation will abound; grass, and herb, flower, bush, and tree; "fields of grain will bend their tops to the numberless beating drops." to meet with the true desert we must, therefore, direct our steps in a north-westerly course, and penetrate into _the sahara_. m. charles martins, in his elaborate monograph on this remarkable region, divides it into three distinct sub-regions: the _desert of the table-lands_, the _desert of erosion_, and the _sandy desert_.[ ] in algeria, and in barbary generally, the mediterranean littoral does not come into immediate contact with the sahara; but is separated from it by the atlas chain. but the atlas does not rise abruptly from the plain: on either side it ascends by a succession of rocky steps or terraces, which form the sub-region of the elevated table-lands. vast denuded surfaces, sprinkled with _chotts_, or salt lakes, deprived of all arborescent vegetation, traversed in summer by immense herds which feed on the plants even to their very roots, bare mountains starting abruptly from these horizontal surfaces; such is the general aspect of the landscape. the richly-varied culture of the mediterranean littoral has disappeared, and barley is the only cereal which the husbandman relies upon for his harvest. at many points, however, the "purple vine" and "golden olive" succeed admirably, and are destined one day to clothe the nakedness of these plateaux which the free-pasturing herds and the careless arab have stripped of their blooming verdure. descending these rocky terraces of gray old atlas, we enter the desert region in its first phase: the desert of the table-lands, or saharan steppe. [illustration: landscape in the atlas (region of table-lands).] here, horizontal strata of mud and gypsum, or sulphate of lime, are deposited upon the shores, as it were, of the great sandy sea. the gypsum reposing on the mud is composed of plates in such close juxtaposition as to resemble an artificial pavement. "it covers the surface of vast plateaux which have not been encroached upon by the waters; whether those waters were marine currents at the epoch when the sahara was a vast sea, or diluvian torrents which descended from the mountains after their elevation, little matters; the gypsum, produced by the violent evaporation of the saharan sea, has withstood their operation, and composes the plateaux of which we are speaking. their surface is so smooth, that vehicles might roll for leagues upon this natural pavement, which echoes like a vault under the horses' hoofs. a plateau of this kind, the small desert of mourad, extends from biskra to the banks of the great salt lake called _chott mebrir_ by the arabs. the gypseous surface is not everywhere exposed: most frequently it is covered by a layer of small rounded pebbles, nearly all quartzose, exhibiting the greatest variety of tints, from the purest white to the most vivid red; they are mixed with black calcareous stones split on the surface. whence came these pebbles, which have evidently been 'rolled' by the waters? we know not. they are the mysterious witnesses of those grand diluvian torrents which have left the traces of their passage over the surface of the whole earth, though the geologist cannot always discover the mountains or rocks that furnished the materials of this diluvium."[ ] from the desert of the table-lands we must needs make another descent. the town of batna is situated at the extremity of the lowest of the atlantean terraces, whose elevation is still some feet above the level of the sea. to the north-west rise the lofty spires of the colossal chain, with their diadems of cedars sharply defined in black upon the azure of the sky. loftiest of all soars the _jebel-tougour_, or "peak of cedars," reminding the spectator of the pyrenean crests. towards the south-east stretch the rounded shoulders of the mountains of the aurès, clad with dense dark forest of oak and pine. in a fold of the mountains lurk the ancient lambessa and the mouldering ruins of a roman camp. four miles to the south of batna is a large depressed hill, whose base mingles with the table-land, above which it rises only three hundred and thirty feet. this ridge marks the watershed; all the streams on the north flowing towards the mediterranean, and, on the south, gradually disappearing in the arid bed of the ancient saharan sea. on the frontier line, like a cyclopean landmark, is planted the peak of cedars, while from its loins a torrent issues, and through a deep ravine whirls and leaps and flows towards the desert. springs, abundant and warm, bubble up through the chalky marls, and take the same direction. beyond the french military post, called _les tamarins_, the road descends the ravine-cloven mountain-slopes, and passes over the torrent which bifurcates at the foot of the majestic metlili. on the left is seen a steep wall of rock, the jebel-gaouss, cleft midway by a chasm, or breach, which the arabs expressively designate "the mouth of the desert," and which, gradually enlarging, opens upon the first oasis of the sahara, _el kantara_ ("the bridge," from a roman arch which spans the torrent), the most northerly limit of the palm-tree. "a magnificent, semi-alpine, semi-tropical scene. below, a tumultuous foaming stream, its banks on either side clad with palms bending their feathery foliage towards the river, and sheltering fig, apricot, peach, almond, and pomegranate trees."[ ] above, a range of snowy heights, wreathed in ever ascending and descending clouds. we now enter the desert of erosion, a mass of mountainous highlands; of ridges, peaks, and _cols_, intersected and, as it were, gashed by ravines where roll the winter torrents and the rivers which the heats of summer dry up, and which, hollowing and gnawing into the stony soil, spread themselves over the valleys and awake a transitory vegetation. the erosive action of the waters is, then, the special characteristic of this part of the desert, which the arabs call _kifar_, or "the abandoned country." most of the streams which water it have their sources in mounts aurès and zibans, which form its northern boundary. they have excavated wide intermingling furrows, whose intervening spaces are occupied by gypseous plateaux. the formations of less resisting power, the marls, clays, and sands, have been washed away. [illustration: the sahara (desert of erosion).] the waters, whether proceeding from rain, or the melting of the snows on the loftiest peaks, are very pure at first, and roll in deep beds with vertical sides; when they reach the plains, their channels grow wider and shallower. in the wet season, the floods burst the banks, and overflowing, carry down immense quantities of rolled pebbles, which are distributed over an extensive area; in ordinary weather they are reduced to thin threads of silver, which, on arriving in the desert, vanish completely. you must excavate the soil to obtain a supply of water, and when found, it is brackish. frequently the beds unite, forming basins of greater or less extent and depth, which fill themselves at the close of the winter floods, and a few of which preserve, even in the winter season, a certain quantity of water. elsewhere, the soil is only humid, thanks to the abundance of salt, which retains the moisture. in such places numerous slimy marshes occur, where the traveller may not adventure without peril. but in general the surface is dry, cracked, cloven, and completely parched. the desert of erosion is not completely inhabited. at intervals you meet with a few squalid villages, and a multitude of camel's-skin tents are scattered like black spots over the yellow or grayish plains, on the borders of the _chotts_ or scanty water-courses. herds of goats and flocks of sheep wander in the valleys, browsing on the rare short grass. columns of smoke arise from the arab bivouacs, and the women of the sahara group themselves around the wells and springs to fill the water-bags with which they load their asses. when, from the summit of the rocks which fence round and bristle over the desert of erosion, we perceive for the first time the _desert of sand_, the impression is very similar to that which we derive from the sight of ocean. m. martins had already become sensible of this peculiar effect when, from the col de sfa, he had gazed down upon the desert of the plateaux. "a grand circular arch," he says, "extended before us, bounding a violet surface, smooth as the sea, and blending at the horizon with the azure of heaven; it was the sahara. the arc eastward rested against the chain of the aurès; westward, against that of the zibans, some of whose offshoots, in the neighbourhood of biskra, arose like reefs upon that sea which seemed to have been frozen suddenly into immobility. the actual sea ever trembles and shivers on the surface; a light wavering, imperceptible to the eye, propels towards the shore the expiring wave, fringed with a border of foam. here, nothing like this may be seen; it is a motionless, a congealed sea, or, rather, it is the smooth bed of a sea whose waters have disappeared. science teaches us that such is the fact; and now as ever the expression of the reality is more picturesque, more eloquent than all the comparisons created by the imagination."[ ] an eminent french artist, m. fromentin, whose skill with the pen equals his talent with the brush, has also painted this "congealed sea" in grand and poetic language. "the first impression," he says, "produced by this glowing lifeless picture, composed of the sun, space, and solitude, is keen, and cannot be compared to any other. little by little, however, the eye grows accustomed to the grandeur of the lines, to the emptiness of space, to the denudation of the earth; and if anything can still astonish, it is that one becomes sensible to effects which change so little, and is so powerfully affected by spectacles in reality of the simplest character."[ ] i must also enumerate among the "artists in words" who have painted the wonders of the sahara, general daumas, not one of the least distinguished of the franco-algerine warriors. he describes it in the following language:--"it is a naked and barren immensity,--this sea of sand, whose eternal waves, agitated to-day by the _choub_, will to-morrow be heaped up immovable, and which are slowly furrowed by those fleets called caravans." general daumas, it is evident, confines himself to the scientific realism, which m. martins prefers to the glowing and inexact imagery of the poets, and conveys in a few words an accurate yet very picturesque idea of that arid sea, where the wind stirs up rolling waves of sand instead of foaming billows, and which the arabs call _falat_. i shall place before the reader, however, the description given by m. martins himself, for it represents both the _ensemble_ and the details of the picture. "if the desert of the plateaux," he says,[ ] "be the image of a sea suddenly fixed during a level calm, the desert of sand represents to us a sea which may have been solidified during a violent tempest. the dunes, or sand-hills, like waves, rise one behind another even to the limits of the horizon, separated by narrow valleys which represent the depressions of the great billows of the ocean, all whose various aspects they simulate. sometimes they narrow themselves into keen-edged crests, or shoot upwards in pyramids, or swell into cylindrical domes. seen from a distance, these dunes also remind us at times of the appearances of the _névé_ (or granulated snow) in the amphitheatres and on the ridges which lie contiguous to the loftiest alpine summits. their colours still further enhance the illusion. moulded by the winds, the burning sands of the desert assume the same forms as the _névés_ of the glaciers." whoever has seen the dunes on the coast of norfolk, or more particularly in gascony, may gain a very accurate conception of the desert. the only notable differences are in the extent, which here seems infinite, like that of ocean; the purity of the heaven, which is seldom sullied by a cloud; and the colour, which is of a soft, intense blue. the nature of the soil is the same; it is a very fine, shifting, silicious sand, white sometimes, like that of fontainebleau, and sometimes reddened by the presence of oxide of iron. in the sahara this sand gathers in veritable dunes, hillocks which the wind upheaves, displaces, and transforms from one day to another. only the _lettes_, or valleys, which in our dunes receive the pluvial waters and preserve a sufficient amount of fertility, are here just moistened by rare saline infiltrations, and almost always remain in a condition of absolute sterility. nevertheless, in some localities, the presence of gypsum gives the sand a certain fixity, which permits a small number of plants to germinate and develop themselves. this gypsum is never found but in the valleys, and never in tabular masses, as on the plateaux, but only in crystals of various forms, penetrated by silica. "you pick up a pebble," says m. martins, "and find it to be a crystal." the villages are surrounded by crenellated ramparts built of crystals; the houses which compose these villages are constructed of the same materials; and very weird and splendid is the scene presented by these edifices with their sun-illuminated walls. notwithstanding their small dimensions and mean architecture, when thus lit up in glorious radiance, they seem to realize the wonders told in fairy tales of the enchanted palaces of the genii! chapter iv. phenomena of the desert. the desert has its own meteorology; it is the theatre of peculiar phenomena, which one observes in no other part of the globe. its climate, at least in the sandy region, is remarkably uniform; it varies only, according to latitude, in a greater or less elevated thermometrical mean. hippocrates, the ancient philosopher, rightly called "the father of medicine," states the three elements of climate to be, the atmosphere, the soil, and the waters. throughout the desert these are identically similar, and consequently originate identically similar phenomena. the atmosphere, in fact, is everywhere of an almost unchanging purity. it is only in the neighbourhood of mountains that clouds accumulate, to spend themselves at periodical seasons in more or less abundant rains. in the plains it never rains, and during the day no veil is interposed between the earth and the sun's burning glare, nor during the night do any refreshing dews weaken the force of the terrestrial radiation. there result constant alternations of devouring heat while the sun is above the horizon, and of rapid and frequently intense cooling when he has disappeared. the soil is everywhere as smooth as "the liquid main." this uniformity contributes, in addition to its silicious, argillaceous, or calcareous character, to render more abrupt the changes of temperature which occur from morning to evening and from evening to morning. in truth, the earth reflects the sun's heat in proportion as it receives it; it absorbs but insignificant quantities, which it loses in a few minutes when the calorific source begins to fail. on the other hand, in these immense plains where no inequality of surface can oppose the atmospheric movements, the wind acquires an increasing force and swiftness, _vires acquirit eundo_, and soon assumes all the characteristics of a tempest. hence arise those terrible typhoons, those appalling hurricanes, of whose destructive effects history records so many instances, and of which i shall presently be called upon to speak. as for water, we have seen that its entire absence is a characteristic feature of the sandy desert. to sum up, an overpowering degree of heat during the day,--a freshness, often even an excessive cold, during the night (in the sahara the thermometer frequently rises above ° f. at noon, and not infrequently sinks below ° about two or three o'clock a.m.); an ever transparent and azure sky, "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue;" the absence of rains and dews, of gales and thunder; but a frequent recurrence of terrible hurricanes: such is the meteorological constitution of the arid zone, which embraces all the northern districts of africa, except the mediterranean region--that is, from the snowy heights of atlas to the fertile pastures of soudan--and which extends in asia from the west to the north-east, for all but one narrow belt, as far as the th meridian of longitude. * * * * * foremost among the phenomena peculiar to this zone we must place those famous tempests which, in default of humid clouds, traverse with startling swiftness the changing surface of the desert, driving before them whirlwinds of burning sand, and striking the traveller's heart with a sense of unconquerable awe. the wind of the desert is called by the arabs the _choum_ or _khamsin_; but is more generally known in european books as the _simoun_, _simoom_, or _samoun_. it is the _samiel_ of the turks; and, under a somewhat milder form, the _scirocco_ of the mediterranean. wherever, or however it blows, it is a pernicious and hateful wind; the blast, in all probability, which destroyed the hosts of sennacherib at the bidding of the divine word,-- "the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, and breathed in the face of the foe as he passed. and the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, and their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still." torrents of burning sand sweep before it, a thick veil of darkness envelopes the firmament, and the sun assumes a blood-red hue. "that crimson haze by which the prostrate caravan is awed in the red desert when the wind's abroad."[ ] when the simoom rises, says m. martins,[ ] the air is filled with dust of such extreme fineness that it makes its way through objects hermetically sealed, penetrates into the eyes, the ears, and the organs of respiration. a burning heat, like that which breathes from the mouth of a furnace, possesses the air, and paralyzes the strength of men and animals. seated on the sand, with their backs turned to windward, the arabs, wrapped in their burnous, wait with fatalistic resignation the end of the torment; their camels crouching, exhausted, panting, stretch their long necks upon the scorching soil. seen through this powdery haze, the sun's disc, shorn of its beams, shows pale and ghastly as that of the moon. fortunately, the phenomenon never prevails over any very considerable area, and beyond its limits the atmosphere remains serene and calm; so that travellers who have watched it approaching in the form of a reddish cloud, without being able to calculate on its direction, have often escaped with no worse result than a panic, and have only witnessed its terrible effects at a distance. it must not, however, be confounded with the sand-storms which the pilgrim encounters in the arabian desert, and which seem confined to that region. dean stanley, on his route from suez to sinai, met with one which prevailed the whole day. "imagine," he says, "the caravan toiling against this,--the bedouins each with his shawl thrown completely over his head, half of the riders sitting backwards,--the camels, meantime thus virtually left without guidance, though from time to time throwing their long necks sideways to avoid the blast, yet moving straight onwards with a painful sense of duty truly edifying to behold. through the tempest, this roaring and driving tempest, which sometimes made me think that this must be the real meaning of 'a _howling_ wilderness,' we rode on the whole day."[ ] a french cavalier, m. trémaux, while crossing the desert of korosko, had the good fortune to witness the course of a simoom, while himself in a position of safety. it was the th of february . the horizon in the south-west wore a hue of the evillest augury. gusts of wind, which seemed to have issued from some red-hot brazier, beat in the face of the travellers. the camel-drivers, accustomed to interpret these sinister signs, and assured that a tempest was at hand, felt themselves called upon to give m. trémaux a few counsels, which were by no means reassuring. "as soon as the storm darkens the air," said one of them, "by surrounding us with a cloud of sand, we must throw ourselves prone on the ground, wrap our heads in our finest stuffs, to protect our respiration from this sand, which burns the throat. it will be useless to trouble ourselves about the camels; they will lie down of their own accord, bend their head against their burden, and never stir so long as the tempest lasts. if the sand accumulates by our side, we must move in such a manner as to prevent it from covering us, making it roll under itself, but without exposing our heads. remember these things carefully; and the will of god be done!" "that is not all," added another; "when the water-bags are partly shrunken, as are ours at this moment, and the khamsin blows for some time, it finishes by completely drying them up." thus warned, m. trémaux was compelled to face, with all the resignation he was capable of, the melancholy alternative of perishing suffocated by the sand, or, a little later, of succumbing to the tortures of thirst. he continued to journey, or rather to drag himself towards the centre of the choking atmosphere, and to watch the scourge which rapidly drew near. this lasted a couple of hours, after which the travellers had the satisfaction of seeing the simoom glide by on their right, and depart with the same rapidity. a column of the french army, commanded by the dukes of aumale and of montpensier, had met with a less happy chance on the th of march , in the souf, or algerine sahara; it was attacked by a simoom, which prolonged its furious assaults during fourteen hours. on the day following, m. fournel, a mining engineer who accompanied the expedition, ascertained that the meteor had swept but a narrow zone parallel to the aurès range, and that at the mountain base the tranquillity of the atmosphere had been undisturbed. the simoom, or khamsin, is, however, more troublesome and painful than really dangerous. m. martins speaks of the annihilated army of cambyses, the persian king, which perished in the libyan desert (b.c. ),[ ] and of whole caravans engulfed in the sepulchral sands. "the numerous skeletons of camels," he adds, "which we met with on our way prove that these catastrophes are still of frequent occurrence." it is more probable, however, that they died from dearth of water and want of food. as for the persian host, it was probably swallowed up in one of those quicksands, those hidden treacherous gulfs, which are found in the deserts of libya, as well as in those of persia and arabia. the evil effects of the simoom have, in fact, been exaggerated by the arabs, whose highly-coloured narratives have been too easily adopted by credulous travellers. it heats the blood, it dries the skin, it renders respiration troublesome; but it does not kill. [illustration: a french column in algiers surprised by the simoom.] [illustration: whirlwinds of sand (sand-spouts).] it is not always a single wind which blows in the deserts; but sometimes two or three currents, from opposite directions, cross and clash and drive against one another with increasing fury. then is produced the singular phenomenon of the sand-spout, often witnessed on a magnificent scale in the sandy plains of eastern asia and southern america. the sand is not now driven in voluminous masses in a rectilineal direction; but raised aloft in the form of long tortuous columns, which whirl to and fro like gigantic spectres in the mazes of a wild demon-dance. at the same time, the azure of the sky grows pale and troubled, the sun's light obscured, the boundaries of the horizon seem to meet together; the burning dust held in suspension in the air renders it irrespirable, and if one of these whirlwinds encounters any object which offers a resistance, it carries it upward and hurls it a considerable distance. fortunately the phenomenon is one of brief duration. the atmospheric equilibrium is speedily restored; the heavens recover their serenity; the atmosphere grows clear, and the sand columns, falling in upon themselves, form a number of little hills or cones, apparently constructed with great care, like those mimic edifices of sand or snow built up by children in their pastimes. it is said that these furious whirlwinds have occasionally engulfed whole caravans in their tremendous vortex,-- "man mounts on man, on camels camels rush, hosts march on hosts, and nations nations crush; wheeling in air the wingèd islands fall, and one great sandy ocean covers all." whether this be true or not, there can be no doubt that the spectacle is one of great magnificence, and calculated to inspire the traveller with emotions of awe and dread. mr. atkinson describes it as seen by him, on one occasion, when traversing the mongolian desert:-- "as we passed," he says,[ ] "in the middle of a space sown with innumerable hillocks of sands, we saw about thirty of them suddenly raise themselves around us, lengthen into long elliptical columns, and glide with many a whirl and sweep over the surface of the desert with the hissings and contortions of gigantic serpents which had awakened at our approach. these spouts, for the phenomenon was no other, varied in diameter; the smallest measured between twenty and thirty feet; a few attained to a hundred; and one, which absorbed in its vortex all that it approached, rose to nearly two hundred. one might have said, on seeing them bending, rising again and crossing one another in space amidst an atmosphere of dust, that they were antediluvian monsters emerging from their geological bed, and returning into the feverish activity of existence. but soon, the atmospheric forces which had raised them beginning to fail, we saw these sand-spouts fall away one after another, and form on the surface of the desert a number of moving hillocks similar to those from which we had just emerged." * * * * * the poet, invoking the judgment of heaven on the traitor, would fain doom him to the misery of cherishing hopes that shall never be realized. "may he," cries the minstrel-- "may he, at last, with lips of flame, on the parched desert thirsting die, while lakes that shone in mockery nigh are fading oft, untouched, untasted."[ ] the image here is borrowed from that most singular phenomenon of the desert, the _mirage_; an atmospheric illusion due to the refraction of the sun's rays upon the sand, and the intense expansion of the lower strata of the air,--in other words, it arises from the total reflection of the rays of light from the lower surface of a stratum of air. "this occurs when, from any cause, such a stratum of air possesses a higher refractive power than the one immediately below it. such a condition of the atmosphere causes remote objects to be seen as if reflected in a mirror, or to appear as if suspended in the air. when the effect is confined to apparent elevation, the english sailors call it _looming_; when inverted images are formed, the italians give it the name of _fata morgana_. the arabs call it _serab_, or _suhrab_, the 'water of the desert;' and the hindus, _tchittram_, or 'the picture.'" the effects of the illusion are extraordinary, but undoubtedly they are heightened by the imagination of observers, generally over-excited by fatigue, by privations, or sometimes by fever. these causes contribute to vary the nature of the phenomenon as seen by different eyes. thus some gaze enraptured on verdurous islands bright as armida's enchanted garden, with feathery palms and blooming flowers, and delicious sparkling lakes; others see, in that dim far-off which is never reached, the laughing waves of ocean, with ships resting calmly at anchor, or "veering up and down, they know not why," and camels browsing quietly upon its shores; others, again, see before them the rolling river, its banks studded with groves and palaces; and all this, while there is not a solitary real object on the horizon whose presence might serve in some degree as a foundation for their visions. it is the very phantasmagoria of nature; her wildest, most wayward, and most fantastic sport. the reflection of the sky, modified by the inequalities of the soil and the vibratory movements of the air, can alone account for the singular deception. imagination shows its victim, in the reflected image of the cloudless sky, a sheet of water, which is variously taken for a sea, a lake, or a river; it invests the slightest objects on the earth's surface with forms, colours, and dimensions, which are easily metamorphosed into houses, ships, men, animals; and it seems certain that those which in nubia our fancy converts into camels would, in the soudan, be transformed into elephants, and at venice into gondolas. imagination makes us its dupes, and gives to airy nothings "a local habitation and a name." it becomes absolutely necessary, therefore, to distinguish these wholly personal illusions born of a heated brain, from those which are really due to a definite physical cause. the latter necessarily suppose the existence of _actual objects_, below or very little above the horizon. under such conditions, the most frequent illusion is that which shows the sky or rocks reflected in the expanse of rarified air superincumbent on the earth's surface, and which through this cause alone resembles water. it is then that the ignorant or inexperienced traveller, overwhelmed with fatigue and devoured by thirst, hastens his eager steps to reach more quickly that limpid water, where he hopes to refresh and reinvigorate himself, but which flies before his advance, and speedily vanishes altogether. sometimes it is an inverted representation of terrestrial objects which appears in the air; or rather, these same objects, several times reflected, appear to multiply themselves. m. trémaux relates that he saw the latter form of mirage in nubia. he observed a row of doum-palms, which were about two thousand yards distant, repeated in several similar rows, each with a like number of trees, so as to produce the effect of a quincunx; among these trees floated several seeming sheets of water. [illustration: a mirage in the desert.] we must remember, moreover, that the immensity, uniformity, and vacuity of the desert, singularly contribute to render optical illusions frequent. the very serenity of the air assists in destroying the perspective to which we are accustomed in temperate climates, which are always more or less misty. objects appear much nearer than they are in reality, because they are more distinctly visible, and also because nothing intervenes between them and the observer. their dimensions, too, become arbitrary, for want of standards of comparison by which to measure them. so the trees and the mountains where the weary traveller hopes to obtain a temporary repose and a passing shelter from the pythian's fiery arrows, seem constantly to recede before him, like the rainbow when pursued by the ignorant peasant; and, until experience has taught him to rectify the apparent testimony of his senses, he is doomed, like tantalus, to be the victim of continual deceptions,-- "ev'n in the circling floods refreshment craves, and pines with thirst amidst a sea of waves; when to the water he his lip applies, back from his lip the treacherous water flies."[ ] nor is this all; hunger, thirst, weariness, and especially the action of the solar heat upon the brain, determine a peculiar pathological condition, a species of mental intoxication or delirium which powerfully predisposes the victim to hallucinations, and deprives the mind of that self-control which would enable it to chase away the phantoms that haunt it. to this affection, whose symptoms are frequently but erroneously confounded with those of the mirage, the arabs have given a specific name. they call it _ragle_. a distinguished french traveller has described it with exhaustive fulness,[ ] and he attributes it to fatigue, excessive heat, and want of sleep. it shows itself most commonly at night, and in dreams, attacks of nightmare, and a somnambulism of which the sufferer is perfectly conscious, without being able to throw it off. by day strange hallucinations affect the sight, the hearing, and even, though less powerfully, the senses of taste and smell. the aberration extends, as far as the sight is concerned, to the objects which we are in the habit of seeing; a small stone, for instance, expands into a rock; the rut of a carriage-wheel enlarges into the furrow of a freshly ploughed field; a tuft of grass or a bush will assume the grand proportions of a forest; and, what is remarkable, these objects seem always close at hand. another frequent error is the elevation of horizontal surfaces; the horizon becomes a wall or a mountain. "it has happened to myself," says m. d'escayrac, "to meet with walls constantly reappearing before me. my extended arm has plunged into the masonry, but my body never encountered any obstacle; the rampart opened to give me a free passage." hearing is, in its turn, affected. then, any sound whatsoever, such as a footfall, the blow of a stone, the whisper of the wind, is changed into melodious sounds, keen cries of distress, the murmur of woods, the harmony of familiar songs. one day, says m. d'escayrac, i heard the click-clack of a village mill. endeavouring to collect my senses, and to obtain an explanation of the sound, i perceived that it arose from the clink of my sword-belt against the pommel of my saddle, to which i had buckled my sabre. jomard, the savant, who experienced the effects of the ragle during his travels in egypt, confirms in every respect the foregoing description. on his way from rosetta to alexandria, he kept along the border of the sea, and found his feet painfully staggering in the thick fine sand. such a journey is necessarily one of extreme fatigue. after the first night, this fatigue grew overwhelming; the traveller lost all accurate perception of objects, or of the form of places. the surface of the lake medeah appeared not so much a sheet of water as a monotonous plain. constantly pressing forward, he maintained a hard fight against the overpowering sense of slumber. half-asleep, half-awake, his brain was dazzled with the most fantastic phantoms, and the hallucination was so great that he plunged into the lake before him, without perceiving it, though the water was very deep. but the freshness caused by the evaporation of the water warned him of his error, and the vision suddenly passed away. such being the phenomena of the desert, one can understand the dreary picture which dante paints in his "inferno," of-- "the plain which from its bed rejecteth every plant;" whose soil is-- "of an arid and thick sand;" and where-- "with a gradual fall are raining down dilated flakes of fire. as of the snow on alp, without a wind."[ ] chapter v. vegetable life in the desert:--the oases. the _flora_ of a region where nature provides no genial fertilizing rains, and whose soil is simply a shifting sand, moistened only in certain places by a brackish water, must necessarily be one of extreme poverty. it is reduced very nearly, as we have seen, to a few plants of the genus _salsola_ (salt-wort), flourishing on the borders of the salt pools and lakes. nevertheless, at a few points, where a certain degree of fixity obtains in the sand, we meet with the thornless bushes or shrubs, the _ephedra alata_ and the _retama durioei_; some pistachios (_pistacia lentiscus_ and _p. terebinthus_); the "drin" (_aristida pungens_), a tall grass, with linear leaves, some seven feet high, to which the camel is very partial; and the "ézel," a member of the family of polygonaceæ, which botanists class with the allied buckwheat and knot-grasses, and which attains the stature of three to four feet. the latter plant throws out roots, which are generally uncovered, to a distance of twenty to twenty-five feet; its woody stem spreads in its upper portion into gnarled branches, terminated each by a cluster of green, cylindrical and leafless twigs, which fall during winter. elsewhere rise the tall trunks of the doum-palms, either isolated or assembled in scanty clumps, under which the traveller obtains with difficulty a modicum of shade, but which are otherwise of no value to him. in districts where the surface is more broken up, notably in palestine, on the banks of the jordan and the dead sea; in the sinaitic peninsula of arabia; in the nubian deserts of naga, aredah, and bahiouda; finally, even in the sahara, in the "desert of erosion," and the table-land region, vegetable life becomes more abundant and more varied, though still but of mediocre interest. however, a curious arbustus, the _limioniastrum guyonianum_, shows itself very frequently in these damp localities, where it attains sometimes the dimensions of a tree. its attenuated leaves are covered with saline efflorescence, and its particles of rosy flowers relieve the monotony of the wilderness. in the permanent salt marshes, or _chotts_, some of the plants are analagous to those formed in the bogs of languedoc. among the plants of the desert i must not forget the rose of jericho (_anastatica hierochuntica_),[ ] an annual which contracts itself into a ball, and, blown about by the breeze, seems a dead and withered mass of twigs. but plunge it into water, and it expands, regains the bloom of life, affording a remarkable example of what is called "revivification." the fable respecting it is, that the first time it ever bloomed was on the eve of the nativity, and that its flower remained open until easter. several other vegetable species grow on the table-lands of the algerine sahara, which are found elsewhere under similar conditions of soil and climate. they are thorny shrubs and underwood, almost wholly belonging to the family of salsolaceæ, or littoral plants, which only thrive on ground impregnated with salt; there are also sub-frutescent plants, partly dried up by the sun. in some places the nakedness of the earth is concealed by the bloom of geraniums and heliotropes. further, you may notice in the region of the table-lands, the _melantha punctuata_, a member of the colchicum tribe, which bears a bouquet of very white flowers grown upon the sand, and surrounded by a crown of ensheathed leaves. not unworthy of rejoicing the eyes of the most fastidious connoisseurs, it lives and dies unknown in the solitudes of the sahara. [illustration: vegetable life in the desert. . jujube tree. . lentiscus. . tamarisk.] in the hollows, where the earth preserves some degree of humidity, a fine soft sward prevails, of the most delicious emerald green; two herbs, the alfa (_stipa tenacissima_) and the white wormwood (_artemisia alba_),[ ] often cover extended areas; the jujube trees clothe themselves in profuse foliage; the coloquinta stretches over the ground its branches loaded with spherical fruit; and the tamarisk, developed into a tree, waves in the wind its tufts of snowy and rose-hued flowers. it is in these meadows that the arab rears his tent and pastures his flocks under a winter sky. the industrious and sedentary tribes seek in the oases a more benignant nature,-- "the yellow down bordered with palm, and many a winding vale and meadow;" and a soil which will repay their toil with liberal harvests. and it is there only, in truth, that vegetation presents a development, a continuity, and sometimes even a variety, which recalls the fortunate countries of the mediterranean region. the old geographer, ptolemæus, compared the sahara to a panther's skin, sprinkled with black spots on a tawny ground. these spots which, by an effect of contrast, are set off in black on the yellowish tint of the desert, are the far-famed oases, which have furnished our poets and romancists with so many an appropriate image. ptolemy's comparison is the more accurate because these islands of verdure scattered over the sandy ocean, "like precious stones set in a silver sea," have, in general, a circular form. we must except, however, the grandest and most beautiful of all, egypt. that immemorial land of mystery and power is enchased in the desert region like any other oasis, and only differs in its greater extent and more elongated figure. it stretches along the nile like a ribbon-- "and egypt joys beneath the spreading wave." its length, from cairo to assouan, is miles. its breadth does not exceed nine to twelve miles, except at cairo, where it measures about eighty miles along the sea-coast, which forms the base of a triangular district known as the delta ([greek: delta]) of the nile. the two other angles are marked by the cities of pelusium and alexandria. this long strip of fertility is narrowly shut in between deserts of almost incredible sterility. a peculiarity worthy of attention, because it is the unique cause of the fertility of egypt, is, that the valley of the nile, instead of sloping down on either side to the river-bank, assumes a gently convex form. it is owing to this slight convexity that, at the epoch of the inundation--beginning in june and ending in october--the nile waters overflow to the right and to the left, rest upon the soil, and there deposit their precious mud. how different the aspects of the country at different seasons of the year! first, the bright sparkling sheets of far-spreading and fertilising water; then the emerald green of the growing crops; lastly, the ripe warm yellow hues of the full harvest. well might amrou, the arab conqueror of egypt, remark to the caliph omar, that, "according to the vicissitudes of the seasons, the face of the country is adorned with a _silver_ wave, a verdant _emerald_, and the deep _gold_ of an abundant harvest." the soil of egypt is, then, simply an alluvium mixed with the sand which the winds bring from the desert. its aspect is that of a rich, well-cultivated land, but bears the impress of a wearisome monotony. you see there neither the dark dense forest, the rolling prairie, nor the undulating woodland; from the shore of the mediterranean to the tropics you meet everywhere with the same cultivation; the same mud-built villages, with their dirty and winding streets; and ever the same clumps of palms, which would end by becoming tedious if it were not that their elegance of form invests them with an eternal beauty--if a glorious radiance did not gild with "refined gold" everything it touches--if, finally, an after-glow of wondrous loveliness, of which the eye and soul can never weary, which whenever seen suggests some new and subtle emotions, did not terminate every day by a crepuscular pomp of indescribable magnificence. [illustration: vegetable life in the desert. . doum-palm. . date-palm. . alfa (_stipa tenacissima_).] the palm-tree is, in egypt, as in all the oases, the principal element of the arborescent vegetation. but you also meet there with the banana, the gum-tree, the orange, the jujube, the mulberry, the sycamore, and other tall trees, which were planted by command of mehemet ali, and have perfectly succeeded. the green banks of the river are diversified by coppices of acacias and tamarisks. in the fayoum district bloom impervious hedges of cactus, and plantations of roses for the production of rosewater. cereals yield four crops a-year; flax, hemp, indigo, cotton, the sugar-cane, prosper admirably; and under a climate where ice, snow, and hail are unknown, not a month but has its burden of flowers and fruits. abundant crops of vegetables are raised, even as in those days when the israelites in the wilderness bewailed "the cucumbers and the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlics" of egypt. * * * * * m. charles martins classes the oases of the sahara under three heads, corresponding to his three sub-regions.[ ] the oasis of the table lands is watered by a stream or a copious spring. that of the valleys of erosion, by natural or artificial artesian wells. that of the sandy desert wants water. in the latter the palm-trees are planted in conical cavities hollowed by the hand of man, that their roots may strike down to the subterranean reservoir which is to nourish them. every oasis is composed, in the main, of date-palms, which seem to form a continuous forest; but in reality they are planted in rows, and in gardens separated from one another by walls of earth, which are pierced with an aperture to admit of the entrance of the irrigating rill into the enclosed square. the soil employed in the construction of the walls is removed from the paths, which are consequently below the surface, and can be employed for a double purpose; they facilitate circulation in the oases, and the waters, after having refreshed the gardens and revived the soil, discharge themselves into these hollow ways, whence they flow towards the chotts, or stagnate in swamps, which the lethargic moslem never thinks of draining. from such hotbeds of infection issues the monster fever every year, and slays its hundreds. in case of need, every oasis becomes a fortress. each "square of flowery ground" is a redoubt; the assailant's bullet lodges in the earth wall, or if it pierces through, forms a new loophole in which the arab plants his gun to aim at his enemy. the villages themselves are encircled with walls, flanked by towers, which remind the spectator of the picturesque fortifications of mediæval times. * * * * * the date-palm (_phoenix dactylifera_) is _the_ tree of the desert; there only will its fruits ripen; without it, the desert would be uninhabitable and uninhabited. arab poesy represents it as a living being, created by god on the sixth day, at the same time as man. to express under what conditions it prospers, the imagination of the saharan exaggerates the true, to render it the more palpable. "this king of the oasis," he says, "must plunge his feet in the water and raise his head in the fire of heaven." science, to a certain extent, confirms this seeming hyperbole; for it needs ° of heat accumulated during eight months for the date to ripen its fruit perfectly. if the sum of heat be less, the fruits set, but they do not grow to their full dimensions, remain bitter to the taste, and fail in the sugar and farina, which form their nutritive properties. these conditions are realized in the climate of the sahara. the mean temperature of the year averages from sixty-eight to seventy-six degrees, according to the locality. the heat commences in april, and does not cease until october. the thermometer seldom sinks in the cold season more than two degrees below zero, and the date can endure six degrees below zero. rain, as already stated, is rare in the sahara; it falls in winter, and stimulates into a newly awakened life the vegetation which has been drained of vigour by a summer sun. sometimes they descend in torrents, but these torrents, like our summer showers, are of briefest duration. at tongourt and ouraegla whole years pass by without a drop of rain. does not the reader understand, then, the gratefulness of the arabs towards a tree which can derive its nourishment from the burning sand, the scarcely less burning airs of heaven, and the brackish waters beneath the soil which are fatal to all other kinds of vegetation--which retains its verdure fresh in the glare of a pitiless sun--which resists successfully the winds that bow to the ground its flexible stem--which provides him with beams and coverings for his tent, cordage for the harness of his horses and camels, fruit to satisfy his hunger and wine to quench his thirst--which is, moreover, "a thing of beauty," and gladsome to the eye? "those groups of lovely date-trees bending languidly their leaf-crowned heads, like youthful maids, when sleep descending, warns them to their silken beds."[ ] what the vine is to the italian, the oak to the englishman, the cocoa-nut tree to the polynesian, is the date-palm to the arab. and more--far more. this single tree has peopled the desert. a civilization, rudimentary compared with that of the west, sufficiently advanced if you contrast it with that of the malay or the south sea islander, finds in it its standing-point, its centre, its support. and without it the tribes of the sahara would cease to be.[ ] the wealth of an oasis is computed by the number of its palm trees. all of them, however, are not fruitful; for the date is dioecious. it has its males and its females. the males have flowers furnished with stamens only, and form a closed-up, folded, grape-like ball, previous to the ripening of the pollen in an envelope called the spathe. the females, on the contrary, bear clusters of fruit also wrapped up in a spathe, but incapable of development until fecundated by the pollen or dust of the stamens. to multiply the date-trees, the arabs do not sow the kernels of the fruits, though they germinate with extreme facility, for it is impossible to tell beforehand of what sex the tree will be; they prefer, therefore, to detach a slip from the trunk of a female tree, and this becomes fruitful at the expiry of eight years. the male trees blossom, says mr. tristram,[ ] in the month of march, and about the same time the case containing the female buds begins to open. to impregnate these, a bunch of male flowers is carefully inserted and fastened in the calyx. towards the beginning of july, when the fruit begins to swell, the bunches are tied to the neighbouring branches. the dates are ripe in october, at which time any premature rain is fatal to the crop, though the _roots_ require a daily watering. not less injurious are east winds in march and april. the tree when it begins to bear is about seven feet high. each year the lowest ring of leaves falls off, so that the age of a palm may be roughly computed from the notches on its stem. its fruit begins to decline after a century, and the tree is then cut down for building purposes; but it will live for at least a couple of hundred years. some trees produce as many as twenty bunches, but the average in a favourable season is from eight to ten bunches, each weighing from twelve to twenty pounds. before the dates ripen, each proprietor is bound to set apart one tree in his garden, whose fruit is consecrated for the service of the mosque and the use of the poor. from the juice of the date the arab obtains a sweet fermented liquor, called "laguni," of which he is inordinately fond. he makes an incision in the top of the tree, taking care to strike home to the centre. a funnel is attached, by which the sap flows into a vessel at the rate of about three quarts every morning for ten to sixteen days. the incision requires to be opened afresh daily. the cabbage, or soft pith and young unfolded leaves at the summit of the stem, in taste approaching the chestnut, is also eaten, but only when the tree has fallen or been felled, as the loss of its crown invariably destroys it. there are fifteen varieties of dates, of which the _dghetnour_ is considered the best for keeping, and three other kinds are preferred fresh. the crest of the full-grown trees rises about fifty feet above the ground. the air circulates freely under the leafy canopy formed by their interlacing branches, but the sun's rays do not penetrate. shade, air, and water--these three elements permit the most varied cultivation in the palm-gardens, despite the scorching heats of summer. the fruit trees which flourish are the fig, the pomegranate, the apricot; less frequently, the vine and the olive; still more rarely, the peach, the pear, and the orange. vegetables are commonly cultivated during winter; such as turnips, cabbages, onions, carrots, beans, and pimento (_capsicum annuum_), an indispensable condiment for those arab sauces (_merga_) destined to stimulate the digestive energies of a people who abstain from alcoholic liquors. you may also remark pumpkins, gourds, and water-melons; small squares of lucerne, which yield as many as eight crops yearly; the henna (_lawsonia inermis_), which tints with yellow the nails of the arab women; and tobacco (_nicotiana rustica_), cultivated most largely in the souf. in winter you may refresh your eyes in the clearings of the oasis with verdurous fields, green with barleys and early wheats springing vigorously from the earth. the cultivation of cotton, though considerably stimulated by the failure of the usual supply from the southern states of america, is still in its infancy. there can be little doubt, however, that with improved methods of irrigation it will be considerably and successfully developed. * * * * * the oases of the table-land region, fertilized, as we have already seen, by the streams of fresh water which flow down from the mountains and spread abroad in natural or artificial channels, are much the most fertile, and also the most healthy. they possess, moreover, the inestimable advantage of being but a short distance from the mediterranean region, in a country less arid and less desolate than the remainder of the desert. i may name, among these oases, those of el-kantara, biskra, and el-outaïa, which form a sort of chaplet, and are watered by the same river. the oasis of el-kantara is the first we encounter on quitting the mediterranean region to penetrate into the sahara through the gloomy and precipitous ravine entitled "the mouth of the desert." it is situated feet above the sea-level. its length is yards. fournel, the first geologist who examined it (in ), christened it the hyères of the sahara. its temperature is cool and equable, and does but just suffice to enable the dates to ripen. it possesses upwards of , palm-trees, sheltering under their leafy shadow legions of apricots, pomegranates, and fig-trees. in the centre of this pleasant and fruitful shade houses of brick, with flat roofs and narrow loop-holed windows, surround a square tower. the ancient watch-towers have fallen into decay. before france took under its "protection" the peaceful berbers who cultivate the oasis, these towers were useful as posts of observation whence to descry the approach of the wandering arabs, who resort in summer to the pastures of the mountains, and in winter to those of the sahara. * * * * * as a type of the oasis of the desert of erosion, let us take that of ouargla, the last which submitted to the french in south algeria. [illustration: a street in ouargla.] it is situated in a profound hollow. in form it is elliptical, with its major axis measuring about five thousand yards, and its minor about three thousand. the palms are planted at the rate of ten to eleven hundred a hectare (two acres); they attain to extraordinary dimensions, and their dense foliage over-arches a small world of fruit trees. outside the gardens grow some wild date-palms, which yield a smaller crop, but whose fruit is much more savoury. two avenues, or clearings, bisecting the forest from north to south, lead to the _q'sour_, or village, of ouargla. this _q'sour_, like every other, is built of sun-dried earth, and surrounded by a circular rampart in very bad condition, six to thirteen feet in height, and four and a-half feet thick at the base. it is flanked with loop-holed towers, and encircled externally by a muddy moat, crossed by six causeways leading to as many gates. before some of these gates are planted the small entrenched camps, wherein the arab shepherds of the neighbourhood take refuge with their flocks what time the oasis is menaced by an enemy. the _q'sour_ of ouargla is divided into three quarters, inhabited by three tribes, who do not live always on the most friendly terms. in appearance it resembles the saharan _q'sours_, which have all a strong family likeness; there are the mosque, and the governor's residence, and the open market-place, and the narrow squalid streets, often obstructed by heaps of unclean and unsavoury rubbish; and the low dull houses, pierced with holes instead of windows, which have seldom any shutters; so that the traveller, when he penetrates into these dismal quarters, is startled by the contrast which they present to the picture of enchanted palaces full of shade, perfume, and freshness, drawn by his eager imagination. our poets and romancists have much to answer for. their ideal east is very different from that actual east, in all its heat, and noisomeness, and glare, which the voyager finds around him, and which seems to have lost much of its beauty along with its grandeur and its power. pleasant to the fancy is the palm-grove, pleasant the garden with its golden and purple fruitage, but the warm (and often mineral) waters which irrigate, or rather inundate the soil, exhale the most deleterious emanations, so that the unfortunate inhabitants are constantly decimated by fever, blinded by ophthalmic disease, and devoured by insects! we have already seen that the desert of erosion is watered by means of artesian wells, natural or artificial. the latter have been known to the peoples of the sahara from the remotest antiquity; but the implements and the methods employed to bore or preserve them were, as the reader will suppose, very rude and unsatisfactory. the sides of the well are only supported by a framework of palm-wood, which decays very quickly; the well gets choked; divers descend with baskets to clear away the sand; but after awhile the evil exceeds their power of remedying it. "then, for want of water," says m. martins, "the palms grow sick and perish; the villages are emptied of their population; the oasis contracts its boundaries, and gradually disappears. the desert resumes possession of the demesne which the labour of man had temporarily won for it." fortunately, in the track of the french army have trodden the french engineers, with all the wonderful apparatus that science places at their disposal, and in numerous places they have excavated true artesian wells, similar to those which supply some of our great towns. and thus many oases which were on the point of perishing have been saved, others have been created, and the conquest of the desert by modern industry is henceforth no more than a question of time. * * * * * the oases of the sandy desert, as i have said, are not watered. they only possess such wells as suffice, more or less, for the needs of the poor cultivators. as for the palms, and other nutritive vegetables, they are planted at the bottom of conical excavations some eighteen, twenty-five, or thirty feet in depth; so that at a short distance you only see their crests rising above the sandy soil like large tufts of herbage. the slopes around these hollow gardens are stayed indifferently well by a matting of palm leaves. the well itself is placed in the centre, and its depth does not exceed five-and-twenty feet. nothing can be more precarious than these oases, which a gust of wind may bury under an avalanche of sand. yet the men are cleaner in their person, neater in attire, and livelier in spirit--the women are less wretched and less oppressed--and the houses better built and better provided than in the great _q'sours_ of the upper regions. in the souf, the sandy region of the eastern sahara, the industrious inhabitants of these oases remain at peace in the midst of the tumults and insurrections of their turbulent neighbours, and appear fully sensible of the advantages they undoubtedly derive from the firm and impartial rule of the french government. chapter vi. animal life in the desert. the artist who wishes to represent the broad expanse of ocean's "liquid plain," does not fail to animate it with the white canvas of the labouring ships. if he paints the desert, his picture would be divided by a horizontal line into two parts--the blue heaven, the yellow sand; the latter, an undulating sea, with a few clumps of palms in the background, and in the foreground, to enliven the too monotonous scene, a group or so of camels. the camel is, in fact, the indispensable accessory of every view of the desert, as the ship of every marine painting; which justifies once more the arab designation of "ship of the desert" or "terrestrial ship" (_gouareb el beurr_). in book the first i have spoken of the camel properly so-called, or camel with two humps, which is peculiar to central and eastern asia. the camel of arabia and africa is the dromedary. the latter is employed conjointly with the two-humped camel in the westernmost countries of asia: in egypt, and in nubia, he is much more widely spread than his congener, which is nearly unknown in the rest of africa. the dromedary has but one hump. his hair is soft, woolly, moderately long about the body, longer and much thicker on the hump, the head, the neck, and the shoulders. its colour varies from a reddish-brown to a clear yellow. zoologists recognize three varieties of this species:--the _brown dromedary_, also called, but improperly, the caucasian dromedary--he is brown, like the bactrian camel, and his short squat limbs indicate strength rather than agility; the _white dromedary_, of a very transparent colour, and of slender figure; and the _egyptian dromedary_, larger than either of the preceding, and with body and limbs uniformly clothed in short gray hair. but the arabs distinguish only two races: the _djemel_, or camel of burden, which is no other, probably, than the caucasian dromedary; and the _mahari_, or camel for the saddle and war, whose name seems to apply equally to the two other varieties. [illustration: . the mahari. . the djemel.] the mahari is to the djemel what our chargers are to our carthorses, or, as the arabs say, what the _djend_ (noble) is to the _kheddim_ (the servant). he has a very sure foot, a free, sustained, and rapid trot; he is sober, enduring, and courageous; a true courser, and the nomade's inseparable friend and companion. his training is a matter of the highest importance, and skilfully adapted to develop all his best qualities and highest faculties. the arabs of the tell assert that the maharis accomplish in one day ten times the march of a caravan, or a hundred leagues; but the best in blood and breeding do not generally exceed a daily journey of from thirty-five to forty leagues. the young mahari has his place in the arab's tent. the children play with him; he is a recognized member of the family; custom and gratitude attach him to his masters, whom he divines to be his friends. if the djemel be not as noble as the mahari, he is not less useful. without him, all relations would be suspended between the peoples of the sahara; the soudan, wide, populous, and fertile as it is, would be a _terra incognita_; he is the sole means of intercommunication possible in the arid wastes of the desert. alike living and dead, he is the fortune of his master. living, he carries the tents and the provisions; he makes war, he carries on commerce; that he might be patient, god (say the arabs) created him without gall; he fears neither hunger nor thirst, fatigue nor heat; his hair is woven into the burnous and the tent-stuff; the milk of the female nourishes rich and poor, and fattens the horses; it is "a spring which does not dry up."[ ] dead, all his flesh is excellent eating; his hump (_deroua_) forms the daintiest dish at the banquet; in the bottles made of his skin, the water is neither consumed by wind nor sun; the shoes fashioned from it may tread unhurt upon the viper, and will save the traveller's feet from burning wounds (_haffa_); denuded of its hair, afterwards soaked in water, and simply applied to a wooden saddle, without nails or pegs, it adheres to it, like the bark to the tree, and communicates to the whole a solidity which will defy war, the chase, and the foray. the superiority of the mahari consists in this, that to all his own peculiar qualities he adds those of the djemel. his inferiority arises from the difficulty of his training, which consumes for more than a year all his master's time without compensation, and from the fact that animals of his race are few in number. * * * * * [illustration: striped hyÆnas of the sahara.] if we turn to the poet or the artist for a picture of the desert, we find it peopled with animals of a very unsatisfactory character: the lion, the leopard, the panther, in quest of prey, seeking whom they may devour, or troops of hyænas and jackals, tearing with keen teeth the corpses of men and animals. "with these, lean dogs in herds obscene repair, and every kind that snuffs the tainted air."--(_lucan._) [illustration: jackals disintering dead bodies.] others diversify the scene with the graceful form of the gazelle, with the ungainly body, immensely long neck, and spotted hide of the giraffe; or with the ostrich, the camel of the bird-world, spreading his plumes to the wind, and flying with swift feet from the hunter or the wild beast that pursues him. but, in truth, these are bold fancies, artistic or poetic licenses, rather than exact representations of what one really sees in the desert; and most of the animals with which we people, at our pleasure, the immense solitudes of africa and asia actually belong to neighbouring regions of a less arid character. and, in the first place, the lion of the desert is a myth, or nearly so. "when you speak," says carrette, "to the inhabitants of the desert of these ferocious beasts which europeans give them as companions, they reply with imperturbable coolness, 'you have, then, in your own country, lions which drink air and browse on leaves? but, among us, lions must have running water and live flesh. therefore they only appear in those parts of the sahara where are wooded hills and an abundance of water. we dread nothing but the viper (_lefa_) and the innumerable swarms of mosquitoes; the latter being found wherever any humidity prevails.'"[ ] [illustration: . gypaëtos, or bearded vulture. . sociable vulture. . cathartes percnopterus.] what carrette relates of the lion is also true of the other carnivora, of the panther and the leopard, as well as of the hyæna and the jackal. it is surely easy to understand that these animals greatly prefer to sojourn in fertile and well-watered countries, where they enjoy freshness, shelter, copious supplies of water, and abundant prey, than in hot glaring plains of sand, which offer them no asylum, and where they run the risk of perishing of hunger and thirst. it is, then, only on exceptional occasions that the lions and other large _felidæ_ of africa issue from their caverns or their lairs, and wander into the desert (properly so called) in pursuit of prey. the hyæna and the jackal venture there more willingly. we know that these carnivora only attack living animals at the last extremity; their food is the dead and even putrid flesh; it is a nutriment which costs them less trouble to obtain, and probably, also, most pleases their taste. thus, it is by no means an uncommon occurrence to see them in the towns and _q'sours_, devouring the carrion, or in the cemeteries disinterring the corpses; they follow also in the desert the caravans and detachments of troops on the march, and at night prowl around their encampments, in the hope of some windfall, which they seldom expect in vain, but which the dogs, the vultures (_cathartes percnopterus_ and _vultur fulvus_), the _gypaëtos_, and the crows rarely fail to dispute with them. the region of the table-lands, or saharan steppes, the valleys of erosion, and certain parts of the gobi--persia, syria, and arabia--which are not absolutely deprived of rain, or which are refreshed by mountain-streams, nourish several species of mammifers: gazelles, hedgehogs, porcupines, hares, offering both to man and the carnivora an abundant variety of game. of all these animals, the most interesting are the gazelles, several species of which inhabit the desert region. i shall refer in the first place to the gazelle properly so called, or _antilope dorcas_, so remarkable for the grace of his movements, his slender limbs, and the expressive gentleness of his eyes. this beautiful species is common in central sahara, nubia, and asia. he lives in numerous troops, is of small stature, with a yellowish or yellow-brown skin on the back, and a white belly, a brown or blackish belt marking the sides. the horns, larger and stronger in the male than in the female, have a double curve, are lyrated, and without projections. the ariel gazelle is about twenty inches high at the shoulder. the _gazella soemmeringii_ belongs to abyssinia and sennaar. the gazelle _nanguer_ is found as far as morocco, nubia, and in the cordofou; some varieties occur at the senegal. finally, the oryx-leucoryx inhabits tropical africa, and rarely makes his appearance in the deserts; he differs from the gazelle in his arched horns, but his skin is nearly the same. although the gazelles are generally considered extremely timid animals, which, moreover, their weakness would fully justify, they display on emergency a surprising courage. when they cannot escape from danger through agility, they bravely confront the enemy which attacks them. menaced by a panther or a leopard, they form themselves into a circle, which, bristling everywhere with keen-pointed horns, compels the antagonist to retreat. [illustration: . gazelle. . antelope (_oryx-leucoryx_). . gazelle (_of soemmering_). . nanguer.] in the deserts of africa and arabia the traveller frequently meets with small rodents, which excavate their burrows in the sandy soil, and only issue from them at night in quest of food. these are the jerboas and jerbilles. the jerboas are easily recognized by the length of their hind-legs and the disposition of their toes--three to each hind-foot, the middle larger than the rest; five to each fore-foot; and all furnished with sharp, strong, crooked claws; their structure resembling that of the _raptores_ among birds. these animals leap with great celerity, and to an extraordinary distance. the tail, which is a fifth longer than the body, and terminated by a tuft of black hair, forms at one and the same time a sort of balance, a rudder, and a lever. it enables the jerboa to preserve his equilibrium, and to direct himself when he has taken his spring; or, in a state of repose, furnishes him with a substantial support. [illustration: gazelles of arabia opposing a panther.] the jerboas constitute, in the family of _dipodidæ_, a tribe composed of several species, which are found in eastern and central europe, asia, and africa. the jerbilles, owing to the similarity of name, are often confounded with the jerboas; but the only things they have in common are a certain conformity of habits, and a nearly equal aptitude for leaping. otherwise, their organization rather resembles that of the rat, along with which it is classed by zoologists. their hind-legs are much shorter than those of the jerboa, and their tail is garnished with but a few short, stiff hairs. like the jerboas, they inhabit the sandy wildernesses of africa, asia, and eastern europe. [illustration: jerboas attacked by a horned viper.] these small animals, exclusively frugivorous and graminivorous, seem able, in the solitary places where they make their retreats, to multiply themselves _ad infinitum_; but, while a great number perish through famine, they are also decimated by a host of enemies in the reptiles of the desert, and especially by the terrible horned viper, or _cerastes_, and a great saurian, intermediate between the lizard and crocodile--the "varan of the desert." the horned viper (_vipera cerastes_) is thus named on account of the two horns or protuberances on its forehead, which give it a physiognomy more hideous, perhaps, than that of any of its congeners. it attains the length of two to three feet. its head is depressed, very obtuse, swollen behind the eyes, and, so to speak, truncated in front. its body, cased in shells of a tawny-like yellow, marked with brown spots, blends curiously with the sand, half-buried in which it lurks to surprise its prey or escape from its enemies. the cerastes frequents the deserts of lybia, arabia, the sahara, and the valley of the nile. its bite is exceedingly dangerous. [illustration: . varan of the nile. . varan of the desert.] the _varans_, or _monitors_, called also _tupinambis_ by the ancient naturalists, form a genus represented in tropical climes by several species of great size. english writers commonly designate them monitors, the french sauvegardes, because they frequent the haunts of crocodiles and alligators, and give warning of their approach by a whistling sound. two species belong to africa: one, aquatic, the varan of the nile (_varanus dracæna_); the other, sand-burrowing, the varan of the desert (_varanus sunius_, or _arenarius_), called by the arabs _onaran-el-ard_. their usual size is from three feet to three feet four inches. the varan of the nile wears an armour of alternately green and black scales. its congener exhibits a mixture of brown and yellow, more suitable to its sandy lairs. it is rare in the sahara, but common enough in the deserts of egypt, syria, and nubia. poor as may be the fauna of the desert, there is yet cause enough for astonishment that the species which compose it, especially the herbivora, should be able to find subsistence in these seas of sand, where they can find but a few saline plants scattered at rare intervals, and where fresh water is almost wholly wanting. it is, however, well known now-a-days that the wilderness provides its denizens with an aliment, which is sometimes very abundant, suitable for man, the camel, and the beasts, and is considered identical by many authorities with the _manna_ of the bible.[ ] this substance is a cryptogamous vegetable, variously christened _lichen esculentus_ (acharius), _lecanora esculenta_ (pallas), _luttarut_ (by the arabs), and _vasseh-el-ard_, or "earth-dung" (by the algerines). it sometimes forms on the sand, in the morning, a layer one or two inches in thickness, and appears to have dropped from heaven, or to have sprung spontaneously from the soil, during the night. it is probable that its spores, transported by the wind, are developed by the humidity which is condensed through the nocturnal coldness. a shower of this lichen was observed, in april , in the russian government of wilna. it covered the soil for three or four inches in depth, and the inhabitants lived upon it for several days. its form is that of a small, anfractuous, rounded grain, about the size of a pea, externally of a gray colour, but white and farinaceous within. its taste is weak, amygdalaceous, with a faint, mushroom-like aroma. boiled in water, it swells, becomes gelatinous, and may be served up in various ways. in the sahara, as well as in arabia, it adheres to any foreign body. cattle feed upon it eagerly. it certainly facilitates digestion, and contains all the assimilating principles which form the constituents of the wholesomest vegetable food. such as it is, the _lichen esculentus_ is an inestimable boon to the wandering tribes of the desert, who would perish of hunger in years of famine but for its heaven-sent nutriment. chapter vii. the men of the desert. when i use the terms "men of the desert," "populations of the desert," evidently i must not be understood to employ them in their absolute sense. man, no more than that other so-called "lord of animals"--the lion, makes a voluntary sojourn in countries where game, verdure, and fresh water are wanting. the peoples whom we entitle "inhabitants of the desert" are then, in reality, those who dwell upon its borders or in its oases, but whom the necessity of traversing and frequently abiding in it has familiarized with its gloom and its peril, as a similar necessity has familiarized the mariner with the ocean. we have seen, however, that some pastoral tribes pitch their tents and pasture their flocks in those districts where vegetation is favoured and cherished by a supply of rain or subterranean waters, and which should more accurately be designated as steppes than deserts. some authorities have, indeed, affixed the name of "the saharan steppe" to the region of high table-lands which lies at the base of the atlas range. other groups, who are partly shepherds and partly hunters, inhabit, in the southern and western sahara, those plateaux where ostriches, gazelles, and hares abound. the more peaceful and industrious tribes occupy the oases. as for those who encamp or habitually wander in the sandy desert--where all cultivation is impossible, where the herds can obtain but an insufficient pasture, where game very seldom shows itself-the reader will suppose that they can only subsist by plundering or ransoming the caravans. these are the rovers, the pirates of the sea of sand. there are "land-rats," shakspeare tells us, as well as "water-rats." others, again, there are who seem convinced that "honesty is the best policy," who give themselves up exclusively to commercial transactions, and act as agents and intermediaries between nations separated from one another by leagues of rock and sand, for the exchange of their respective products. it might be said of these that they discharged a useful and honourable function, if the purchase and sale of slaves were not the most ordinary, and unfortunately the most lucrative, of their operations. in our previous examination of the peoples of the steppes, we discovered that all were more or less directly sprung from the same sources;--the yellow or mongolian race, which blends in the north with the hyperborean race, and in the west with the japhetic or indo-germanic. we have now to note a not less remarkable fact--that the whole desert zone is likewise occupied by one family, the semitic, modified in certain parts of africa by commixture with the negro race. soon we shall see the latter peopling of itself the plains of central and southern africa; the malayo-polynesian and papuan, but slightly distinguished from the preceding, in possession of the islands of the indian ocean, those of oceania, and the australian continent; the hyperborean race, scattered through the arctic solitudes; and, finally, the "red man," gradually dying away among the prairies and forests of the two americas: so that, to each of the great divisions of the savage or desert world corresponds one of the great fractions of the human species. the shemites--so named because the bible attributes their origin to shem, the eldest son of noah--are now-a-days represented only by the jews and the arabs, though they formerly included also the assyrians, the chaldæans or babylonians, the syrians, phoenicians, and ethiopians. of their modern representatives, the jews alone have displayed any real aptitude for civilization. the arabs, whose name is derived from the word _arâba_, which signifies "desert," seem almost exclusively adapted for a nomadic life; and it is to them can most correctly be applied the characteristics which renan too broadly attributes to the entire shemitic race. "as far as concerns the civil and political life," says that distinguished orientalist, "the shemites are distinguished by the same character of simplicity. they have never understood civilization in the sense which we apply to the word. we do not find among them any great organized empires, or commerce, or public spirit--nothing which recalls the absolute monarchy of egypt and persia. the true shemitic society is that of the tent and the tribe: it owns no political or judiciary institution; its principle is, man free, without any controlling authority, and without any other security than that of the family tie. the questions of aristocracy, democracy, feudality, which sum up all the history of the aryan peoples, have no meaning for the shemites. aristocracy, not having among them a military origin, is accepted without protest and without repugnance. the shemitic nobility is purely patriarchal: it owes nothing to conquest; it has its origin in blood." as far as their physique is concerned, the arabs are in general tall, thin, nimble, not very strong. their face is pale and long, their forehead low, their nose aquiline, their mouth large, their chin receding. the complexion is brown, as becomes those who live for months under a glaring sun; the eyes are keen and glowing; the port is free and even haughty. they have black hair and beard. of their history, prior to the day when mohammed's genius knit them into a great proselytizing military people, little certain is known. a shemitic tribe, descended from joktan, grandson of shem, settled in arabia at a remote period of antiquity, and joktan's great-grandson, himzar or homin, founded a dynasty which ruled in yemen for upwards of two thousand years. even the romans could not utterly subdue them, but gradually the different tribes fell apart from one another, and for centuries waged against each other the most desperate wars, until mohammed supplied them with a rallying-point in the creed of islam. thenceforth their mission was to propagate the new faith by fire and sword, and bursting from their rocky highlands like a torrent, they poured along the shores of the mediterranean to gibraltar on the north, and tangier on the south. in northern africa they gradually mingled with the berbers, the numidians, and the getulians, and from the fusion sprang the kabyles, the tibbous, and the touaregs, while the shemites themselves lost a portion of their original character. all the tribes of the desert are moslems. the precepts of the koran, and certain traditional usages, are almost the only laws which they recognize. the koran authorizes polygamy, and the arab women, therefore, are less the wives than the slaves of their husbands, who enforce upon them the strictest seclusion, and impose upon them the most arduous labours. the tyranny which weighs upon the women is, however, in inverse proportion to the degree of welfare and civilization of the various tribes. among the poor and almost barbarous peoples of the desert, these unfortunate creatures are reduced to a condition of degradation and brutishness which inspires in the european almost as much disgust as pity. the instinct of rapine which most writers have signalized as one of the leading features of the arab character, appears to have been greatly exaggerated, or, at least, too much generalized. this vice is a special result of their position, and, we must own, of the very antiquated views they hold upon the "rights of man," which, indeed, they sum up in much the same manner as wordsworth's _rob roy_:--[ ] "the creatures see of flood and field, and those that travel on the wind! with them no strife can last; they live in peace, and peace of mind. "for why?--because the good old rule sufficeth them, the simple plan, _that they should take who have the power,_ _and they should keep who can_." we must also take into account the spirit of hostility which their religion fosters against the infidel--against, that is, all who do not accept the laws of the prophet. "the sword," says mohammed, "is the key of heaven and of hell; a drop of blood shed in the cause of god, a night spent in arms, is of more avail than two months of fasting or prayer: whosoever falls in battle, his sins are forgiven: at the day of judgment his wounds shall be resplendent as vermilion and odoriferous as musk; and the loss of his limbs shall be supplied by the wings of angels and cherubim." such a declaration could not but fire the enthusiasm of the arab, and whet their swords against the enemies of islam. the leading features of his character have been discriminated by gibbon with his usual sagacity, and described with his wonted stateliness of language. "in private life," he says,[ ] "every man, at least every family, is the judge and avenger of his own cause. the nice sensibility of honour, which weighs the insult rather than the injury, sheds its deadly venom on the quarrels of the arabs; the honour of their women, and their _beards_, is most easily wounded; an indecent action, a contemptuous word, can be expiated only by the blood of the offender; and such is their patient inveteracy, that they expect whole months and years the opportunity of revenge. a fine or compensation for murder is familiar to the barbarians of every age; but with the arabs the kinsmen of the dead are at liberty to accept the atonement, or to exercise with their own hands the law of retaliation. their refined malice refuses even the head of the murderer, substitutes an innocent for the guilty person, and transfers the penalty to the best and most considerable of the race by whom they have been injured. if he falls by their hands, they are exposed in their turn to the danger of reprisals, the interest and principal of the bloody debt are accumulated; the individuals of either family lead a life of malice and suspicion, and fifty years may sometimes elapse before the account of vengeance be finally settled. this sanguinary spirit, ignorant of pity or forgiveness, has been moderated, however, by the maxims of honour, which require in every private encounter some decent equality of age and strength, of numbers and weapons.... "according to the remark of pliny, the arabian tribes are equally addicted to theft and merchandize; the caravans that traverse the desert are ransomed or pillaged; and their neighbours, since the remote times of job and sesostris, have been the victims of their rapacious spirit. if a bedouin discovers from afar a solitary traveller, he rides furiously against him, crying, with a loud voice, 'undress thyself, thy aunt (my wife) is without a garment.' a ready submission entitles him to mercy; resistance will provoke the aggressor, and his own blood must expiate the blood which he presumes to shed in legitimate defence. a single robber, or a few associates, are branded with their genuine name; but the exploits of a numerous band assume the character of lawful and honourable war. the temper of a people thus armed against mankind, was doubly inflamed by the domestic license of rapine, murder, and revenge." the name of "bedouins" (from _bedaouî_, "man of the desert") has been bestowed on the nomades of arabia, egypt, and the northern sahara. the majority of them are shepherds; a few add to this industry the much less honourable occupation of plundering trade-caravans; some prefer to devote themselves wholly to this pursuit. all the bedouins are children of the sword. they exult in strife and the clash of arms. it is their _acmé_ of happiness to mount the war-steed and ride against the foe. the theme of the arab and his horse, of the attachment which subsists between them, of the services which the latter renders to his master, of his physical and moral qualities, his courage, his swiftness, his fidelity, has been worn so threadbare that i need not here insist upon it. i must state, however, that as there are two varieties of arab camels, so are there of arab horses: the noble and the common, the beast of blood and the beast of burden. the former seem to be growing scarcer every year. he is named _koleïl_. the nobility of a horse depends entirely upon that of his mother, so that an authentic certificate of birth is always delivered to the purchaser of a "high-bred steed." this certificate is enclosed in a small bag, which also contains a mysterious writing, and suspended to the animal's neck will be an omen of good fortune, it is hoped, to him and his owner. [illustration: bedouin shepherds and bedouin nomades.] the arms of the bedouins are the curved sword, the yataghan, and the long musket. pistols are sometimes added, and the lance. they fight hand to hand, and without any strategical method. they never venture upon night attacks. they seek to surprise the enemy by rapid marches and unexpected diversions, by ensnaring him in ambuscades, and harassing him when he is the strongest in numbers. the most trifling fortification, however, arrests them--a wall of brick, a simple ditch, a hedge of the fig-tree, will suffice to protect a village from their depredations. [illustration: touaregs.] [illustration: attack upon a q'sour.] the nomades of the southern sahara have not, like the bedouins, preserved in its purity the shemitic type, but they have fostered and developed the spirit of adventure and rapine which characterizes the arab of the desert, and they have added something of the ferocity of the still barbarous tribes of ham, with whom they have intermarried. these nomades form two principal groups--the tibboos on the east, and touaregs (touarick, touereug, or tawarik) on the west. the former, according to humboldt, are called "birds," on account of their agility; they are still imperfectly known to europeans, despite of the labours of richardson, clapperton, and barth. the second are divided into the touaregs of aghadez and the touaregs of tagazi. it was not until that the french army, crossing the sahara from north to south, entered into direct relations with these fierce children of the desert. in the same year their ambassadors attracted the curiosity of ever-curious paris. they are the despots, the tyrants of the southern sahara. the charge of their lean flocks is their least occupation. they are, it is true, skilful and enthusiastic hunters; but their veritable industry is the exploration of the desert: an exploration which changes in form according to circumstances. for a proper remuneration they undertake the guidance and protection of the caravans; but whoever has not purchased their safeguard they treat as an enemy, and if not adequately ransomed sell into slavery. the berbers of the oasis not unjustly regard these marauders with alarm. for they pitilessly exact from the peaceful cultivator a share of his harvest, which is always the lion's share; the right of the strongest being the only right they recognize, and each man for himself the only principle they respect. a troop of touaregs, for instance, descends upon an oasis, and summons its inhabitants to deliver up immediately a certain number of bags of dates. in case of refusal they withdraw, but the people of the oasis may prepare to defend themselves with arms, for the dreaded blow will very shortly be delivered. the touaregs, leaving their maharis and their baggage at a convenient distance, penetrate at night into the palm-gardens, scale the walls, and, unless very energetically repelled, seize upon the tribute they had demanded. nothing is there to be remarked in the arabs of the _q'sours_ but their misery and degradation. a french officer, m. tremblet, has described with exactness and force their physiognomy, manners, character, ideas, and history.[ ] one rises from the perusal of his book with a painful impression. in the narrow and pestilential streets of the _q'sours_, where vermin are as numerous as men and women, in those mud palaces where the sultans are enthroned in rags, the same passions, the same ambitions, the same all-potent appetites, the same struggles, intrigues, and crimes prevail, as occupy so large a place in the history of the great states of europe and asia. among the inhabitants of the desert i would include the possessors of the great egyptian oasis,--that ancient cradle of civilization--that strange and mysterious land which, after throbbing with so full and brilliant a life in the days of the pharaohs and the ptolemies, slumbered for centuries under the leaden domination of the moslem. let us note only that the egyptian people have undergone no special modification; the features of the fellahs of to-day are exactly those which we trace in the pictures that cover the walls of palace and tomb, the monuments that carry us back in imagination to the erection of the pyramids or the glories of hundred-gated thebes. it is the old egypto-berber race, wherein we recognize the mixture of the black and shemitic blood, or perhaps the still incomplete result of the influences which have transformed into negroes the whites who emigrated, some thousands of years ago, from western asia into africa. [illustration: nubian women.] the egyptians establish, very clearly, the transition between the shemites and the population of nubia and ethiopia. with the latter the skin is black or of a deep bronze; but the form, the features, the hair, approach much more nearly the caucasian than the negro type. the nubian women especially exhibit a grace and dignity of movement which reveal the nobleness of their origin. "it is in these far lands," says trémaux, "we meet with the modern rebecca, attired with the antique biblical simplicity, and carrying the water vessel on her head. their air, at once easy and reserved, their black modest eyes, recall those images of the holy history which every one has seen; only, instead of a cotton stuff gaily coloured, imagine a piece very dirty and often in tatters, and you will have the portrait of the nubian woman; this garment is otherwise so naturally draped and so proudly worn, that it yields in nothing to the ancient models." [illustration] [illustration] book iii. _prairies, savannahs, pampas, and llanos._ chapter i. the wild plains of the old world:--the african interior. when we have crossed the th parallel (or nearly so) of north latitude in africa and the th in asia--the southern boundary of the rainless district--countries of extreme fertility and exuberant product succeed to the dreary solitudes we have hitherto traversed. at intervals, indeed, the traveller encounters some vast blighted and accursed area, where, for a part of each year, a deadly aridity prevails; but ever there comes a happy moment, even in these desolate wastes, when genial nature resumes her rights, abundant rains nourish vegetable and animal life, and the glowing scene constrains us to exclaim with thankful heart, "the earth is the lord's, and the fulness thereof." the asiatic plains in the south, are, however, preserved from such abrupt alternations; numerous water-courses, leaping downward from the snowy fountains of the himalayan chain, refresh and fertilize these countries, which are almost everywhere subject to the dominion of man. analagous causes, in the grand rich islands of the warm indian seas, produce similar effects; there, also, the very deserts are humid regions, and tall grasses, bushes, shrubs, reeds, and climbing plants grow in a rank and luxuriant chaos which we designate by the name of jungles, in whose dense obscurity the tiger makes his lair, and the serpent conceals his deadly venom! in the immense triangle defined by that portion of the african continent which extends from the mountains of the moon to the cape of good hope, nature has maintained almost intact her savage independence; but she displays there her most varied forms, from the snow-crested ice-bound mountain to the lowest and most monotonous plain, from the impenetrable forest to the nakedest and barrenest steppe. to enable the reader to comprehend these widely different aspects, and to describe the peculiar characteristics of each region of this immense continent, it will be necessary for us to recapitulate its most important geographical features. * * * * * a vast plateau, of comparatively slight elevation, occupies all southern africa, extending eastward as far as the fifth or sixth degree north of the equator. to the north-west, it is bounded by the mountains of senegambia; to the north-east, by those of abyssinia. on the east and west, the mountains descend to the very shore in secondary chains; to the south the table-land is brought down to the sea in a series of terraces which separate the mountain-ranges. at its southern extremity, the african continent is from to miles broad. it is occupied by the british colony of the cape, which is bounded on the north by the orange river. the most striking features of the physical geography of this part of africa, and which determine in the main its climate and natural productions, are three chains of mountains disposed parallel to one another and to the southern coast. these are separated by terraces or upland plains, each range forming the boundary of the lower and the abutment of the higher terrace. the communication is maintained by transverse valleys, which are often of a highly romantic character. the loftiest and most inland chain is christened in different parts of its course the roggeveld bergen, the nieuveld bergen, and the sneeu bergen, or "snowy mountains." of these the loftiest summit is the compass berg, , feet in altitude. the second chain, the black mountains, though not so lofty are more massive, and, in truth, composed of two or three chains in close juxtaposition. the third, or last chain, in proceeding from south to north, varies from eighteen to fifty-four miles, enlarging towards the west. the plain or terrace between the black and the snowy mountains is much loftier than the two other steps by which we descend to the southern extremity of the continent. the lowest terrace, bordering on the sea, is well-watered and fertile. the second, or central terrace, consists of fertile districts, equally well watered, but intersected by vast dry deserts, called (from a hottentot word) _karroos_. the third terrace, commonly designated the great karroo, at the base of the roggeveld and nieuveld chain, is miles in length, miles in breadth, and feet above the sea-level. its soil, says a writer in the _quarterly review_, presents throughout its whole extent, for the greater portion of the year, not a trace of vegetation. these gloomy solitudes assume a character of picturesque grandeur through their very wildness of desolation. the scene might convey to a fanciful mind the dreary image of a ruined world, where the witches and demons of goethe's walpurgis-night might fitly celebrate their revels. "and through the cliffs with ruin strewn, the wild winds whizz, and howl, and moan."[ ] during the long dry summer months, the smallest birds would not find wherewithal to sustain their existence in these sombre deserts, whose solemn silence not even the murmur of an insect interrupts. [illustration: night-scene in the african interior.] yet these regions, deprived of springs and running waters, are not always sterile deserts, are not always desolate plains. in the dry season, the soil, a yellow ferruginous clay, acquires the hardness of brick, just as if it had been exposed to the fire of a furnace; but the roots and bulbs, protected by a ligneous covering, resist the devouring heat. the first rains revive them; they put forth their stems and branches; a myriad flowers reveal their sparkling colours; and the country which, a day or two before, had shown to the eye a bare and dreary surface, shines out in a panoply of splendour, as if a magician's spell had suddenly transformed it into a terrestrial paradise! but as the days lengthen, and the sun's power increases, the bloom and the beauty vanish, and the curse of fire once more descends upon the gloomy scene. in several districts north of the cape colony whole years pass by without the sight or sound of running water rejoicing the wistful wanderer. dr. livingstone, while residing among the bakouans, in the bechuana country, saw the natives excavating the bed of the kolobeng to extract a few drops of water. a centigrade thermometer, sunk two and a half inches in the earth, at noon, marked °. insects placed on the surface of the ground died in a few seconds. the grass was so dry that it crumbled into powder when plucked. the coast of natal is rich in trees and herbage. the zambesi, and other rivers which descend from the central plateau, refresh the plains of mozambique and zanzibar. but from the th parallel of north latitude to cape guardafui extends an almost continuous desert. the southern extremity of the lupata chain also presents a vast naked country, where the presence of gold has encouraged the portuguese to found some establishments. the neighbouring zone of kaffraria consists of great far-spreading, gently-undulating plains, characterized by extreme aridity. the western districts are much less broken than the central, and exhibit no undulations except in the vicinity of the ocean. there an immense level territory exists under the name of the kalihari desert, whose southern boundary is marked by the gariep or orange river, which drains rather than waters it. to the north this awful wilderness stretches as far as the lake ngami, thus covering the area comprised between the th and th parallels of south latitude. the pastoral country of namaqua and damaras bounds it on the west. eastward it extends to the th meridian of west longitude. moisture is not wholly wanting in this vast region. the kalihari has been called a desert, says livingstone,[ ] because it contains no running water, and very little in wells. far from being destitute of vegetation, it is covered with grass and creeping plants, and there are large patches of bushes, and even trees. it is remarkably flat; and prodigious herds of antelopes roam over its trackless plains. the soil is composed in general of a fine soft sand, lightly coloured--that is, of a nearly pure silica. in the ancient beds of dried-up rivers lie immense patches of alluvial soil, which, hardened by the sun, form great reservoirs, retaining the rain-water for several months of the year. the quantity of grass flourishing in this region is remarkable. it grows generally in thick tufts, occasionally intermingled with spaces where the earth is naked or closely overgrown with creeping plants. these, deeply rooted in the soil, suffer but little from the effects of the excessive heat. most of them have tubercular roots, and are so organized as to furnish both food and liquid during the long droughts--an epoch when one vainly seeks elsewhere anything which can appease one's hunger or one's thirst. the rich vegetation of the kalihari is due to its geological constitution. it consists of a great valley, or rather of a vast basin, whose bottom is formed of a diluvial earth, and which is encircled by a belt of rocks, cloven at several places. it follows that where the rain is abundant, the slope of the hills directs it towards the centre of the basin, and this rain filters and deposits itself beneath the surface of the soil. and it appears to be a proof of this statement, that on digging in the sand cisterns are formed, or "sucking-places," which are filled with water supplied by subterraneous conduits. this so-called desert is not without its utility. not only does it nourish innumerable multitudes of animals of every kind, but it has become the asylum of fugitive tribes. here at first the bakalabaris found a refuge; and then, in their turn, other peoples of the bechuana, whose territories had been invaded by the kaffirs. the kalihari has its mirage and its sirocco. during the excessive drought which precedes the rainy season, a burning wind traverses this desert from north to south, and during its three or four days' duration it withers and dries up everything in its path. it is so loaded with electricity that a bundle of ostrich feathers, which remained exposed to it for a few seconds, was itself charged as if it had been in contact with a powerful electrical machine, and produced a lively disturbance, accompanied by cracking noises, when taken in the hand. as often as this wind prevails, the electricity of the atmosphere is so abundant that every movement of the natives causes sparks to be given off their _karosses_, or cloaks made of the skin of beasts. the contrast is striking between the well-watered east coast of south africa and the arid western coast. after the scarped mountains of the cape, which ascend northward to the ocean, come the less lofty chains--the hills of sand which separate the interior sandy desert from the equally sandy district of the littoral. with the exception of the walvish bay, the coast for eight hundred miles--from the great orange river to cape negro--has not a stream of water. at cape negro commences a series of terraces, separated from one another by long bands of sunken ground. this _ensemble_ describes a curve towards the interior, and leaves on the coast a level plain of about miles in breadth. in benguela the plains are healthy and cultivated. more to the north, one encounters nothing but monotonous savannahs and forests with gigantic trees. the soil, at a great number of points, is saturated with water, and, so to speak, enveloped in a shroud of pestilential vapour, which the breeze never scatters. the low plains of biafra and benin, and especially the delta of the niger, are unwholesome, rank, and foul-smelling marshes. in their mangrove swamps lurks fever, and a legion of deadly diseases. "macies et nova febrium terris incubuit cohors."--(_horace._) until the early years of the present century very little was known of the interior of southern africa. at this epoch some native merchants traversed the country from one sea to another--from st. paul de loanda to the coast of mozambique and zanzibar. this exploit was repeated and outstripped by dr. livingstone, who, from to , accomplished a marvellous journey of six thousand miles, through regions never before trodden by the white man's foot. setting out from kolobeng, the most advanced of the english missionary stations, he arrived, after having crossed some three hundred miles of a region without water, at the beautiful river zouga, which issues from the western extremity of lake ngami. "a region of drought, where no river glides, nor rippling brook with osiered sides, nor sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount appears, to refresh the aching eye; but barren earth, and the burning sky, and the blank horizon round and round."[ ] lake ngami is from to miles long, and from to in circumference. its direction is n.n.e. to s.s.w. its southern portion curves westward, and it receives from the north-west the teoughé. the water, very fresh when the lake is full, grows brackish during the dry season. at the latter period it is very shallow, and at eighteen or twenty miles from the shore canoes can be manoeuvred with the help of a pole. the banks are everywhere low. at the west a considerable space, utterly bare of trees, proves that the lake was formerly larger. during the months which precede the arrival of the northern waters, cattle, to quench their thirst, make their way with difficulty through the belt of reeds dried up by the sun. the natives, says livingstone, who reside on the shores of the lake, tell us that trees and antelopes are carried down by the waters during the annual inundation. the same traveller informs us that the vast regions lying to the north of the lake at such great distances--regions copiously watered, and deluged every year by the heavy tropical rains--pour towards the south the excess of the waters which saturate their soil; and a certain quantity of these waters, encountering the lake on their way, flow into it. it is in march and april that the inundation begins. the waters, on descending, find the rivers dried up, and the lake itself exceedingly shallow. the rivers in this part of africa flow in channels capable of containing a far greater volume of water than they generally hold. when looking at them, you might believe yourself in some desolated oriental garden where all the irrigating canals still exist, but where the dams permit only a mere thread of water to take its course. "the water," adds livingstone,[ ] "is less absorbed by the earth than lost between banks too wide apart, where the air and the sun evaporate them. i am persuaded that there is not in the whole of this country a river which loses itself amid the sands." the country situated to the north is exceedingly level for some hundreds of miles, and abundantly provided with lakes and rivers, which the slightest undulations of the soil divert into innumerable windings. the plain is alternately covered with sombre thickets, lofty forests, and dense herbage. on the banks of some rivers this herbage assumes gigantic proportions, and by its tenacity opposes an effectual barrier to animals. in many places the wide green pastures are enlivened by large herds of cattle, which the natives breed. the land of the barotses possess immense prairies of this description, the home of numerous herds of elephants. but this richness of the soil is counterbalanced by the insalubrity of the climate. these vast, periodically flooded surfaces become, when the waters recede, the nurseries of deadly fevers, and other formidable maladies, whose destructive influence extends to a great distance. the magnificent river zambesi, known in its upper course by the local appellation of leambye--both words having the same signification in the native tongue, "the river"--fertilizes and brightens these productive regions. flowing at first from north to south, it makes a sharp bend westward, to march with stately step from south to north, and from west to east, until, with a south-eastern inclination, it moves onward to the indian ocean. it was at a point nearly midway between the two oceans--the indian and the atlantic--that the intrepid livingstone first descried the zambesi, regarding its fertile banks and noble stream with much the same emotions of delight and surprise as thrilled to the heart of balboa, when "with eagle eyes he stared at the pacific--and all his men looked at each other with a wild surmise-- silent,upon a peak in darien."[ ] he arrived there near the close of the dry season, and yet a grand volume of water still sparkled in the river's bed, which varied from to feet in breadth. at the epoch of the great floods, the zambesi rises perpendicularly more than eighteen feet, and at certain points extends more than forty miles from its bank. from the borders of the chobé to those of the zambesi spreads a low, level country, whose uniform expanse is only broken by the gigantic hillocks of the termites. at intervals the traveller lights upon spots where the waters have formerly settled, then on great morasses and deep rivers, winding their slow way through an almost impervious jungle. there is a certain fatal beauty about the whole region, like that of a circe or a lucrezia borgia; but its atmosphere breathes disease and death. a general depression and flatness of surface seems to be the physical characteristic of this part of central africa. thus, on the route adopted by livingstone, in a n.n.e. direction, from the chain of bamunguatos to the zambesi, all is level. mount n'goua, an isolated mass in ° ' " south latitude, and ° ' " east longitude, is a wholly exceptional accident. the kandehy valley, which deploys on the northern slope of this narrow colossus, is one of the most picturesque scenes that greeted the eyes of livingstone during his adventurous pilgrimage. fruit trees, loaded with emerald foliage, adorn its sides; a crystal brook ripples in the centre. under the shade of an enormous baobab the graceful antelopes browse undisturbed, until alarmed by the footfall of the approaching traveller. gnus and zebras contemplate the strange intruder with an air of surprise. a few continue to crop the grass indifferent; others pause in the banquet, uncertain whether to stay or take to flight. the huge hulk of a white rhinoceros drags labouring up the shady valley. buffaloes, and condors, and giraffes stray far into its pleasant depths as peaceful and almost as trustful as those of their race which, in days remote, wandered among the beauties of eden, in "that delicious grove, that garden, planted with the trees of god." further to the north, even to the river sanshureh, the country increases in richness and beauty, the water-courses multiply, and the herbage aspires to such a height that vehicles and animals are lost amongst it. an exceeding gentleness, an almost arcadian calm, characterizes the landscape on the banks of the leeba, a great affluent of the leambye. this river drags its slow and ever-winding waters through a delightful meadow-land, which is probably flooded every year, for there is no wood except where the ground rises four or five feet above the general level of the plain. the soil of these tree-crowned plateaux, or knolls, is sandy, while that of the prairies consists of an alluvial earth, gray and black, and mixed with numerous river-shells. ascending the leeba, we enter on a plain more than eighteen miles in breadth, where the water rises to the traveller's ankles. this water, says livingstone, does not proceed from the overflow of the river; but the level of the ground is so horizontal that the rain-water cannot pass away, and abides there for months. still more humid are the adjacent plains of lobala. this vast submerged area forms a watershed between the rivers of the north and those of the south. up to this point all the rivers wend their way southward; but from this point they adopt a northerly course, to empty their tribute into the kasaï or loké. the interior table-land, especially towards the mid-course of the zambesi, is intersected by lofty mountain-chains. it is in this region, and at the southernmost point of the river's great delta, which is miles in length, that the famous falls occur, named by the natives "mosioatounya," or "smoke-resounding," re-christened by livingstone, the victoria. their vast columns of vapour are visible at a distance of five or six miles, and might suggest to an american traveller the rolling clouds that ascend from a burning prairie. the banks and islands of the river are here enriched with sylvan vegetation of every variety of form and colour: the mighty baobab, each of whose enormous arms would form the trunk of a large tree; the graceful palm, with its crest of plume-like foliage; the silvery mohonams, whose leaves sparkle in the sunshine like achilles' shield; and the nutsouri, abounding in clusters of pleasant scarlet fruit. the falls are bounded on three sides by densely-wooded ridges or feet in height, and may be likened to a flood of water a thousand yards broad, suddenly hurled over a basaltic precipice feet in depth, and then as suddenly compressed into a narrow gully not more than fifteen or twenty yards across. "if one imagines," says dr. livingstone,[ ] "the thames filled with low tree-covered hills immediately below the tunnel, extending as far as gravesend, the bed of black basaltic rock instead of london mud, and a fissure made therein from one end of the tunnel to the other, down through the keystones of the arch, and prolonged from the left end of the tunnel through thirty miles of hills; then fancy the thames leaping bodily into the gulf, and forced there to change its direction and flow from the right to the left bank, and then rush boiling and roaring through the hills, he may have some idea of what takes place at this the most wonderful sight i have witnessed in africa." [illustration: victoria falls, river zambesi.] in descending into the narrow abyss already spoken of, the cataract breaks into five separate streams, which send up, to an elevation of or feet, as many columns of luminous vapour--pillars of shivering spray, and foam, and diamond sparkle, which in the sunlight are gloriously wreathed with the rare hues of iris. "how profound the gulf! and how the giant element from rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent with his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a vent to the broad column which rolls on."--(_byron._) in descending the zambesi, we encounter the great river kafue, which flows from the north. beyond the point of confluence the country becomes opener, freer, and healthier, and we arrive at the portuguese town of tété. about miles to the north-west of tété lies the great lake of fresh water, niyanyizi-nyassa, or "lake of stars," which stretches far away to the north-west across unyamuezi, or "the land of the moon." it is rather shallow, sprinkled with numerous fairy islands, and seems to be the remains of an ancient lake of much greater extent. to the south-west a belt of fertile country separates it from another lake called shirwa, whence issues a beautiful river, tributary to the zambesi, impeded in its course by numerous rapids, but traversing a level and unwholesome country. at the same time ( - ) that livingstone accomplished these great discoveries, equatorial africa was penetrated from the coast of zambesi by captains burton and speke. these undaunted and indefatigable travellers, after having ascended the river pangany for a hundred and thirty miles, through a rich and cultivated but pestiferous plain, arrived in february at lake tanganyika, of which the natives had spoken to livingstone, describing the country lying to the westward of that mass of water as bare of wood, and solely covered with marshy plains. lake tanganyika lies miles s.w. of the victoria n'yanza, between lat. ° and ° ' s., at an elevation of feet above the sea. the th meridian of east longitude strikes it in the centre. its length is miles; but its breadth seldom exceeds or , and never miles, so that it has been compared to a beach inclining its head towards the north. to the north-east its shores are bold and elevated; the water is fresh and deep. the country around it is rich in pasture, where a thriving population breed numerous flocks and herds. about two hundred miles to the north-east of this lake, and feet above the sea-level, lies the vast basin of the victoria n'yanza, discovered by captain speke in , and more fully explored by speke and grant in . its northern shore runs nearly parallel to the equator, at a distance of about twenty miles from it; its southern is in lat. ° ' s., and long. ° e. it would seem at some remote period to have occupied a much larger area than it does at present, though even now it is supposed to measure miles in length and fully as much in breadth. speke describes it as very shallow. fleets of canoes cover its surface; but the natives on the one shore never venture across to the other, and no intercommunication has ever existed between them. the surrounding landscapes are of a pastoral character, genial and fertile, with quiet breadths of rich meadow land, dotted by hundreds of white hornless cattle, and scarcely distinguishable from our midland english scenery, were they not interspersed with groves of the banana, the coffee-tree, and the date-palm. at its north-eastern extremity, and probably connected with it, lies a long narrow basin which the natives call lake baringo. on the west it receives the tributary waters of the kitangulé, and from the north throws off the various streams which unite in one channel to form the famous nile. north-west from the n'yanza lies the little lúta n'zigé, or albert lake, discovered by sir samuel baker in ; a long, narrow, and shallow basin, surrounded by mountains feet high, about miles in length, and feet above the sea-level, which apparently serves as the great reservoir of the nile.[ ] the discoveries of livingstone, burton, speke, grant, and baker, seem to confirm the theory put forward by sir roderick murchison, that the central portion of south africa is a large and elevated basin, abounding in immense plains, in fertile lands, besprinkled with numerous lakes fed by a thousand currents descending from the lofty mountains that surrounded it. the rains, says morin, cause these lakes to overflow, and their waters, prevailing over every obstacle, break through the barrier of the high lands, and descend into the lower levels in a series of cataracts, to make their way eventually towards the ocean. livingstone has proved the truth of this felicitous induction as far as the zambesi is concerned. the nile also issues from the lofty table-lands through deep and rocky ravines. the great reservoir of the mysterious egyptian river, the _n'yanza spekii_, may be accepted as the final confirmation of sir roderick's theory, and the conspicuous feature of the african people. the southern extremity of this lake stretches as far as the watershed between north and south africa. starting from the same viewpoint, speke concludes that another great lake will be found under the equator, to the west of the tanganyika and the n'yanza victoria. this will be the reservoir of the congo. to establish this fact will be to solve the last problem of the hydrographic system of africa.[ ] the western region of the african equatorial zone has been but superficially explored, and in this direction numerous hypotheses remain to be verified. lake tchad, situated in central nigritia, between bornou on the west and the south-west, and the kanem to the north and east, was discovered in by major denham, and explored by dr. barth in . the latter traveller grows eloquent in his description of the delicious perspective which he had supposed it would offer to the gaze. he met with numerous slaves on their way to cut grass for the horses. but instead of a lake, an immense treeless plain stretched as far as the eye could reach. the herbage became fresher and greener, thicker and taller; a marshy bottom, describing a curve which projected here and receded there, embarrassed his progress more and more; and after a useless and prolonged struggle to escape from the quagmire, seeking in vain on the horizon some mirror-like surface, he retraced his steps, dabbling in the slimy water, and consoling himself with the reflection that at least he had seen some traces of the "liquid element." but the scene was strangely different when, in the winter of - , more than one-half of the ngornou was destroyed by the inundation; and to the south of that town lay a deep sea, swallowing up the whole plain even to the village of koukiya! the lower stratum of the soil, composed of limestone, appeared to have given way in the preceding year, and had lowered the shore of the lake several yards; hence the inundation. but apart from this evidently exceptional geological catastrophe, the character of the tchad is clearly that of an immense lagoon whose borders change every month, and of which it is consequently impossible to lay down any strictly accurate map.[ ] lake tchad lies between lat. ° ' and ° ' n., long. ° and ° ' s. its length varies from two hundred to three hundred miles, according to the amount of rainfall and similar circumstances; at its broadest it measures one hundred and seventy miles; and it has an elevation of eight hundred feet above the sea-level. the actual margin of its waters is lined by a deep fence of papyrus and tall reeds, from ten to fourteen feet high. its islands are densely peopled. fish and water-fowl abound, and not less do crocodiles and hippopotami. the lake has no outlet, but receives several rivers, of which the waube and the shari are the most notable. the country watered by the niger is also broken up by vast plains which, fertile and glowing in the rainy season, are scorched and withered by the summer heats. the famous port of kabara, not far from timbuktù, is several miles from the river, and only accessible for five months in the year at the epoch of the great rains. beyond this belt of vegetation, this girdle of fertility, nature wears a sombre aspect--the stony look of a corpse; for the immense desert of the sahara begins. the transition from the one region to the other, from the land of plenty to the land of want and famine, from the land of bright lakes, and copious streams, and green pastures, to the land of rocky heights and barren sandy wastes, is as startling as the change which sometimes occurs in human life--the change of a moment, from bustling and exuberant happiness to profound sorrow. it is such contrasts, however, that enable us fully to appreciate the beauty and wealth of nature. "the scorching winds from arid deserts borne," teach us to prize the balmy breath of the "sweet south" that wanders "o'er a bank of violets." fresh from the dreary sahara plain, burnt and scathed by a tropic sun, we can feel all the loveliness of the woodland and the leafy vale, of each "melodious plot of beechen green, and shadows numberless." thus, in the material world as in the moral and intellectual, the law of compensation prevails, and the wayfarer in the desert of life may cheer himself with the recollection that in due time the silence will be succeeded by music, the desolation by beauty, and the wilderness by "verdurous glooms, and winding mossy ways." chapter ii. deserts of the new world:--prairies, pampas, llanos. they who study the philosophy of history, of which men talk so much, and know so little; they who seek in the general laws of nature and the physical economy of the globe an explanation of its ethnological phenomena, may find, it seems to me, a curious subject for investigation in the singular destiny of the new world. they will have to ascertain by what concurrence of circumstances the two americas, separated from us by an immensity of waters, and revealed to the world of the east but some four centuries ago, shall have traversed in so brief a period the successive phases of conquest, colonization, and emancipation; why european emigration was directed thitherward at the very beginning; and thitherward continues still to flow from every quarter; finally, by what tacit and unanimous agreement this new world has become the adopted country of all the proscribed and disinherited of the old; while almost the entire area of the african continent, which is so much more readily accessible, is scarcely less favoured in its climatic conditions, and upon which the white race has rested, from the remotest antiquity, its political institutions, its arts, and its industry, has remained uninfluenced by the advancing tide of civilization. [illustration: prairies of north america--stampedo of wild bisons.] i limit myself to indicating this problem, which, however, it is not within my present province to examine, but which naturally suggests itself when we think of the swift development undergone by the european societies planted on the american continent--when we remember how rapidly they are narrowing the area of the desert and the wilderness. at the epoch of the discovery of the new world it was one vast desolation, with the exception of mexico and peru; and these were but the seats of a civilization which seemed to have passed without transition from infancy to old age, from vigour to decrepitude, and which crumbled into dust under the pitiless blows of the spanish conquerors. neither cortez nor pizarro would have overthrown a great empire with a handful of foot-soldiers and men-at-arms, a squadron or two of horse, and a few unwieldy guns, had not the colossus already nodded to its fall, had not the column been hollow at the base. but soon the european nations shared among themselves this immense country and the neighbouring islands. the slave race, whose destiny it seemed to be to reign among the polar ice and snow, long contented itself with the inclement and inhospitable region of the extreme north-west, which it has but recently surrendered to the united states government. the anglo-saxon race, in the northern continent, has seized the lion's share. it now holds between the two oceans, from the fifty-fifth to the thirtieth parallels of north latitude, a fertile and life-breathing territory, well fitted to be the cradle of great empires; the flourishing confederation of canada, the colony of british columbia, and the mighty republic of the united states. virgin forests have fallen before the restless axe of the hardy pioneer; hundreds of populous cities have risen as if by enchantment in districts haunted within the memory of men by the bear and the wild buffalo; a network of railways spreads from the atlantic almost to the base of the rocky mountains; crops of waving corn bloom over wide prairies that a few years ago yielded only the tall grass and waving reed; the aboriginal tribes of the red indians have melted away before the impetuous tide of an ever-advancing civilization; and the exhaustless energies of our race have already raised in less than a century two mighty empires on the mississippi and the st. lawrence, destined to a marvellous, a changeful, and doubtlessly a glorious history. and both these empires have sprung from the loins of england, are governed in the main by the same laws, hold the same religion, are animated by the same aspiring and unwearied genius, and "speak the tongue that shakspeare spoke; the faith and morals hold which milton held;" in everything, as we believe, "are sprung of earth's first blood, have titles manifold."[ ] southward from the thirtieth parallel stretches the domain of the latin races, already mingled with and being absorbed by the anglo-saxon, in canada, california, and the southern states of the union. vast as this region is, for it comprehends all central america and all the southern continent, it is infinitely less prosperous, less powerful, less peopled, than what we may call saxon america. mexico is a byword and a reproach for savage anarchy and murderous license. neither chili, nor peru, nor even brazil approaches canada in solid power and the auspicious promise of future greatness. the latin race seems dwarfed and cowed by the neighbourhood of the energetic anglo-saxon, is swiftly retiring before it in north america, and in the course of centuries will probably be subjugated by it, even in the southern division of the great continent. a considerable portion of south america, however, is uncultivated, unpeopled, and but imperfectly explored. there the desert re-appears with-- "the pale, cold aspect of a wearied friend,"[ ] under its most sharply defined forms and most impressive conditions. the supremacy of the whites over the indigenous tribes is almost nominal; and if the latter are gradually dying out, the catastrophe, in this instance, is due rather to their own lack of vigour, energy, and capacity, than to the pressure of civilization. however rapid may be the growth of population in north america, however great the rapidity--shall we say the avidity?--of the american _squatters_ in their conquest and appropriation of the soil, the desert still occupies, principally in "the far west" and the north--that is to say, in the angle comprised between the line of the great lakes and the rocky mountains--an area almost equal to the whole of continental europe. there we find, as mr. johnstone points out, the largest plains in the world. one such, for example, is that immense basin which extends from the mouths of the mackenzie, in the icy arctic sea, even to the remote delta of the mississippi, and from the huge chain of the rocky mountains, with their piny recesses and snowy peaks, to the less rugged and more pastoral range of the alleghanies; a total area of , , , square yards ( , , square miles). a table-land of gentle elevation, nowhere above feet, and rarely more than feet high, separates this territory into two secondary basins. the _north-east_, which pours its waters into the arctic ocean, hudson's bay, and through the canadian lakes and river st. lawrence, into the atlantic; and, the _south_ basin, of the missouri-mississippi, whose mighty waters flow into the gulf of mexico. it is in the latter that the traveller encounters the great grassy plains of the _prairies_ or _savannahs_ which are so remarkable a feature of north america, and which chiefly lie along the western bank of the mississippi. "there are no prairies," says sir j. richardson, "to the north of peace river, and the level lands which border the rocky mountains do not extend beyond the great salt lake." under so wide a range of latitude the plain necessarily embraces a great variety of soil, climate, and productions; but being almost in a state of nature, it is characterized in its central and southern parts by interminable grassy savannahs and enormous forests, and in the far north by deserts not less dreary than those of siberia.[ ] southward, a bare sandy waste, or miles wide, skirts the base of the rocky mountains to the forty-first parallel of north latitude. the dry plains of texas and the upper region of the arkansas have all the features of asiatic table-lands; further to the north, the lifeless, treeless steppes on the high grounds of the far west are burnt up in summer, and frozen in winter by biting blasts from the rocky mountains. towards the mississippi the soil improves, but its delta is a labyrinth of streams, and lakes, and dense brushwood, and the rank marshes at its mouth cover an area of , square miles. "there are also," says mrs. somerville, "large tracts or forest and saline ground, especially the grand saline between the rivers arkansas and neseikelongo, which is often covered two or three inches deep with salt, like a fall of snow. all the cultivation on the right bank of the river is along the gulf of mexico and in the adjacent provinces, and is entirely tropical, consisting of sugar-cane, cotton, and indigo. the prairies, so characteristic of north america, then begin." and what are these prairies? leagues upon leagues of rolling meadow-land, sometimes as level as an english pasture, always as boundless, apparently, as the sea; richly covered with long rank grass of tender green, and lighted up by flowers of the liliaceous kind which scent the air with fragrance. here and there, in the north, occur clumps of oak and black walnut; in the south, groups of tulip, and cotton, and magnolia trees. occasionally the monotonous scene is relieved by a lazy brook, whose banks bloom with a brilliant mass of azaleas, kalmias, rhododendrons, and andromedas; the low howl of the cayeute, or prairie dog, breaks the silence; and life is given to the landscape by the frequent appearance of herds of bison, deer, and wild horses. at times, in the remote districts, the prairie wolves will be seen in some leafy covert awaiting the approach of a victim; or flights of birds darken the air, and tempt the traveller with the promise of an abundant provision. on the right bank of the missouri, and on the borders of the white river, in the territory of nebraska, lies a dreary desert valley, some feet deep, which the french expressively designate les _mauvaises-terres_. it may be doubted whether the whole world offers a stranger or a more impressive landscape. here geology recognizes the vestiges of an astonishing diluvian labour, and it is impossible to venture a step without striking one's foot against the fossil relics of vanished animals. it is a kind of world apart, says an american writer; a large valley which seems to have been excavated, in the first place, by an immense vertical out-throw, and then modelled by the prolonged and incessant action of denudating agents. with a mean breadth of , and a total length of miles, it develops itself in a westerly direction, at the foot of the sombre mountain-chain known as the _black hills_. on issuing from the immense, uniform, and monotonous prairie, the traveller finds himself suddenly transported, after a descent of to feet, into a depression of the soil where rise a myriad of abrupt rocks, irregular or prismatic, or like columns dressed with enormous pyramids, and from to feet in height. [illustration: view of the "mauvaises-terres," nebraska, u.s.] these natural towers are so multiplied over the surface of this extraordinary region, that the roads wind through them in narrow passages, and the labyrinth may be likened to the irregular streets and narrow alleys of some mediæval european city. seen from afar, the interminable succession of rocks resembles the massive monuments of antiquity; nor are turrets wanting, nor flying buttresses, nor graceful arches, nor vaulted portals, groups of columns, façades, and taper spires. if at one place the eye lights upon the ruins of a feudal fortress, at another it surveys the graceful ensemble of a saracenic mosque. or you might almost say, in the distance, that it is a fantastic "city of the dead" which looms before you; or the gigantic palace of a race of unseen beings, fashioned by the power of spell and enchantment. and if the illusion vanishes when, descending from the heights, you penetrate into the mazes of this dædalian marvel, the reality is not less calculated to inspire you with astonishment, and the imagination remains confused before this wild, this grand, yet ominous freak of nature--ominous, for the place seems like a colossal golgotha, and the rocks may be the monuments consecrated by invisible hands to the things and creatures, the life and majesty, of a forgotten past! a spectacle unexpected by the european traveller comes at intervals to heighten and confirm the illusion. here and there are reared constructions of manifest human work, but of a truly primitive character. they consist of four poles, supporting a rude platform of wicker. mount any adjacent hillock, and you will see corpses and human skeletons outstretched upon the platform. these constructions are, in truth, the burial-places of the sioux indians, who wander still in the neighbouring districts. the whole coast of the mexican gulf, from the pearl river eastward, through alabama and a great part of florida, is occupied by the so-called "pine barrens," which extend far into the interior. these "vast monotonous tracts of sand, covered with forests of gigantic pine trees," are not less a characteristic feature of north america than the "rolling prairies." they are not limited to this part of the united states, but occur to a great extent in virginia, north carolina, and elsewhere. tennessee and kentucky, though the plough has passed over extensive areas, still possess large forests, and the ohio flows for hundreds of miles among patriarchal trees, with a rich undergrowth of azaleas, rhododendrons, and other beautiful shrubs, bound together in chains of flowers by creeping plants. when america was discovered, one mass of unbroken forest spread over the mainland, from the gulf of st. lawrence and the canadian lakes to the gulf of mexico, and from the atlantic ocean it crossed the alleghany mountains, and spread in gloom and grandeur over the valley of the mississippi--an ocean of vegetation swelling and sinking for upwards of one million of square miles. "then all the broad and boundless mainland lay, cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned o'er mound and vale, where never summer ray glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way through the gray giants of the sylvan wild; yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled."[ ] prairies which, in their general aspect, resemble those of the missouri and the mississippi, are found to the east and west of the american desert, in arrisona, in texas, in california, and various provinces of mexico. vegetation, however, nevertheless differs according to the conditions of each region, and the alternatives of deluging rains and extreme dryness become more and more conspicuous as we approach the equator. nevertheless--and this, perhaps, is the feature most distinctive of the prairies, or savannahs, from the pampas and llanos--the dryness is never sufficiently severe in the former to destroy vegetation, as is the case in the latter. but the herbs and grasses often grow so dry in summer that the most trivial accident--such as a lighted match flung carelessly away, or the ashes dropped from a hunter's pipe--will kindle the most awful conflagrations, and the flames will spread devouringly over leagues of open ground, consuming trees and shrubs, and burning to death the cattle or wild animals which haply fall within their range. with the crackling, hissing, seething noises of the fire mingle the groans of the perishing beasts, while huge clouds of smoke roll before the wind, like the billows of a wind-swept ocean, and live tongues of flame ever and anon light up the terrible scene with lurid splendour. these "prairie-fires" are sometimes kindled in revenge by the indians, and occasionally the settlers resort to this dangerous but summary method of clearing the encumbered ground. however caused, the spectacle is one of infinite grandeur, which might have furnished dante with a fresh image of horror for his "inferno." [illustration: a prairie on fire in central america.] from the fortieth to the thirty-fifth parallels of north latitude the desert appears in north america under a form more like the "seas of sand" of africa and arabia; the vast areas of the _llanos_ and the _pampas_. these two words are nearly synonymous. they are used to designate wide level plains, inundated and fertile in the rainy season, but in the hot season stripped by the sun's rays of every apparent trace of vegetation. between the californian alps and the rio-colorado withers a grand, sandy, and utterly barren plain, which touches the northern borders of la sonora. somewhat further to the east extends the llano-estacado, which eventually merges into the american desert. but the most considerable pampas and llanos belong to south america. of these, the most arid and the most desolate--which most vividly recall the rainless deserts of the old world--are the pampa of atacama, between the andes and the pacific, with taracapa on the north, and copiapo on the south; that of sechura, which forms a great portion of the littoral of the peruvian department of truxillo; and that of pernambuco, which forms the major part of the plateau north-east of brazil. these deserts, no less than those of africa and arabia, merit the name of the "land of fear." their surface is as smooth as that of the calm sea, and bounded only by the circular line of the horizon; the eye frequently ranges over a space of twenty-five square miles without meeting a clump of trees on which to rest; nor is the monotony relieved by the slightest undulation of the soil. everywhere is nothingness, silence, desolation, death. more than one wayfarer has never escaped from their mazy solitudes. fatigue, hunger, thirst, decimate the caravans which undertake to traverse them, and the track is marked by whitened skeletons, whose flesh has been devoured by vultures, and which unknown hands have piled up and arranged with a ghastly symmetry of order. however, since the discovery of america, certain portions of the llanos have become habitable. towns have risen at intervals on the banks of the rivers which water them. these centres of population are connected with each other by huts of reeds, covered with ox-hides, and separated by about a day's march. here reside the _llaneros_, to whose charge are intrusted the innumerable herds of cattle, horses, and mules, which subsist on the pasturage of the steppes. the inhabitants of the llanos possess characteristics as marked as those of their plains. the _hatos_ wherein they assemble are situated at long distances apart; but the true home of the llanero, a bold and skilful horseman, is his saddle. firmly seated on his rapid steed, he gallops at will across the trackless plain, and combining the two extremes of solitude and activity, confines his half-savage existence to the custody or the ownership of his herds of horses and cattle. thus, born in the llanos like his father, a descendant of the first spanish settlers, he has no idea of any other country than his southern pastures, of any other career than his dreamy pastoral life. clothed in a picturesque costume, half spanish, half indian; his _machete_ (or cutlass) thrust through a belt of leather, his _poncho_ (a chequered mantle) over his shoulder, and the redoubtable _lasso_ suspended in a coil to his saddle-bow; armed with the clumsy lance, which serves to drive his herd before him, and, at need, to vindicate its owner's courage in some partisan affray; the llanero, never thinking of the past, never dreaming of the future, on the alert in every danger, and accustomed to the severest privations, enjoys with intoxication the rude happiness of his wild freedom. [illustration: pampas of south america.] the llanos of venezuela occupy a superficial area, estimated, according to humboldt, at , square miles, between the deltas of the orinoco and the river coqueta. they are as flat as the surface of the sea, and covered with long rank grass. you might travel over the dreary level for miles from the delta of the orinoco to the foot of the andes of pasto, and frequently not encounter an eminence a foot high in square miles. their length is twice that of their breadth; and as the wind blows constantly from the east, the climate is the more ardent the further west. "these steppes, for the most part," says mrs. somerville,[ ] "are destitute of trees or bushes, yet in some places they are dotted with the mauritia and other palms." flat as they are, two kinds of inequalities will sometimes occur: one consists of banks or shoals of grit or compact limestone, five or six feet high, perfectly level for several leagues, and imperceptible except on their edges; the other inequality can only be detected by the barometer or levelling instruments; it is called a _mesa_, and is a gentle knoll swelling very gradually to an elevation of a few fathoms. yet slight as is this altitude, a mesa forms the watershed from south-west to north-east, between the affluents of the orinoco and the streams flowing to the northern coast of terra firma. in the wet season, from april to the end of october, the tropical rains pour down in torrents, and hundreds of square miles of the llanos are inundated by the overflow of the rivers. in the hollows the water is sometimes twelve feet deep, and such numbers of horses and other animals perish, that the ground smells strongly of musk, an odour peculiar to many quadrupeds. "from the flatness of the country, too, the waters of some affluents of the orinoco are driven backwards by the floods of that river, especially when aided by the wind, and form temporary lakes. when the waters subside, these steppes, manured by the sediment, are mantled with verdure, and produce ananas, while occasional groups of fan palm-trees and mimosas skirt the rivers. when the dry weather returns, the grass is burnt to powder; the air is filled with dust raised by currents occasioned by difference of temperature, even when there is no wind. if by any accident a spark of fire falls on the scorched plains, a conflagration spreads from river to river, destroying every animal, and leaves the clayey soil sterile for years, till vicissitudes of weather crumble the brick-like surface into earth." when this takes place, the rending of the indurated soil is sudden and violent, as if from the shock of an earthquake. if at such a time two opposing currents of air, whose conflict produces a rotatory motion, come in contact with the surface of the earth, the llanos assume a strange and singular aspect. like cone-shaped clouds, whose extremities seem to touch the ground, the sand rises through the rarefied air in the electrically-charged centre of the whirling current; like the sand-spouts of the saharan desert, or the waterspouts which formerly were the awe and dread of the mariner. then does the lowering sky cast a "dim uncertain light," like a november fog in london, on the desolate plain. the horizon draws suddenly nearer; the steppe seems to contract, and a nameless terror seizes the heart of the wanderer. the hot dusty air increases in suffocating heat; and the east wind, blowing over the long-heated soil, yields no refreshment, but rather oppresses with its burning glow. the pools, hitherto protected from evaporation by the yellow fading branches of the fan palm, begin to disappear. as in the north the animals grow torpid with the mortal cold, so under the influence of the parching drought the boa and the crocodile fall asleep, buried deeply in the dry mud. everywhere the drought prevails, and yet everywhere the refracted rays of light delude the traveller with the image of gleaming lakes and rushing rivers. the distant palm bush hovers above the ground like a spectre, apparently raised by the influence of the contact of unequally heated, and, therefore, unequally dense strata of air. half hidden by the rolling clouds of dust, restless with the pangs of thirst and hunger, the horses and cattle roam around, the cattle dismally lowing, and the horses stretching out their long necks and snuffing the wind, in the hope some moister current may betray the neighbourhood of a not wholly failing pool. more sagacious and astute, the wary mule seeks a different mode of alleviating his thirst. under its prickly envelope the melon-cactus conceals a watery pith. the mule first strikes the prickles aside with his fore-feet, and then cautiously approaches his lips to the plant and drinks the cool juice. but the experiment is not always without danger, and many animals are lamed by the spines of the cactus. when the overpowering heat of the day is followed by the cooler temperature of the night, which is always of the same length in these latitudes, even then the cattle can obtain no repose. enormous bats suck their blood like the fabled vampires during their sleep, or attach themselves to their backs, causing festering wounds in which mosquitoes, horse-flies, and a host of stinging insects, niche themselves. thus the animals lead a weary life during the hot season. but at length, after the long drought and the parching glow, comes the welcome rain! then takes place a transformation such as the fancy of the poet never surpassed or equalled. the deep blue of the hitherto unclouded sky grows lighter; the dark space in the constellation of the southern cross is hardly distinguishable at night; the soft phosphorescent lustre of the so-called magellanic clouds "fades, fades, and falls away;" even the stars in aquila and ophiucus in the zenith beam with a tremulous and less planetary radiance. and lo, yonder in the south, a single cloud, like the peak of some remote mountain, soars perpendicularly from the horizon. gradually the gathering vapours fold over the sky. hark! the thunder is pealing in the distance, and louder and nearer come its awful reverberation. it heralds the life-restoring rain! scarcely has the genial moisture refreshened earth, before a blessed fragrance breathes from the previously barren steppe, and its nakedness is clothed upon with the bloom and beauty of a thousand grasses. the herbaceous mimosas, with renewed sensibility to the influence of light, open their drooping leaves to greet the rising sun; and the rosy-fingered morn is saluted with a glad chorus of birds, and by the opening blossoms of the water-plants. now the horse bounds over the plain in keen ecstasy of spirit, and the cattle grazes plentifully on the fresh green herbage. yet the new life is not without its peril. _anguis latet in herbâ._ among the tall thick grass lurks the spotted jaguar, the tiger of the new world, and measures carefully the distance that separates him from his unsuspecting victim. sometimes (so say the natives) the moistened clay on the margin of the swamps will blister and swell slowly into a kind of mound until, with a violent noise, like the outbreak of a small mud volcano, the accumulated earth is cast high into the air. the spectator who comprehends the purport of this strange scene immediately retreats, for he knows that the birth of the portentous travail will be a gigantic water-snake or huge crocodile roused from its torpidity. the rivers which bound the plain to the south--the arauca, the apure, and the pajara--gradually swell, and now nature compels the same animals, which in the first half of the year panted with thirst on the dry and dusty soil, to adopt an amphibious life. a portion of the steppe now assumes the aspect of a vast inland sea.[ ] the brood mares retire with their foals to the more elevated banks, which rise like islands above the watery expanse. every day the dry space grows smaller. it is a miniature reproduction of the noachian deluge. the animals, crowded together, swim about for hours in quest of other pasture, and feed sparingly on the tops of the flowering grasses that spring above the seething surface of the turbid waters. many foals are drowned, and many are surprised by the crocodiles, killed by a blow from their powerful tails, and devoured. it is no uncommon thing to see the marks of these monsters' cruel teeth on the legs of horses and cattle which have narrowly escaped from their blood-thirsty jaws. such a sight reminds the thoughtful observer of that capability of adaptation to the most varied circumstances with which the all-powerful creator has endowed certain animals and plants.[ ] the pampas of pernambuco and buenos ayres have three times the superficial area of the llanos of venezuela. so great is their extent, that while forests of palms border them on the north, they are covered with snow in the south, during a great part of the year, like the northern steppes of tartary. according to the climatic divisions generally adopted, these regions belong to the temperate zone; but in truth they comprehend a great variety of climates. their character is not less grand or original than that of the llanos which precede them. "the pampas," says an american writer, "surpass in majesty all the marvels of the new continent, and yet they astonish the traveller by the air of abandonment and sadness which is impressed upon them, especially in the low country watered by the plata. traces of life are there infrequent; still rarer are the objects which attract attention. here, at the bottom of a crevasse, a cactus conceals its head bristling with spines; there, a solitary tree rises majestically toward heaven. sometimes, upon the plain, the eye discovers the monstrous skeleton of an animal which flourished in those remote times when the alps still slept in the depths of ocean, and dreamed not of blending their snow-burdened peaks with the clouds. the pampas serve as the burial-place for races of gigantic men, now extinct, who seem to issue from their silent graves in testimony to the former being of vanished generations, and to bear witness to the creator of all things. above your head, and far away in the azure of heaven, you perceive a black point; it is a condor describing slowly its sinister circles. in the distance passes and disappears the ungainly figure of an ostrich. the inexpressible charm of these solitudes is their absolute freedom. and while traversing them the wayfarer comprehends the love with which they inspire the indian, whose hope it is to meet beyond this world with yet vaster horizons for the indulgence of his wandering tastes." at the southern extremity of south america spreads a sterile plain, sown with pebbles and blocks of porphyry: it is patagonia. as we retrace our steps towards the north, the soil rises before us in terrace after terrace, till it reaches the base of the cordilleras. in the northern districts the pebbly soil gives place to verdant meadows, where the patagonians breed numerous herds of horses and cattle. water is wanting in this country. the rains are rare, and the dry seasons very prolonged. the summer heat is overwhelming; in winter violent winds sweep the savannahs, which are covered with nocturnal frosts. under such climatic influences the soil produces only a dry coarse grass. in the interior a few beeches and cacti are met with, and then broad swamps, fringed with reeds and rushes. in the spring a mantle of clover spreads over the earth, but only to be withered up by the first heats of summer. along the banks of the rio negro the pampas of buenos ayres stretch from the coast of the atlantic to the foot of the andes. on a considerable portion of this vast area marshes of salt water encroach--a phenomenon all the more curious because the salt lies only on the surface, and all the wells artificially excavated yield fresh water. during the rains the low grounds are flooded; but as soon as the sun has dried up the plain, it is clothed in rich pasturage, while the elevated table-lands are dry and withered. there, too, the dryness is often attended with disastrous results. from to , as mr. darwin records, not a drop of water fell; all traces of vegetation disappeared; the rivers ran dry, and the herds perished in incalculable numbers; in the single province of buenos ayres, the loss was estimated at more than a million head of cattle. to the north of the rio salado, at the portals of the andes, the country assumes a look of implacable desolation; no winds ever agitate the lower strata of the atmosphere. the water-courses which descend from the mountains lose themselves in the sand; salt marshes, whence the very birds hold aloof, alone alternate with a soil everywhere intersected by crevices. the district of the pampas which stretches northward to the spurs of the andes consists of a sandy soil, free from salt, but wholly unproductive. these solitudes, however, are ploughed by running streams, none of which communicate with the sea. they descend from the andes, traverse the pampas from east to west, and empty themselves into the saline lakes. somewhat further to the north, and nearer the equator, lies an almost unknown region of salt--a region of indescribable gloom, where neither tree, nor bush, nor blade of emerald grass, delights the eye. eighteen months frequently elapse in this land of desolation, worthy of being one of the circles in dante's "inferno," without the cheering sound of a shower of rain, and when at length it arrives, it splits the rocks of salt and melts them into wide pools of brackish mud. as soon as the sun has absorbed the excessive humidity of the soil, myriads of salt crystals glitter on the surface, and convert the desert into one immense mirror. to the north-west of la plata extends a desert of very different character--the _despoblado_, or uninhabited land, a plateau of the andes, rising some feet above the level of the sea. this desert is cloven into two portions by a deep valley, bordered with sharp rocks, which affords the only practicable route from bolivia to buenos ayres. winter, in this sombre world within a world, is a time of horror, when the spirit of desolation goes to and fro in wrath unchained. yet even here humanity drags about the fetters of existence. the traveller occasionally alights upon the wretched huts where the unfortunate descendants of the ancient peruvians linger through life. their wealth consists in a few llamas. their occupation, in hunting the alpaca, the guanaco, and the chinchilla; in filtering the river sands for scanty grains of gold; in collecting salt, and disposing of it to the inhabitants of the nearest towns. "the aspect of the puna, or despoblado," says von tschudi,[ ] "is singularly monotonous and dreary. the expansive levels are scantily covered with grasses of a yellowish-brown hue, and are never enlivened by fresh-looking verdure. here and there, at distant intervals, may be seen a few stunted quenera trees,[ ] or large patches of ground covered with the ratanbia shrub.[ ] both are used by the indians as fuel, and for roofing their huts. the cold climate and sterile soil are formidable impediments to agriculture. only one plant is cultivated in these regions with any degree of success. it is the _maca_, a tuberous root grown like the potato, and, like it, used as an article of food. in many of the puna districts it constitutes the principal sustenance of the inhabitants. it has an agreeable and somewhat sweetish flavour, and when boiled in milk it tastes like the chestnut." the most imposing spectacle presented by the deserts of south america is that of their frequent hurricanes. as the simoom to the sahara, so is the pampero to the pampas. its approach is foretold by signs which the native's experienced eye readily recognizes. all at once the air seems stricken motionless, and over the solitude broods a solemn silence. a cloud white and light as snow--a cloud "no bigger than a man's hand"--rises in the south-west. it advances, and as it advances enlarges its proportions. other clouds appear, and all gather into one imposing mass. the dust rises and whirls round in thick columns suspended between heaven and earth. lower and lower descend the congregated vapours, until they envelop the earth in a funeral shroud, whose folds the hurricane incessantly agitates, and which the forked lightnings seem to rend in fragments. suffocating gusts of a fiery wind traverse space. and now the sudden tempest stoops down from the summit of the andes, and sweeps the savannah with resistless fury. enormous masses of sand, upgathered by the _rafale_, obscure the clearness of day; at noon the earth is covered with a darkness that may be felt. the thunder mingles its roar with the strident voices of the storm. all that lives, all that breathes, is at the mercy of the unchained elements, which are as pitiless in their wrath as a roused people. thousands of animals perish in the savannahs; and prostrate, with his face to the earth, man tremblingly awaits the expiring breath of the grand convulsion! the horses and cattle of europe are replaced in the pampas of south america by the herds of guanacos and llamas which covered them at the epoch of the spanish conquest. their owners, descendants of the spaniards intermingled with the native races, possess many of the characteristics of the arab. like the llanero of venezuela, the guacho of the pampas realizes the idea of the ancient centaur; and from the throne of his saddle, to which hangs the inseparable _lasso_, he surveys the plains where he is lord and king with the fiery glance of a free and independent spirit. he owes scant allegiance to any established authority, and under the blue sky of heaven enjoys the blessings of uncontrolled freedom. and what to him the fever and turmoil of civilization, when, mounted on his noble steed, he can roam at will, with none to say him nay, over leagues and leagues of grassy prairies! chapter iii. the australian interior. geographers have given the name of the "fifth division of the globe" to that immense archipelago, or rather, that mass of archipelagoes which remote geological convulsions have elevated in the pacific ocean, between the three continents, asia, africa, and america, and whose existence was first revealed to the western world by the maritime explorations of the portuguese and the dutch, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. from the epoch when these enterprises commenced, the spherical figure of the earth was established beyond dispute; and after the discovery of america, it became only reasonable to suppose that, in virtue of a law without which our planet could not have maintained its equilibrium in space, there must exist a continent intended to balance those of the northern hemisphere. but for many years all the researches of intrepid navigators only led them to the shores of small islands and islets, not a few of which were barren, uninhabited, and swept by the winds of ocean; while others, girdled with palms, enriched with vegetation, and blessed by bland and genial airs, seemed to realize the poetical idea of the fortunate islands, "summer isles of eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea." at length, however, by directing their investigations towards the less submerged region of the indian ocean, and by sailing beyond the great eastern islands which seem to have been formerly connected with the indian peninsula, the portuguese mariners were the first to descry a long line of coast which they did not doubt was that of an austral continent, whose satellites, so to speak, were the previously discovered islands. this supposed continent is still represented in the old maps published at the close of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries, by a mass of ill-defined contours, with this indication: _terra australis incognita_. the succeeding voyages of carpenter, nuyts, tasman, and the illustrious cook, proved that this austral or southern land was in effect a continent, or, at least, an island of extraordinary dimensions, whose coasts alone--and these but a small extent inland--were inhabited by miserable tribes, with black skin, and hideous features, placed at the extreme limit which separates man from the brute. the dutch navigators, who had first determined the principal outlines of this continent, named it new holland, but after it passed into the hands of england, it received, as it still preserves, the appellation of australia. take away from this australian continent its fertile districts in the south-east, where have sprung up and developed with amazing rapidity the flourishing colonies of new south wales, victoria, and queensland, and what remains? a country entirely wild, and, one might almost venture to say, an immense desert. the gloomy aspect and the barrenness of its northern shores, with few exceptions, had repulsed the early portuguese and dutch navigators, who little suspected what splendid treasures were hidden among its auriferous sands and rocks. they saw but insufficient rivers and scanty vegetation, and went no further. none of the rivers of new holland are navigable to any great distance from their mouths. the want of water is severely felt in the interior, where a treeless desert of sand, swamps, and jungle is intersected by streams called "creeks," which are dry for the greater portion of the year; yet a belief long prevailed that a large sea or fresh-water lake occupied the centre--a belief founded partly on the nature of the soil, and partly on the circumstance that all the rivers that flow into the sea on the northern coast, between the gulf of van diemen and carpentaria, converge towards their sources, as if they served for drains to some large body of water. [illustration: australian landscape.] the eastern side of the country is traversed by a great range of thinly timbered down, clothed with grasses and herbage, and rising to an elevation of feet. these are known as the blue mountains, and stretch from north to south over nearly thirty degrees of latitude, from cape york to cape wilson. all their western slopes descend gradually towards the interior, until they are lost in the vast desert plain of the interior. the streams which flow in this direction either pour their waters into the great rivers, such as the darling and the murray, which has an internal navigation of miles, or lose themselves in the marshes and lakes, which the great summer heats periodically dry up. another chain of mountains stretches from south to north along the western coast of australia, from point d'entrecasteaux to murchison river. a third chain, in the northern region, runs from east to west, between camden harbour and the gulf of carpentaria. the interior of the country is, as i have already indicated, in all probability an immense plain, thinly sown with trees of the two families of acaciæ and eucalypti, and tenanted by the wombat and the kangaroo. over this vast portion of australia, which still remains a blank upon the map, numerous expeditions of discovery have been attempted since the earliest days of european colonization. hardy pioneers--those men who are the real, but obscure, and speedily forgotten founders of empires--have sacrificed their lives in the endeavour to lay down a track across the great island-continent from north to south. anglo-saxon enterprise no sooner found itself securely planted on the sea-coast, than it felt that behind it lay a continent to acquire, and the indomitable instinct of the race bade it continue its mission of colonization. during the last quarter of a century, the colonial governments have liberally encouraged these explorations, and the annals of australian discovery have been illuminated by the names of eyre ( ), sturt ( ), leichardt ( - ), kennedy ( ), and m'douall stuart ( - ), second to none among our english discoverers in patience, resolution, and heroic daring. the problem remained: to cross the central wilderness of australia, and prove the possibility of a passage from the southern shores to the northern, from melbourne to the gulf of carpentaria. this problem was finally solved, at no light cost, by the intrepid burke and energetic wills. on the th of april , there set out from melbourne, under the auspices of the government of victoria, a small troop of gallant explorers, under the immediate direction of robert o'hara burke, a man well-fitted for his post: born in the county of galway in , after having served as captain in a hungarian regiment, he had discharged for several years the duties of inspector of a body of the colonial police. the second in command was a brave young englishman, william john wills, twenty-six years of age, an assistant in the observatory at melbourne. the expedition consisted of eighteen persons, and was provided with horses, camels which had been expressly imported from arabia, waggons, all kinds of scientific instruments, and the necessary amount of stores and provisions for a protracted journey. cooper's creek, which marked about a third of the whole distance, was fixed upon as place of rendezvous and as the final starting-point. thither, to save time, burke and wills, with six men, six camels, five horses, and some months' provisions, proceeded in advance of the main body; and arriving there on the th of december, burke established a depôt, left it in charge of brahé, a petty officer, and three assistants, and with wills, a couple of men (king and gray), the camels, and one horse, plunged on the th into the trackless australian wilds.[ ] keeping nearly due north, and near or upon the meridian of ° e., they traversed, day after day, well-watered plains, with numerous clumps of wood, and tolerable indications of a good grazing country. on the th of february , the four travellers had conquered every obstacle, and struck the marshes on the albert river, which flows into the gulf of carpentaria. their goal was reached, and the problem of a connecting route between north and south successfully solved. the vast australian solitudes hitherto traversed had presented every variety of aspect, from the stony plateaux and the watery sands where the rivers can keep no regular channel, and where wide spaces of dry bare ground separate great shallows of brackish water, to finely irrigated plains, clothed with herbs or bushes, and promising abundant resources for future colonists. meteorological phenomena present in these regions the greatest uncertainties: either the dry season is so protracted as to ruin all vegetation, or the rains so thoroughly deluge the soil as by a contrary cause to ensure the same result. these climatic contradictions explain the variations observable in the narratives of the different travellers who have visited the interior. one point, however, is beyond all doubt; the hopeless sterility of nuyts land,--that immense sandy tract which, over an extent as yet unknown, is regarded as impassable, and stretches along the southern coast between spencer gulf and king george harbour. as before said, the primary cause of the barrenness of central australia is the lack of water--running water and rain water. yet the most sterile portions lie far nearer the coast than was formerly credited; and monotonous as may be the descriptions of explorers, so far as the landscapes of central australia are concerned, we may from to-day consider that, with the exception of certain points, no obstacles exist sufficiently powerful to arrest the expansion of european colonization, in a country especially where cattle-breeding is the principal industry, and the one which takes precedence of all others. the chief difficulty encountered by each exploring party has been the penury of natural products of the soil adapted for human food. the traveller is compelled to carry with him a sufficiency of provisions to last him from his departure until his return. it was this insufficiency of rations which wrought the fatal dénouement of the glorious enterprise of burke and wills. after reaching the gulf of carpentaria, there remained nothing more for burke and his three companions but to retrace their steps to their depôt at cooper's creek. but their energies were exhausted, and from the beginning of april their provisions failed them. at the close of ten or twelve days' march, they were constrained to kill a horse. in the following week, gray succumbed to the excessive fatigue. the three survivors dragged themselves on to the depôt, where they arrived on the morning of the st of april. but the men whom they had left in charge had taken their departure that very morning, after waiting long beyond the time originally fixed for their return. "you may imagine our consternation," says wills in his journal, under the date of april st; "four months of harassing marches and privations of every kind had completely exhausted our strength. it was an extremely difficult task for either of us to accomplish a distance of only a few yards. the effort necessary to ascend the smallest elevation of the ground, even without a burden, induces an indescribable sensation of pain and helplessness, and the general lassitude makes one unfit for anything." there was no resource now but to rejoin brahé and his men, if possible. before quitting the depôt, the latter had left a small supply of provisions, which proved eminently serviceable. on the rd burke, wills, and king resumed their march, at the rate of four or five miles a-day, in the direction of mount despair, which was about sixty miles distant, and where were placed the most advanced posts, northward, of south australia. a terrible fatality, however, seemed to pursue them; one of their camels, landa, perished in a bog; the other, rajah, they were soon forced to kill for food; then they themselves were compelled by sheer exhaustion to return to the depôt, which, meanwhile, had been revisited by brahé without his discovering a trace of their brief sojourn. thus abandoned to perish in the desert, they existed upon the bounty of such natives as they met with, and who occasionally supplied them with a few fish and a little _nardoo_, an aquatic plant whose pounded seeds the aborigines make into bread. such a regimen was insufficient to restore their exhausted strength. [illustration: burke, wills, and king in the deserts of central australia.] early in june their afflictions were aggravated by a deplorable catastrophe. the flames of their bivouac fire, driven by a strong wind, reduced to ashes their hut and all that they possessed. there was nothing for them now but to live with the friendly natives who had succoured them. unfortunately, they had disappeared. it was in vain they attempted to seek them out; burke and wills never saw them again. on saturday the th of june, the latter, utterly exhausted, insisted that his companions should leave him in the wilderness, while they continued their search after the natives. unwillingly they consented, and taking a solemn farewell of their unfortunate comrade, they dragged themselves away with aching hearts. four or five days afterwards, king returned with some birds he had contrived to kill, but found wills asleep in the arms of death. king was now alone, for the intrepid burke had also fallen a victim to the cruel spirit of the wilderness, resting on the barren ground, with his face upturned to the southern stars. the sole survivor was fortunate enough to fall in with the natives, who welcomed him cordially, and carried him with them from camp to camp. after two months and a half of this strange existence, he was discovered by a relief party sent out from melbourne, under the command of mr. howitt (september , ), who also gathered the remains of the two gallant but ill-fated leaders, and reverently consigned them to a decent grave. they had not died in vain. from the shores of port philip to those of the gulf of carpentaria they had discovered and marked out a practicable route; and when the great australian colonies shall have pushed forward into the interior, and have occupied the borders of the northern gulf, they will remember with gratitude the brave explorers who sacrificed their lives to effect the passage from one sea to the other. chapter iv. vegetable life in the african plains. the facts actually ascertained in reference to the flora of the plains of central africa, although as yet of a limited character, form as a whole too comprehensive a subject to be fully discussed in these pages. i must, therefore, confine myself to a rapid survey of the principal botanical features of the countries whose general features and physical aspect i have sketched in the preceding chapters. senegambia and upper guinea, on the west coast of africa, form a low table-land, situated upwards of feet above the sea-level, and furrowed by deep gorges, in whose rocky beds the rivers roll and foam, fed by the waters of numerous streams. grassy savannahs and wide cultivated areas are here inhabited by a numerous population. several travellers have explored these regions; but all have specially applied themselves to make known the colossal plants which flourish therein, and those, first and foremost, which have a particular interest, either from their anak-like stature or the manifold uses of their products. i shall have occasion to speak of the arborescent species which, in this part of the old continent, blend in immense and impenetrable forests. but owing to this very circumstance we possess few details respecting the plants which clothe the vast plains of senegambia and upper guinea. we only know that there, as everywhere, the great family of the gramineæ is largely represented. in general these species far exceed in height the plants which make the wealth and glory of our english meads; and they chiefly belong to the tribe of paniceæ. a legion of cassias inhabit the low fresh hills of the senegambian lands; and some are held in high estimation for their fruit, as the cassia, or senna, which is considered one of the most active purgatives. the species generally recognized as best adapted for medicinal purposes are those with oboval and those with obtuse leaves--_cassia obovata_ and _cassia obtusifolia_. the former is a perennial herbaceous plant, from one to two feet high, with smooth egg-shaped leaves and racemes of yellow flowers; the latter differs only in the form of its leaves, which are short and broad, or obtuse. many of the cereals are cultivated in senegambia on a very large scale; but they differ wholly from those which engage the attention of the european agriculturist. barley will not grow even on the most elevated plateaux, on account of the constant and excessive heat. it is true that it will germinate; but it develops so rapidly that it passes through all the phases of its vegetation in the space of a few weeks, and yields but impoverished ears empty of grains; it is useless to the people of senegambia except as forage. but, on the other hand, there are numerous gramineæ adapted to hot regions, which the natives cultivate for their uses. among others i may name the tocussa and the coracan (_eleasine tocussa_ and _e. corocana_), with their curved digitate spikes and productive seeds; the _pennicellaria spicata_, or guinea corn, a very tall grass, somewhat resembling maize, whose long cylindrical culms or blades bear each a multitude of white round grains, which, ground into meal, form very savoury cakes, as you may read in mungo park's travels; and the _durra_, _doura_, _indian millet_, or _sorgho grass_ (_sorghum_), a coarse, strong, broad-leaved grass, four to eight feet high, with a round grain a little larger than mustard seed; it is the principal corn-plant of africa, and exceedingly nutritious, the natives employing it in the preparation of a favourite dish named kouskoussou. the cereals most widely cultivated in senegal include the colonial millet (_oplismenus colonus_); the abyssinian meadow grass (_poa abyssinica_), called "teff" in abyssinia, whose seeds are used for making bread, and whose blades yield an abundant herbage; rice (_oryza sativa_), and different varieties of maize. leguminous plants appear wanting in senegal. their absence is probably due to the same causes as those which we have indicated as affecting the growth of barley. cabbages and the different salads grow, in fact, with a rapidity which prevents them from maturing; they flower in two or three weeks after being sown. the inhabitants consequently resort to those alimentary species which belong to hot countries, and which can only be obtained in europe at an enormous expense and by artificial means. among the plants with edible roots are various kinds of yams (such as the _dioscorea alata_); batatas (_convolvulus batatas_); and the manioc or manihot (_jatropha manihot_),[ ] better known as cassava, which, although in itself a deadly poison, is easily deprived by heat of its noxious properties, and when roasted or boiled becomes a nutritious and highly savoury food. it yields the valuable farinaceous material of tapioca. its leaves are cooling and healing; from its seeds an excellent oil is procured; and the juice which drops from its root serves for empoisoning arrows. good and evil are both strangely mixed in this important plant. [illustration: vegetable life in the african plains. . guinea corn (_pennicillaria spicata_). . sorgho grass (_sorghum cernuum_). . manihot (_jatropha manihot_). . yam (_dioscorea alata_). . screw pine (_pandanus candelabrum_). . black pepper (_piper nigrum_).] the _corchorus olitorius_,[ ] an annual cultivated in egypt as a potherb, is largely grown in senegal for the tenacious fibres of its root and the oily juices of its seeds. the black pepper (_piper nigrum_) of india and the sunda isles we find perfectly acclimatized in this part of africa, and it flourishes even in a wild state. finally, the coffee-tree (_coffea arabica_), the cocoa (_theobroma cacao_), indigo (_indigofera tinctoria_), and the _cocos oleracea_, are among the cultivated plants of senegambia. in northern guinea and the gaboon, recently made famous by du chaillu's discovery of the gorilla, savannahs and cultivated districts are intermingled, though their flora is still imperfectly known. a great number of grasses adorn the fresh and humid prairies, and sedges and reeds abound, while, on the river-banks, in shady nooks, flourish some of the screw-pine tribe,[ ] notably the _pandanus candelabrum_, a highly curious plant, which attracts one's attention by its mode of vegetation, its graceful ribbon-like foliage, and its small fragrant flowers. thatching and cordage are obtained from the fibrous leaves; the fruit resembles a richly-coloured pine-apple, but is insipid to the taste. the savannahs of the neighbouring provinces, and especially those of the gold coast, are in general sparsely inhabited, nor are those on the banks of the niger an exception; man shrinks from a region which the deadly malaria seems to claim as its own. the flora is very poor, consisting chiefly of aquatic grasses, with blades of moderate height, and leaves of comparatively little succulence. the herbaceous plants, suitable for food or industrial uses, which are most frequently met with in guinea and the gaboon, resemble those already described as belonging also to senegambia. but there are many different arums, such as the _caladium segmium_ and _colocasia mucronatum_, properly known as taro, tara, or tayo, and employed in making granulate sugar from the stem of the former, and in boiling or roasting for food the rhizomæ of the latter; tobacco; the ox-heart annona, a plant sometimes cultivated in europe, where it never fructifies, though its aromatic fruits are its most valuable product, and are highly esteemed by the africans,--these "custard apples" resembling thick cream, and being eaten, like cream, with a spoon; the banana,[ ] with its gigantic foliage--precious "musa sapientum "--valuable not only to "wise men," but foolish men, as a substitute for wheat or the breadfruit tree, and gratifying the savage with a succulent and nutritious food. forty or fifty banana plants will flourish in a square space of one thousand feet, and an acre of ground will yield sufficient provision for fifty men. that area of land which, sown with wheat, would feed only one man, will nourish five-and-twenty if planted with bananas. i must not forget the pistachios,[ ] which flourish spontaneously in the vast plains of central africa, and the highly valuable sugar cane (_saccharum officinarum_), which, like the cotton plant, has rendered inestimable services to man, and yet has been the origin of unutterable crime and misery, promoting by its cultivation the accursed slave-trade. the vine (_vitis vinifera_) is cultivated in a few districts. among the herbaceous or sub-frutescent plants peculiar to this region, and which enjoy a certain reputation on account of the utility of their products, i may name the following:-- the calebash nutmeg (_monodora myristica_), one of the annonaceæ, remarkable for its withered fruits, which, when rasped like its seeds, furnish a condiment deservedly esteemed by the natives; guinea pepper (_uvaria Æthiopica_), whose properties are well known and appreciated in this part of western africa; and finally, one of the cucurbitaceæ, the _telfairia pedata_, whose seeds enclose a very oleaginous substance. to the east, in nigritia or the soudan, the country is nearly level, although situated at an elevation of to feet above the sea. the vegetation here is very scanty; yet the copious tropical rains favour the growth of plants suitable for the provender of cattle; pastures are abundant, and formed by the principal grasses (panicum setaria, and the like), the sedges, rushes, &c. these meads are clothed with verdure for three or four months of the year, and much frequented by the shepherds who dwell in the vicinity of lake tchad. still further eastward, if we continue our wanderings, we plunge into the warm regions of darfour and kordofan. here the country is cast in bold outlines; numerous lofty mountain-chains are intersected by narrow valleys and smooth expanses of meadow-land. all that portion of kordofan which lies west of the white nile is a prairie some thirty-five miles long by twenty-eight broad, stretching towards the rising sun, and relieved by small patches of shrubs of the family _leguminosæ_, especially the mimosa, with its graceful shrinking foliage, which shudders at the lightest touch, and its spherical rose-hued or snow-white blossoms. these meadow-lands suffer from excessive aridity; it is only with an arduous struggle that a few grasses resist the dryness which almost constantly prevails; and frequently, as is the case in other parts of western africa, the inhabitants can only procure water for their needs by sinking wells of extraordinary depth. less arid, the southern part of kordofan is better clothed with vegetation; the country is more broken, and increases in picturesqueness of aspect as we approach the neighbourhood of mount tegeler. sennaar, which is traversed by the blue nile, is far from offering an equally luxuriant vegetation: along the river extends a vast belt of meadow, generally barren, or only blessed with a few herbaceous plants, a few leguminosæ, with deeply-buried roots; and its aspect, therefore, is one of great gloom. the landscape wants "the glory in the grass, and the splendour in the flower" which appeal so potently to the sensibilities of the poet. nor does the scenery improve as we ascend the sennaar to the lake of zana, situated to the south-east, for though the rich black soil of the kulla valley nourishes a profuse vegetation, it is the vegetation peculiar to the marsh and the swamp; the wind rushes through thick sedges, and whispering reeds, and waving grasses. on the northern borders of the lake the pasturages are fresh and green, and a man might easily lurk unseen among their gigantic gramineæ, the panicas and the setarias. still keeping our faces eastward, like the ghebirs of ancient iran, we perceive that abyssinia is divided into two parts by the river tacazze, an affluent of the nile; the western being called amhora, and the eastern tigré. owing to its peculiar geographical configuration and the elevation of its mountains, abyssinia rejoices in a wholly special flora. in the semen, west of the tacazze, there is a mountain lifting its crest above the limit of perpetual snow, or to an altitude of , feet. up to a height of feet its slopes are thickly carpeted with fresh and fragrant sward, and the air throbs with the music of a hundred streams which flow from the perennial fountains of ice and snow. in the tigré the country is not fertile, nor is it well populated. its geological features are interesting, for we meet everywhere with isolated masses of limestone, arranged generally in horizontal strata of various extent, and bearing indisputable traces of a vast volcanic labour. on the coast of the red sea, the oriental slopes only present at their base a few scattered thickets chiefly composed of thorny shrubs and the leguminosæ. we meet also with various kinds of aloes and euphorbiaceæ (spurge-worts), as the _euphorbia neriifolia_, _euphorbia grandidens_, and _euphorbia abyssinica_. it is said that king juba ii., of mauritania, discovered the plant growing on mount atlas, wrote a short treatise on its virtues, and named it after his physician euphorbos (about the end of the first century b.c.) the root, generally speaking, is aperient, and the milky juice useful in cases of rheumatism and cramp. the plains of tigré present a beautiful appearance with the variety of flowers that bloom among the grass; including a kind of scarlet aloe, which is to be met with almost everywhere in tigré, and appears, like our gorse, to flower at all seasons, forming a graceful object in the foreground. the many varieties of mimosas, too, with their different-coloured blossoms--pink, yellow, and white--appear to be spread over the whole face of the country, whether rock or plain, hill or valley. "when in blossom," says an english traveller,[ ] "many of them emit a fragrance so powerful as to render the whole neighbourhood more odorous than a perfumer's shop. the jessamine is seen in profusion in many parts, but principally on the hills; and there is also a beautiful parasitical creeper (an æschynanthus), which grows, like the mistletoe, from the bark of other trees. it has a bright dark-green fleshy leaf, with brilliant scarlet flowers." the same traveller describes a tree called the _dima_,[ ] which, though not very solid as food, adds much to the flavour of the _cuisine_. it has a large greenish shell, some nine inches long; inside of it lie a number of seeds, and attached to them by fibres a quantity of yellowish-white cakey powder, having a sweetish acid taste, and when mixed with water forming an agreeable beverage, somewhat resembling lemonade. the abyssinians mix with it red pepper and salt, and eat it as a relish with their bread. when the tree reaches a certain size, its trunk almost always becomes hollow; and then it frequently contains a store of wild honey, which may easily be obtained by means of a small axe and fire. more to the south, in the shoa, we meet with an almost analogous vegetation: the socotrine aloes (_aloe socotrina_), which supplies our pharmacopoeia with an active cathartic, is particularly abundant. the _celastrus edulis_,[ ] a small branching shrub whose leaves possess very similar properties to those of the tea-plant, and are employed for the same purpose by the abyssinians, is widely cultivated. the arabs distil from them a stimulating drink called kat. nor should i forget the cousso, or casso, named after its discoverer _brayera anthelmintica_,[ ] an infusion of whose bark or leaves forms one of the most powerful vermifuges in the world; and the _musa ensete_, a magnificent banana, with gigantic leaves and nerves of a vivid red, which now flourishes in our european plantations. among the cultivated plants may be included most of those which i have noticed under the head of senegambia; while, owing to the considerable elevation of the mountains, we find many others which belong to cool and temperate climates--such, for example, as rye and barley. the sugar cane, the pomegranate, and numerous aurantiaceæ, as, for example, the citron and the orange, have been likewise introduced into this part of southern africa. [illustration: vegetable life in south africa. . mesembryanthemum inflexum. . hottentot's fig (_mes. edule_). . euphorbia neriifolia. . euphorbia grandidens. . stapelia hirsuta.] from the coast of aden, where almost complete sterility prevails prior to the rainy season--from the coast of aden to cape guardafui, situated at the easternmost point of africa, the traveller encounters a constant succession of mountains or elevated table-lands, haunted by the shepherds of the somali tribes,--a people notorious for their brigandage. respecting the coast of ajan we know but little, except that its arid and sandy soil supports a scanty vegetation of stunted plants. the zanguebar coast is not more familiar to the botanist, and is mainly covered with marshes. but the littoral of western africa is gifted with a flora as luxuriant as it is varied. according to dr. welwitsch, who has explored this region, previously almost a _terra incognita_ to europeans, "the special feature in the neighbourhood of benguela is the abundance of parasitical _lorunthaceæ_, or mistletoe, on the thickets of the thorny mimosa, to which are attached those roccellæ (or archils), the _roccella tinctoria_ and _r. fuciformis_, that yield so brilliant a lilac dye. in the gardens of benguela the vegetables of europe are most successfully cultivated, as well as a great number of fruit trees belonging both to tropical and temperate climes: citron and orange, the olive, the cashew-nut, the anana, the fig, the vine, the pomegranate, the elais-palm, the banana, the anona, and the corrossol. the vine bears grapes twice every year, and the crop on each occasion is abundant and of fine flavour. the gardens in the vicinity of mossamèdes, between the fifteenth and sixteenth parallels of south latitude, exhibit a curious medley of vegetables on every side, where you may see flourishing side by side the banana and the potato, manioc and wheat, sugar-cane and flax, barley, and every kind of spanish potato." a few miles from cape negro the coast rises for from to feet above the sea-level, forming a continuous plateau, where the flora, though meagre when compared with that a little further to the north, offers nevertheless to the traveller some objects of the highest interest. it was here that dr. welwitsch met with the strange plant which, in commemoration of its intrepid discoverer, sir william hooker named _welwitschia_,[ ] but which the natives call _tumboa_. "in its youth its two original cotyledonary leaves appear to grow considerably, and extend horizontally in opposite directions, raised but little above the surface of the sand, whilst the intervening stock thickens and hardens, assuming an obconical shape, flat at the top, and rapidly tapering below into the descending root. as years go on, the original pair of leaves, having attained their full size, and a hard, tough, fibrous consistence, do not die away, but gradually split up into shreds; the woody mass which bears them rises very little higher, but increases horizontally both above and below the insertion of the leaves, so as to clasp their base in a deep marginal slit or cavity; and from the upper side, at the base of the leaf, several short flowering stalks are annually developed. these are erect, dichotomously branched jointed stems, rising from six inches to a foot in height, and bearing a pair of small opposite scales at each fork or joint, each branch being terminated by an oblong cone, under the scales of which are the flowers and seeds. the result is, that the country is studded with these misshapen table-like or anvil-like masses of wood, whose flat tops, pitted with the scars of old flowering stems, never rise above a foot from the ground, but vary, according to age, in a horizontal diameter of from a few inches to five or six feet--those of about eighteen inches diameter being supposed to be already above a hundred years old."[ ] these fantastic monstrous shapes were found by dr. welwitsch, with their deeply-embedded roots, on the dry plateau of the benguela coast, in ° ´ south latitude. herr montein met with it in a perfectly similar situation on quartzose soil, in the neighbourhood of the nicolas river, ° ´ south latitude; and mr. baines and mr. anderson, in dawaraland, between ° and ° south latitude, in the neighbourhood of whalefish bay, and in a district where never a drop of rain falls. we may therefore place the _habitat_ of this remarkable plant between the th and rd parallels of south latitude. the crown, when divested of its leaves, bears a close resemblance to a fungus. [illustration: vegetable life of cape colony. . aloe verrucosa. . aloe soccotrina. . aloe ciliaris. . aloe arborescens. . aloe plicatilis. . gladiolus blandus.] [illustration: vegetable life of cape colony. . helichrysum fruticosum. . erica cavendishiana. . protea longifolia. . todea africana.] [illustration: vegetable life of cape colony. . pelargonium hederæfolium (ivy-leaved geranium). . oxalis rosacea (wood-sorrel). . pelargonium glaucum. . pelargonium zonale (zone-leaved geranium). . pelargonium tricuspidatum.] if we now approach the cape of good hope--the cabo del tormentoso, or "cape of storms," of the early navigators--we shall observe a characteristic vegetation peculiar to a solid or stony soil, sometimes hilly, but generally dry. it is in the desolate and barren steppes situated within the confines of caffraria that those splendid herbaceous bulbous plants display their beauties, which are now familiar to our english gardens under the names of gladiolus, oxalis, ixia, and tulbaya. to those magnificent ornaments of the floral world we must add some less known plants, remarkable in other respects; such as the _mollugo cerviana_, which, with a few ficoideæ, form the almost exclusive nourishment of the herbivorous animals belonging to these countries. the gramineæ are rare in the plains of cape colony, but, on the other hand, they contain a number of oleaginous plants included in divers families. here, for instance, are those singular _compositæ_, whose stems so closely resemble waxen tapers; several ficoideæ, of which some species--as, notably, the _mesembryanthemum edule_, or hottentot's fig, distributed over the interior of southern africa, and the _mesembryanthemum tuberosum_--are eagerly sought by the hottentots, caffres, and natives generally, who eat the fruits of the former and the roots of the latter; the _stapelia hirsuta_, or carrion plant, and several others of the same genus, whose carrion-smelling flowers are singularly handsome, though their odour is most offensive; a great number of aloes, particularly the _aloe verrucosa_, _a. ciliaris_, _a. plicatilis_, and _a. arborescens_, each distinguished by a strange wayward boldness of form and figure; and, finally, those larger euphorbias of which i have already spoken, and which yield a white milky juice that hardens on exposure to the air. it is mainly on the slopes or stony hills of the cape that we meet with numerous and remarkable species of the immortelles, with their white, yellow, or lilac, and satin-smooth flowers. the woody immortelle (_helichrysum fruticosum_) is one of those peculiar to the cape districts. it is in analogous but more sandy localities that those graceful little shrubs, with varied corollas, flourish, which are so popular in england under the name of _ericas_, and which frequently exhibit the highest beauty of form and colour. in the engraving is figured the exquisite _erica cavendishiana_, a deservedly great favourite in our english conservatories. there, too, the traveller delightedly examines the almost interminable succession of pelargoniums, or geraniums, rich in clusters of delicate bloom, and in exquisitely green foliage. what a blank would their absence leave in our blossomy parterres! here and there he notes dense coppices of the arduinia spinosa, the lycium afrum, the euclæa ondulata, whose berries are eaten by the hottentots; several species of rhus,[ ] among others the _rhus lucidum_; and, finally, a great number of the strange fantastic proteaceæ, with their hard dry evergreen leaves and curiously beautiful flowers. at the foot of the mountains, in the countries bordering on caffraria, different cycadaceæ are found, especially the _zamia_ and _encephalartus_, an elegant plant with a short spherical trunk, surmounted by a crown of long rigid palmated leaves. the natives prepare with their pith a species of cake which they eat instead of bread. ferns are not numerous at the cape; the most remarkable, undoubtedly, is the _todea africana_. the hills and meadows of this part of south africa do not always exhibit so marked an aridity; rivers and streams refresh the soil, and there, where the current is not too swift nor the depth too great, grows the beautiful _calla_ of ethiopia, a species of aroidea, whose snow-white fragrant flowers resemble a large horn in shape; the _aponogeton distachyum_, another aquatic plant, with white flowers and floating leaves, is not less common in similar positions; then on the banks, in fresh and shady nooks of greenery, thrives the _strelitzia reginæ_, a gorgeous-flowered genus of _musaceæ_, named after charlotte of mecklenburg-strelitz, queen of george iii. the foliage of this magnificent plant consists of long-stalked leaves sheathing at the base, arising from a contracted stem, the flower stalk encircled below by the sheath of the leaf-stalk; while from its upper portion springs a large bract or spathe placed obliquely, within which lie the flowers, resplendent in orange and purple. in the desert of kalahari exists an abundant and varied vegetation. according to dr. livingstone, it is an immense plain which nourishes a prodigious quantity of herbaceous plants, generally of very small elevation, and besprinkled at intervals with thickets of bushy shrubs. the herbs which are enabled to withstand the prolonged droughts of these arid localities are species with tuberous roots, creeping or spindle-like, and deeply buried in the ground. the _citrullus vulgaris_ and _c. amarus_ are found in enormous quantities. dr. livingstone speaks of another individual of the gourd tribe, probably a kind of _cucumis_, whose fruits colour red when ripe, and which has sometimes a sweet and sometimes a bitter flavour. in these vast regions, where a desolating aridity prevails, the rivers and streams dry up for a great portion of the year, and the soil of their bed, generally black and loamy, is rapidly covered with a profuse vegetation, composed in great part of grasses and rush-plants. the banks of the rivers mokolo and zouga, and the shores of lake ngami, are covered with herbs and small thorny stunted bushes, including the _acacia detinens_. in the south of africa the soil is so dry that only plants of a fleshy consistency can endure the heat; elsewhere, in more temperate climes, these latter plants are also very abundant, but the surrounding herbage destroys them. among those which grow there in great numbers i may name the ficoideæ, and particularly the _mesembryanthemum inflexum_, which is very widely spread, and whose stems and leaves are eaten by herbivorous animals. this plant, says dr. livingstone, is so useful that it is cultivated by the dutch boers on an extensive scale. on his northward route towards linianty, this illustrious traveller fell in with meadows of such rank fertility that its herbage frequently rose above his vehicles. the natives, designated makalatos, show some agricultural taste and skill, and cultivate durra, maize, two kinds of beans, arachides, pumpkins, and the like. everywhere, along the banks of the gambye and the liba, he met with exceptionally fertile land, where the grasses attained an unusual development. on the liba bloomed wide verdurous plains, consisting of plants with dazzling corollas and gramineæ of tall stature. owing to the burning heats which blight these districts, herbaceous plants are developed with extraordinary rapidity. in the rainy season the liba meadows are covered, like our own, with an immense variety of mushrooms, some nutritious, others poisonous. the former are much relished by the natives. one of the most common, and one of the finest flavour, is found, says dr. livingstone, on all the ant-hills; it is completely white, very good even when eaten raw, and about eight inches in diameter. there is another of a brilliant red or superb blue, but it is poisonous. the banks of the quilo, like those of the quango, are endowed with a most luxurious vegetation; the same is the case with the banks of the zambesi. everywhere spreads a gigantic and abundant herbage. in the environs of the small town of cassanga, the natives cultivate manioc, potatoes, haricots, tomatoes, &c. there are found also bananas and guava plants, and probably all the legumes and fruit trees recognized by dr. welwitsch at benguela, which lies nearly under the same latitude. from the table-land of cassanga you may survey nearly the whole of the valley watered by the quango. it is a gently undulating plain, covered with herbs, and sown with great woods. the coffee-tree was formerly cultivated in the province of tété, but has been abandoned; cassias, however, flourish, and indigo. among the cultivated plants of tété livingstone, moreover, mentions some species which are not yet botanically distinguished--such as the loatsa (_pennisetum typhoideum_), and several of the bean tribe, one of which grows underground like the arachides. chapter v. vegetable life in the prairies, pampas, and llanos of the new world. of all the provinces, as yet uninhabited or only scantily peopled, which compose the northern regions of the new world, none offer so vast an extent of prairies as that which is situated in the vicinity of the neosho and the vert-de-gris, between the missouri frontier and the river arkansas. woods of small extent--or, more generally, limited patches of copse and thicket--are met with at intervals in these plains. the _smilax rotundifolia_, a species of sarsaparilla, with round leaves and sarmentous stems; the _rhus toxicodendrum_, a shrub with a very poisonous juice; and the _asimina triloba_, a plant bearing nutritious fruit, are, with a few other subfrutescent species, the denizens of these lonely localities. annual or perennial plants abound in the prairies, and attain there a considerable development, especially in the more humid districts. the plains bordering on the swan's marsh, situated upon the upper course of the river osage, nourish a great number of species, as elegant as they are varied. as in our own meadows, the gramineæ, the cyperaceæ (or sedges), the leguminosæ, and the compositæ--the latter especially--are very extensively diffused. but, in contrast to the majority of our species, their representatives are in general of remarkable dimensions, with flowers of extraordinary splendour, and most of them have been naturalized in our british gardens. the american prairies, again, like the meadow-lands of europe, are alternated with dry, gravelly spaces, marshes, swampy angles, and wooded tracts. it is curious to trace a certain likeness between the genera which inhabit these localities in both continents. thus, m. trécul, who explored, in and , nearly the whole of the state of missouri to the foot of the rocky mountains, louisiana, texas, and a part of northern mexico, discovered in the vicinity of the swan's marsh, water-plantains (_alisma_), sagittarias, and nymphæas, in the inundated districts; characeæ--their tubular branches incrusted with carbonate of lime--bladder-plants, and the beautiful floating naiadaceæ, in deeper pools and stagnant waters; and the lythraceæ (or loose-strife tribe) on the banks of the brooklets. but the commonest aquatic plant in these morasses, and that which conceals, so to speak, all the other plants proper to such localities, is the _nelumbium calophyllum_, with its rose-coloured blossoms; its seeds and rhizomes are eaten by the natives. the vast plains of missouri are sufficiently fertile. among the plants most abundant in somewhat damp places we must notice several _compositæ_; the _liatris_, with their violet flowers and long spiky bunches, the _calliopsis tinctoria_ of the dyers, the _gaura_ of lindheimer, and the _tripsacum dactyloides_. asters, erigerons, gaillardies, helianthi (sun-flowers), solidagos, the _rudbeckia hirta_, and the _coreopsis_, are found almost as far south as texas. by the side of these _compositæ_ flourish several _desmodiums_ and _cassias_, some graceful _baptisias_--with blue flowers and light green foliage, the _melanthum virginicum_, the _euphorbia marginata_, the _asclepias cornuti_--now naturalised in the neighbourhood of paris--the _hibiscus palustris_ and _h. moscheutos_, gigantic malvaceæ, whose splendidly-beautiful flowers are often three or four inches in diameter. as plants widely spread in the stonier prairies, we may note the gauras, different varieties of _oenothera_, and especially the _silphium laciniatum_ (vulgarly called the magnetic plant, or compass of the prairies). its leaves _are said_ to turn their faces uniformly east and west, so that their edges are consequently directed due north and south. the plant is also known as pilot-weed, polar-plant, rosin-weed, and turpentine-weed; the latter name derived from the copious resin exuded by its stems, which grow to a height of three to six feet, as well as by the leaves, which are deeply pinnatified. in the small woods which skirt the prairies is found in abundance, twining round the bushes, the _apios tuberosa_, a leguminous plant formerly recommended to european cultivation on account of the rounded tubercles which grow upon its subterranean stems. the arabians collect them in the spring, and carefully dry them to eat for food. the apios belongs to the family of umbelliferæ, and is consequently allied to celery, parsnip, and carrot. in missouri, and as far as the confines of mississippi, we also fall in with very productive sandy plains alternating with wooded uplands. this country recalls, on the whole, the aspect of that which we have just described, and the plants which thrive therein are almost the same. on the hills and woody slopes in the neighbourhood of the iron mountain, we likewise meet with sufficiently verdurous prairies. m. trécul collected there numerous gramineæ, some species of carex, plantains, euphorbias, polygalas, and vervains; many genera, in fact, which in france, and similar soils elsewhere, have numerous representatives. it is in the grassy tracts of the wooded districts that the larger species of _phlox_ flourish, while the smaller varieties of the same genus vegetate upon the hills. the low humid meadows enchant us with their gorgeous scarlet _actæas_,[ ] their yellow balsams their _echinacea purpureas_, and their superb lilies; those which are dry and rather stony are covered with the broad golden flowers of the gay _oenothera macrocarpa_.[ ] [illustration: vegetable life in the american prairies. . liatris squarrosa. . asclepias cornuti. . calliopsis tinctoria. . tripsacum dactyloides. . gaura lindheimeri.] among the shrubs which people the marshy tracts of this same region, i must point out the _sassafras_, a kind of laurel with deciduous leaves, yellow flowers, which precede the foliage, and small dark-blue fruit. it is found from canada to florida; a mere bush in the north, but a tree fifty feet high in the south. the wood is soft, light, of a coarse fibre, with a pungent aromatic taste, and a strong agreeable odour. the wood is brought to market in the shape of chips, but for medicinal purposes the thick spongy bark of the root is prepared, and it is found extremely valuable as a powerful stimulant, sodorific, and diuretic. the mucilaginous leaves are employed in thickening soup. an infusion of the bark or wood makes a pleasant beverage, formerly known as _saloop_; and the wood also yields an oil which is used medicinally. but it is in the state of texas, and especially near san antonio de bejar, that those immense desert spaces commence which occupy all the northern region of mexico. the southern districts of texas offer in their prevailing landscapes a mixture of beautiful prairies and shady woods. among the plants peculiar to humid and turfy localities, i may particularize the _sarracenias_, a group of remarkable exogens, whose leaves are hollowed out into tubes or pitchers, open at the upper end, and streaked with bands of different colours; the eriocaulons, a kind of rush, carrying their small flowers in spherical capitals on the summits of their tall branching stems; and the nelumbios (_nelumbium calophyllum_), aquatic plants of unusual beauty, american congeners of the celebrated lotus, the "insane root which takes the reason prisoner." the nuts are wholesome and edible, and the root-stocks are also occasionally eaten. these plants are likewise found, in analogous habitats, in mississippi and louisiana, accompanied by the light-green magnolia, the dog-berry tree of florida, several wax-berries, and the sassafras laurel, now acclimatized in europe, and whose bark is employed as i have said, medicinally, while its wood and roots are made use of by turners and toy-manufacturers. [illustration: vegetable life in texas. . nelumbium calophyllum. . eriocaulon flavidulum. . sarracenia purpurea. . laurus sassafras.] prairies abound in texas, wide rolling sweeps of grassy sward, with an apparently interminable horizon, unbroken by rock, or wood, or river--leagues upon leagues of rank thick grass where countless herds are depastured, and where the hunter still finds game worthy of his deadly rifle. among those which skirt the bay of matagorda, and extend in the vicinity of victoria, gonzalès, and seguin, m. trécul discovered an ample variety of compositæ; of gramineæ, more especially those belonging to the generæ _poa_, _spartina_, _dactyloctenium_; cyperaceæ, euphorbias, cucumbers, and gourds. from the texan prairies our european gardeners have of late years received a graminea of the genus _panicum_, the _black mosquito grass_, which by its long creeping rhizomes may be employed with undoubted success to arrest the inland movement of the dunes and shifting sandy shores. the yellow water-lily (_nuphar lutea_) spreads its fine leaves on the surface of the texan streams, in beautiful companionship with the _nuphar advena_ and the _nymphæa odorata_. in the same localities vegetates a weak variety of our european _sagittaria_, and the _pistia spatulata_ spreads itself upon the water, like our english duckweed, both being members of the family _pistaceæ_. as far as new braunfels, the prairies are occasionally relieved by clumps of fine old trees; but below that point the traveller only encounters, and that at rare intervals, a few scarce coppices and scanty thickets. growing more common at san antonio de bejar, they abound in the region of castroville, and spread over nearly the entire country to the very borders of mexico. these bushes or coppices mainly consist of the _prosapis glandulosa_, the _guaiacum angustifolium_, the _xanthoxylum inerme_ and a few acacias. the guaiacum[ ] is noticeable for its hard and heavy wood, generally known as _lignum vitæ_, sometimes as _guaiacum wood_, and occasionally as _brazil wood_. it also yields a peculiar resinous product, which is medicinally employed, in powder, pill, and tincture, for the relief of chronic rheumatism and chronic skin diseases. it is of a greenish-brown colour, and though it has scarcely any taste, leaves a hot arid sensation in the mouth. the _xantoxyton_ type, of the order xanthoxylaceæ, derives its name from the yellowness of its timber. its fruits have a pungent aromatic taste, like pepper. the popular name of "toothache tree" is applied to some of the american species, from the relief their bark and fruits are supposed to give in cases of that distressing affliction. in the neighbourhood of castroville, trécul found, profusely scattered among the thickets, a species of _ephedra_, closely resembling the _ephedra altissima_, whose feeble reed-like branches were literally covered with small red fruits, producing a novel and attractive effect. as a plant curious from its mode of vegetation, and which is spread in texas as well as in louisiana, i may mention the _tillandria usneoides_, so named after professor tillands, of abo. this is a genus of _bromeliaceæ_, growing on the boughs of trees, and notably on those of the evergreen oak. it hangs down like a tuft of long gray hair, in somewhat the same fashion as certain lichens (_usnea_) in european pine-forests, communicating to the trees a strange and positively weird aspect. the plant is collected, and the outer cellular portion being removed by soaking in water, the fibrous residuum is then employed to stuff cushions, mattresses, and pillows; whence it is sometimes called "vegetable horse-hair." [illustration: vegetable life in the texan prairies. . yucca tréculeana. . echinocactus robustus. . silphium terebinthinaceum. . cereus peruvianus. . mamillaria rodantha. . opuntia microdasys.] in the thickets that dot the central prairies commonly flourish the _lantana camara_, and the curious _ungnandia speciosa_, a species of chestnut tree on a very reduced scale. it was in texas, and in the rocky, arid, and hilly plains, that the french botanist trécul discovered several notable varieties of yuccas, to one of which, a new, and certainly the most beautiful species, his name has very justly been affixed: the _yucca tréculeana_. it raises its tall panicle of gorgeous flowers from the centre of a crown of glossy, rigid, spear-like leaves, like a victorious trophy. in eastern texas we note the first appearance, in the drier and stonier portions of the prairies, of a representation of the family _cactaceæ_, the _opuntia frutescens_, frequently growing side by side with the _silphium terebinthinaceum_. the _opuntia_ is more generally known as the "indian fig" or "prickly pear," from the large purple juicy fruits which it yields. the _silphium_ belongs to the family of _compositæ_. but western texas is the true birth-place of these oleaginous plants, some of which, such as the _echinocactus robusta_, the _mamillaria rodantha_, and the _opuntia microdasys_ ("small-thorny opuntia"), are cultivated in our apartments, where they require but very little attention. m. trécul has discovered in this region a new and rare variety of echinocactus (_e. tréculeanus_), some kinds of cereus, and, especially, the _cereus peruvianus_, a beautiful plant with large showy flowers. such are the principal plants which, in north america, characterize the vegetation of the prairies and the savannahs. this rapid and condensed description will show the reader that the species most extensively spread belong to the genera in which are grouped the more common inhabitants of our own old world meadows and grassy plains. * * * * * if we now transport ourselves, on the poet's winged pegasus, that takes no account of distance or of natural obstacles, to the equatorial zone of the new world--into guatemala, for example--we shall find the undulating and verdurous prairies giving place to high table-lands furrowed by deep and romantic ravines. their botanical interest, however, is trivial, and their vegetation of a meagre and stunted kind. but between guatemala, nicaragua, and honduras, lies an extensive valley, locally named _llanora_, sown with numerous beautiful varieties of plants. among them the _gramineæ_ family predominates, and, without attaining the proportions and the quality of the herbs which we shall meet with in the interior, form breadths of meadow very charming in their rare fresh greenness. from the summit of the cordilleras, in the neighbourhood of bogota, at an altitude of about feet, the eye surveys almost the entire extent of those vast level plains which stretch from the base of the mountain-chain to remote brazil, guiana, and venezuela. the steppes comprised between bogota and the river meta are formed, in general, of gramineæ with crawling stems, and with nearly always very tall culms, especially in the cooler localities. herbage is so abundant that the traveller who penetrates into these immense pastures experiences almost insurmountable difficulties. he himself and his horse are nearly hidden by the tall grasses, which frequently attain a stature of five to seven feet. and such is their vigour, that after having been burnt to the ground by one of the terrible conflagrations so frequent in these countries, they spring up again with wondrous swiftness; if the plants had not flowered prior to the passage of the destructive flames, they do so afterwards, and even when their leaves have been wholly destroyed. the lofty table-lands of bogota and tukerres, in new grenada, present a succession of rich pasturages, perfumed by some species of labiatæ, and notably by the _micromeria browniana_, which thrives among the gramineæ, their fodder is highly esteemed. the barren and sandy plains of peru, fertilized by the numerous water-courses which furrow them, are covered with thick bloom and verdure in the rainy season. with the gramineæ and juncaceæ--the grasses and rushes common in these steppes--mingle different members of the liliaceæ family, and especially several kinds of lily. the higher region of the eastern face of the peruvian cordillera, situated between , and , feet of elevation, forms an immense undulating plateau watered by the upper course of the maranon. everywhere, over a considerable area, the plains are clothed with a meagre vegetation, or alternate with wide morasses, lakes, and brooks. among the plants which people them is a species of the gramineæ, _stipa itchu_; and there are also several alpine varieties, compositæ, leguminosæ, and one of the cyperaceæ family, the _cyperus articulatus_. the llanos of caraccas, and of the rio apure and the meta, over which roam immense herds of cattle, are, in the strictest sense of the term, says humboldt,[ ] "grassy plains." their prevalent vegetation, belonging to the two families of cyperaceæ and gramineæ, consists of various species of _paspalum_, _p. leptostachyum_ and _p. linticulare_; of _kyllingia_, of _panicum_, _anthephora_, _aristida_, _vilfa_, and _anthistiria_. only here and there are found, interspersed among the gramineæ, a few herbaceous dicotyledonous plants, consisting of two very low-growing species of mimosa (sensitive plant)--mimosa intermedia and mimosa dormiens--which are great favourites with the wild horses and cattle. the natives give to this group of plants, which close their delicate feathery leaves on being touched, the expressive name of _dormideras_--"sleepy plants." nota tree is visible for miles; but where solitary individuals occur, they are, in moist places, the mauritia palm; in arid districts, a protacea--namely, the _rhopula complicata_; also the highly useful palma da corija, or de sombrero; and our _corypha inermis_, an umbrella palm, whose leaves are used to thatch the roofs of huts. the mauritia palm, palm moriche, _mauritia flexuosa_, quiteve, or ita palm--for by any or all of these names it is known--belongs to the family of _lepidocaryeæ_. the trunk grows as high as feet, but it probably requires from to years to reach this height. it extends high up on the declivity of the duida mountains, and forms in moist places beautiful groups of a shining emerald verdure, like that of our european alder groves. the trees preserve the humidity of the ground by their shade, and hence the indians say that the mauritia draws the water round its roots by a mysterious attraction. from its tops the indians frequently suspend their hammocks to escape the attacks of the mosquitoes. sir walter raleigh was the first who brought to england this fruit of the mauritia palm, which he very justly likened, on account of its scales, to a fir cone. [illustration: vegetable life in the plains of the meta. . anthephora elegans. . anthistiria ciliata. . panicum cajennense. . aristida capillacea. . cyperus articulatus.] the plains of the rio negro and the amazons are the home and habitat of the most remarkable of all aquatic plants, the _victoria regia_,[ ] truly deserving its _royal_ rank on account of its curious conformation and splendid beauty. it is said to have been first observed by häuke, about , and afterwards to have been noticed by bonpland, d'orbigny, and others; but the first person who accurately described it was pöppig, in , who saw it in the river amazons. sir richard schomburgk, who discovered it in the rivers of guiana, was, i believe, the first to introduce it in england, where a splendid specimen may be seen at kew, another at chatsworth, and a third in the botanic garden of glasgow. its thick fleshy root-stocks send up a number of long cylindrical leaf-stalks, traversed by air canals, and armed with stout conical prickles. the blade of the leaf is circular, and floats on the surface of the water; when fully developed, it measures from six to twelve feet in diameter, and its margin being uniformly turned upwards to the depth of two or three inches, it assumes the appearance of a large shallow tray. the lower surface is traversed by a number of very prominent veins, radiating from the centre to the margin, and connected with one another by smaller transverse nerves; so that the whole under-side, which is of a purplish colour, is divided into a network of irregular quadrangular compartments or open cells, admirably fitting the leaf for floating on the water. the flowers rise upon prickly stalks. they are more than a foot in diameter, with the white outer petals inclined downwards; while the central rose-coloured ones, with the stamens, remain erect: the whole presenting the fanciful appearance of a central rose-coloured crown resting on a circular range of snowy and most gracefully curved petals. the fruit is a sort of globular capsule, about the size of a child's head, and formidably beset with prickles. the interior is fleshy, and divided into numerous cells, full of round farinaceous seeds, which are eaten roasted by the spaniards. hence, in some parts of south america, it is called _maïs del agua_, or water maize. the pools and lagoons of this region nourish numerous other aquatic plants, among which it will suffice to particularize the _scyndapsus fragrans_ and the _raphia tædigera_. turning now to the vast area of the brazilian empire, we find it divided into _matos_ (or woods) and _campos_ (or open plains). when the inhabitants would convert into cultivable land a district occupied by forest, they set fire to it during the dry season, and soon a vegetation of frutescent but dwarf species succeeds the primitive vegetation. by renewing this purifying process a second and a third time, the soil finally becomes covered with a species of fern closely resembling our large pteris, _pteris caudata_; and if the spot be once more abandoned, it is speedily taken possession of by a viscous, grayish, and foetid species of gramineæ, well known locally by the name of _capim gordura_, to botanists by that of _tristegis glutinosa_. so boundless a voracity has this plant, that it wholly expels from certain regions another and less tenacious variety of the gramineæ, the _saccharum_, or _sapa_. the _capim gordura_ constitutes in itself almost the entire flora of the artificial _campos_. it is but an indifferent fodder, and cattle derive from it little vigour. [illustration: aquatic plants of guiana. . victoria regia. . raphia tædigera. . scyndapsus fragrans.] in general, the natural _campos_ bear a certain resemblance to our meadows; grass, however, is less abundant; they consist, especially in the colder localities, of gramineæ which do not, perhaps, exceed our british species in dimensions, but differ greatly in the size of their leaves, and often also in their spreading inflorescence. by their side, as is the case with us, grow other plants of a more graceful floral character. among these are myrtaceæ, melastomaceæ, with their capsular fruits, and a species of compositæ, called _veronia_. [illustration: vegetable life in the pampas. pampas grass (_gynerium argenteum_).] the wayfarer who traverses the sterile campos is astonished to discover, on the tortuous and stunted trees that grow there at rare intervals, some flowers of a singular loveliness. yet who can refuse his admiration from the gorgeous vochyaceæ; the malpighiaceæ, richly and handsomely flowered; the leguminosæ, with their long hanging clusters of sparkling blossoms; the trumpet-shaped flowers of the bignonias, and the superb _oochnus_? nor will he forget a rare _salvertia_, fragrant as the lily of the valley, and with its blossoms disposed in thyrses which outvie in beauty those of the chestnut. in the genial smiling country which extends from monte video to the mouth of the rio negro, the vegetation is almost wholly confined to gramineæ. it is in this region that the feathery pampas grass (_gynerium argenteum_) flourishes luxuriantly, covering leagues upon leagues with its silvery panicles and drooping leaves, which, when stirred by a gentle wind, ripple like the slow-moving, spray-gleaming waters of a sunny sea. it has become of late years a favourite ornament of our british gardens, and may justly be taken as a type of tender loveliness.[ ] beyond the rio negro the country puts on a wilder aspect, and it is with difficulty the most adventurous botanist can penetrate into its recesses. nearly all the southern districts of patagonia form, as we have already seen, an immense and almost level plain, whose soil is generally dry, arid, and impeded with large pebbles; the northern districts, on the other hand, offer a less monotonous landscape, are broken up with rocks and ravines, interspersed among tolerably fertile pastures, whose flora has not yet been fully investigated. chapter vi. the flora of the australian plains. the deserts of the australian interior have been laboriously traversed, not, as we have seen, without much suffering, and even sacrifice, by a handful of intrepid travellers, who have proposed to themselves simply the solution of certain geographical problems. it will therefore be understood that we owe to them only a few incidental notices of their botanical features. for an accurate examination of these the pioneers of commerce have neither the means, the opportunities, nor the requisite scientific knowledge. as far as its flora is concerned, the australian interior is wholly "virgin soil," a new botanical world, perhaps, awaiting the advent of a columbus. only the littoral districts have been satisfactorily explored; and here, in the south, we meet with the names of labillardière, robert brown, gaudichaud, d'urville, sieber, lesson, cunningham, and other eminent botanists. to these celebrated names we must also add those of dr. mueller, director of the botanical gardens at melbourne, sir william hooker, and mr. bentham. their united labours have provided the public with a vast amount of curious and authentic information, and have established the fact that the botany of new holland, like its zoology, has a physiognomy peculiarly its own, and that many, nay, most of its vegetable species, are not less characteristic than its strange and astonishing animal types. one is almost tempted to adopt in sober earnest what sydney smith said in humorous exaggeration, that, "in this remote part of the earth, nature (having made horses, oxen, ducks, geese, oaks, elms, and all regular and useful productions for the rest of the world) seems determined to have a bit of play, and to amuse herself as she pleases."[ ] undoubtedly she has indulged in the most wayward and eccentric forms. if there exist any relations between the vegetation of australia and that of any other part of the globe, it is certainly with the districts of southern africa which lie near the cape of good hope that australia exhibits the greatest affinity. it would seem as if these two continents in some remote age had not been separated, as they now are, by "leagues of salt water," but that their vegetable species had been able to propagate themselves freely from the one to the other. according to richard, the approximative number of species distinguished by botanists amounts to about five thousand; but so many discoveries have been made of later years, that we may raise the estimate to seven thousand. while the australian plants are distributed among numerous families, each of the latter comprises but a very limited number of individuals. the predominant plants belong, in the main, to these families or orders:--leguminosæ, compositæ, myrtaceæ, gramineæ, cyperaceæ, filices, proteaceæ, epacridæ, orchidaceæ, in a proportion which varies, moreover, according to the various districts explored. the fertility of the soil, and the climatic conditions of the southern shores of the australian continent, are highly favourable to the introduction of new species. our english settlers have availed themselves to the utmost of this circumstance, and have cultivated on a large scale all the most useful fruit trees and vegetables of europe, and others imported from tropical climes; so that mingled in the same prolific gardens may be seen the fig-tree and the banana, the guava, the orange-tree, the olive, and the apple--cabbages, potatoes, turnips, peas. even the vine has been successfully naturalized, and its manufactured products are not inferior in excellence to the famous rhenish wines. [illustration: vegetable life in victoria. . rosea gracilis (_arundo conspicua_). . hectia pitcairniæfolia. . astelia banksii. . xanthorrhoea arborea.] in indicating the most curious indigenous plants of new holland, we shall more particularly confine ourselves to those of victoria, one of the best known districts, and perhaps also one of the most extensive, most diversified, and most picturesque. the plains are, in general, sufficiently grassy and fertile, especially in those parts which border on the brooks and rivers. the plants most extensively distributed belong to the gramineæ and cyperaceæ; we find, among the former, the _pennisetum fasciculare_, a great number of poaceæ, and the _arundo conspicua_; in foliage and general appearance the latter presents some striking analogies with the pampas grass; among the poaceæ predominates the _cyperus vaginatus_, a common object on the banks of the river murray in those parts which are subject to frequent inundations. a strong tenacious netting is made from the fibres of its leaves. to these herbs we have to add some flowering plants, such as the star-like _lobelias_; numerous species of mint (as _mentha australis_, _m. satureioides_, _m. grandiflora_, and _m. gracilis_), from which an essential oil is extracted for use in the manufacture of perfumes; the _sida pulchella_ and _lavatera plebeia_, of which stout fibre or solid thread is made, the fibres of australian flax (_linum marginale_) being adapted to the same purpose. the _restias_, a curious rush-like order of endogens, also inhabit these moist places: as do the kingias, very common grasses; the _astelia banksii_, a species of liliaceæ, with grass-formed leaves and a strong tenacious stem; and the _xerotes longifolia_. the nardoo (_narsilia macropus_, or, as it is sometimes called, _n. salvatrix_), whose spores and spore-cases are pounded by the native australians and made into bread or porridge, is a kind of cryptogamous plant, with leaves formed of four folioles, like those of a truffle. it abounds in the low grounds and inundated districts, especially on the banks of the murray. finally, the stag-horn (_acrostichon grande_), a gigantic mushroom, clings to the branches of the great trees. small bushy clumps are scattered over the plains, and flourish with peculiar vigour along the water-courses. they consist of various shrubs. the traveller will not fail to notice a whole series of leguminosæ--_chlorozoma_, _pultenæa_, _viminaria_, _mirbelia_, _podolobium_ (all are shrubs of exceeding elegance, and now form the rare ornaments of our english gardens); of epacridæ--_epacris stiphelia_, _e. leucophogon_, and others, which have also been imported into our home-parterres; a great number of euribias, a genus of subfrutescent compositæ, of which a few are rendered interesting by their heathlike foliage; the _pimelea axiflora_, whose supple and tenacious bark is fashioned into bands and straps; the _myrsine variabilis_, with its woody stems and drupaceous fruit; the _aralia crassifolia_, a singular shrub, with long, narrow, and very rigid leaves; the _callistemon salignum_ (vulgarly called "stonewood"), employed for xylographic purposes; the _casuarina equisetifolia_,[ ] or "swamp oak"--also called "cassowary tree"--a lofty tree, with very durable wood, long, slender, drooping, emerald-green branches, and conical fruit, inclosing small winged nuts; various species of melaleuca, yielding the green aromatic oil called cajaputi or cajeput oil, valuable as a stimulant or antispasmodic; finally, some cordylines, or tis, plants of the natural order liliaceæ, and nearly allied to the dragon's blood tree, attaining a height of ten to fifteen feet, with a berry-like fruit, and lanceolate leaves of a reddish hue, which afford a nutriment for cattle, thatch for houses, and whose fibres are frequently made into cloth. the root, when baked, is much used as an article of food, and the fermented juice yields an intoxicating beverage. [illustration: vegetable life on the australian plains. . doryanthes excelsa. . aralia crassifolia. . dryandra repens. . cordyline congesta.] the dry, rocky, arid, and sandy districts, which may be compared to the landes of brittany, are clothed with a peculiar vegetation. the strangest plant, which is also the most widely distributed, is undoubtedly the _xanthorrhoea arborea_,[ ] forming a conspicuous feature in the dreary landscape, and when stripped of its leaves resembling a black man holding a spear. the leaves afford good fodder for cattle, while the natives eat the soft white centre of the top of the stem. they yield two kinds of fragrant resin--one of a yellow colour, balsamic and inodorous, called botany bay; and the other red, called black boy gum. the tree--which the settlers have christened "black boy" and "grass gum"--has a thick trunk, encrusted in a thick coating of the persistent basis of old leaves, glued together by the yellow or red resin with which the plant abounds, and usually burned and blackened outside by bush-fires. the leaves are long, wiry, and grass-like, and are borne in a dense tuft at the top of the stem, hanging gracefully all around it. their long flower-stalks aspire from its centre, sometimes growing as high as fifteen or twenty feet, and carrying aloft a thick cylindrical flower spike. among the lowlier plants are found a few hectias, such as the _hectia pitcairniæfolia_, one of the bromelias, very curious from its mode of vegetation; and the _stipa crinita_, a very common grass. the leaves of the latter have been manufactured into paper of tolerable consistency. the sandy and colder tracts are the habitat of the annual or perennial compositæ, distinguished by their smooth and shining flowers. on the other hand, the dry rocky surfaces are besprinkled with inconsiderable woods, or rather thickets, formed in part of the _santalum acuminatum_, whose nutritious fruit are called "peaches" by the colonists; the _santalum persicarium_, or sandal wood; several _nitrarias_,[ ] with edible fruits; a great number of acacias, notably the _acacia verticillata_, _a. sophora_, and _a. doratoxylon_, whose very hard wood is employed in the fabrication of javelins; a considerable series of proteaceæ, particularly the _banksia australis_, _b. serrata_, and _b. integrifolia_, so characteristic in aspect and foliage; and a few _eucalypti_,[ ] or "gum trees," of small stature--among others, the "traveller's tree," or _eucalyptus oleosa_.[ ] its roots extend horizontally, and retain a quantity of water sufficient to quench the wayfarer's thirst in the hour of need. all the eucalypti are curious trees, with entire and leathery leaves, affording an unusual amount of aromatic oil. many of the species abound in resinous secretions; some attain a great size, with trunks of from to feet in diameter, and or in length. the _eucalyptus resinifera_--"red gum" or "iron bark tree"--reaches to an elevation of to feet. when wounded, a red juice flows from it very freely, hardening into irregular, inodorous, and transparent masses in the air, and furnishing as much as sixty gallons from a single tree. [illustration: vegetable life on the australian plains. . acacia verticillata. . casuarina equisetifolia, or "black boy tree." . corypha australis, or "australian palm."] finally, i may refer to the _dryandra_, whose foliage is very graceful, and its conformation very varied. sometimes it is found as a bush, three to seven feet high; and sometimes, as in the _dryandra repens_, creeping along the ground. on the more temperate heights the traveller encounters some plants of a fantastic character: as, for instance, the _doryanthes excelsa_, with its upright gigantic leaves, more than feet long, and from ½ to ½ inches broad; from their centre rises a strong stalk, or feet high, terminated by a compact and voluminous cluster of great deep-red flowers. there, too, are found the magnificent arborescent ferns, _alsophila australis_ and _dicksonia antarctica_. the trunk of the former aspires to a stature of to feet; that of the second, to to feet; and in both the stems are terminated by a cluster of immense flowers, which give to these plants a quite distinctive character. nor must we quit the australian flora and its marvels without alluding to the _corypha australis_, which begins to make its appearance at the mouth of the snowy river. it is a gigantic palm, growing solitarily, or in thin groups, in low, cool, and even moist places. its trunk probably attains to feet in height; and the top of its stem is crowned by a gorgeous crest of fan-shaped leaves, which are employed in the manufacture of straw hats. chapter vii. animal life in the prairies of the old world:--herbivorous animals. to the prodigal flora of the tropics, which we shall soon see displaying in the virgin forests its exuberant fecundity, corresponds a fauna no less rich, and marked by a singular variety. this fauna offers, especially in the old world, an impressive character of power, strength, superior force--i had almost said, _majesty_. in truth, if we do calmly compare the mammals and the birds of tropical america with those which roam the wild plains of africa, hindostan, the indo-chinese peninsula, and the great islands of the indian ocean, we cannot but recognize the evident superiority of the latter. the anthropoid ape, the enormous pachyderms, elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, giraffe, and, among animals of the same order, the antelopes, many of which attain the dimensions of the horse, belong exclusively to the eastern hemisphere. the genus camel, represented in asia by the bactrian camel, in africa by the dromedary, is but weakly typified in south america by the lama, the vicuña, and the alpaca, not inelegant in form, but of a markedly inferior stature. and what equality is there between the lordly tiger of the rank indian jungles, and the sleek, stealthy jaguar of the american wilderness? or who will venture to compare the so-called "lion of america," the puma or cougouar, with the regal quadruped which makes the hot libyan wastes re-echo with his terrible roar? among the birds, the phenicoptera, with its disproportionate legs and neck, distributed over all the ancient continent below ° of latitude, and the ostrich, properly so called, are much superior in dimensions to their analogues on the other side of the atlantic, the american flamingo and the nandou. so do the eagles and vultures of europe, asia, and africa prevail in numbers and force over those of the new world. and the ancient continent can likewise claim as its own the gigantic epiornis, the wonderful "roc bird" of the well-known oriental legend, whose petrified eggs and some of whose fossil bones have been discovered in madagascar. it is true, however, that the greatest of living raptores, the condor, inhabits exclusively the cordillera of the andes:-- "stands solitary, stands immovable upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye, clear, constant, unobservant, unabashed, in the cold light, above the dews of morn."--(_w. s. landor._) but the balance is re-established by the erpetological and entomological fauna of the new world, which can oppose its huge boas, its caïmans and pythons, to the crocodiles and gavials of africa and asia; its crotali and trigonocephali to the najas of india, the echidnas of the cape, and the cerastes of egypt and the sahara; while the bull frog of the united states and the pipa of guiana are only found on the banks of the vast lonesome swamps of the new continent. as far as the desert world is concerned, in both hemispheres the legions are innumerable, and their energies commensurate to the greatness of the continual work of destruction and purification which they seem destined to accomplish in all tropical countries. it is unnecessary to carry any further the parallel between the two hemispheres. we shall more clearly detect their analogies and differences by pursuing the study, already opened up in the steppes and seas of sand, of the principal species proper to the various forms of the desert, the different regions and divisions of the savage world. yet i must confess that the difficulties of the study increase with the extent of the field we are called upon to explore. the steppes and wildernesses of sand constitute, both in africa and asia, regions which are clearly defined, and the poverty both of their fauna and their flora fixes a definite limit to the researches of the naturalist. such is not the case in the immense countries which now lie before us. instead of sighing, like alexander, for more worlds to conquer, the student of science is ever deploring the impossibility of exhausting even a single division of the grand work before him. "art is long; life is short." the most industrious among us can never rise to the full height of his glorious task; must always remain like a child on the shore of the ocean of truth, and be content with the few shells his nerveless hand contrives to gather. in the wide regions we are about to traverse we feel at every step the colossal character of the enterprise. every instant their aspect changes; nature never repeats herself; their products vary with the latitude, the climate, and the soil. to pass in review all the trees and plants and flowers which flourish there, all the animals and peoples which dwell among them, would be nothing less than to embrace in a vast encyclopædia the description and history of two organic kingdoms. but such is not the design of the present volume. i have not undertaken to give an exact picture of nature, which would task to the uttermost the powers of men of such diverse genius as humboldt, owen, lyell, darwin, tyndall, hooker, and ruskin, but to sketch the bold outlines and more prominent features of the physiognomy of the desert world, and not to reproduce its more minute details. my embarrassment, then, arises less from the multitude and infinite variety of the objects we have to examine, than from the difficulty of harmonizing the study with the divisions of this work. how, in fact, can i establish a positive distinction between the animals of the prairies or the savannahs and those of the forests, between those of the latter and the animals proper to the mountains? for such a purpose it is needful that each of these forms of the desert world should possess its peculiar fauna; which is true only within very narrow limits. in reality, most animals inhabit or frequent, according to circumstances, sometimes one district, sometimes another, without its being possible to assign with any amount of precision their habitual, or simply their occasional, abode. i shall avail myself, therefore, of the liberty allowed to every writer who does not design a purely didactical work, by not unnecessarily troubling myself whether the animals whose organization or characteristics attract our notice, particularly affect a low or elevated locality, the shady wood or open plain, the pestilential swamp or the river-watered valley, and by permitting myself, except in the case of some evident and constant partiality, to place them where the most eminent observers assure us they are really, if not exclusively, met with. on this account, the plains, more or less densely wooded and broken up, which occupy the greater portion of the african continent, will readily furnish us with the opportunity of studying the majority of animals indigenous to that continent, and, in general, to the entire tropical zone of the old world. in fact, nearly all the genera of mammals, birds, and reptiles, are there represented by their most characteristic types. clothed with a luxuriant vegetation; watered by periodical rains and numerous streams; intersected by thick masses of forests, groves, and thickets; relieved from monotonous uniformity by mountain and ravine, by marshes and lakes of vast extent,--these fields ever exhibit that aspect of busy life under which we love to represent to ourselves the earth when she first emerged from the boiling seas of chaos, when the forces which had seethed within her bowels for so many thousands of centuries had been tranquillized by the divine will, and she was despatched on her mysterious course to be the theatre of man's glorious destiny. * * * * * during the daytime silence and solitude prevail over the open plains. it is the hour when most animals seek, under the foliage of the trees, among the tall rank grasses, in the bosom of the waters or under the surface of the earth, a shelter against the swift burning arrows of the sun, and repose immovable in their different lairs. but when the great orb of day sinks towards the horizon, all nature seems to awake. more imperious needs succeed to those of rest and slumber; hunger and thirst stimulate the most sluggish into exertion. then the reptile begins to stir in the mud where he lay embedded; the herbivora return to their fresh pastures, and move towards the rivers and ponds in whose waters they may slake their thirst; the carnaria take the same road; they know that in the open plain they will find victims for their murderous jaws. the desert is astir with strange sounds and mysterious voices; the air re-echoes the thousand discordant cries which ring from the mountains and the rocks; black shadows pass, re-pass, and flit to and fro, in every direction; terror, rage, agony, voracity, all these instincts obtain expression in the dreadful concert; it is the orgie of the appetites, the grand "witches' sabbath" of nature, whose furious animation slackens towards the middle of the night, until, at sunrise, the lively accents and joyous melodies of the birds, and the peaceful pastimes of the other animals of the day, succeed to the lamentations and sinister invocations of the prowlers of the darkness. [illustration: hippopotamus and crocodile of the river nile.] in the foremost rank of the great animals to which the fauna of asia and africa owes its superiority, i have named the huge pachyderms,[ ] those mighty colossi which may be regarded as the analogues, in the terrestrial creation, of the cetacean giants of the marine creation. the pachyderms formed in cuvier's system a sufficiently natural order, which modern systematists have dismembered, and, as i believe, a little arbitrarily. this order comprised, besides the elephants, the hippopotami, the rhinoceroses, and the tapirs, all the porcidæ family, and even the solidungulates, such as the horse and ass. in the present work i shall adopt cuvier's division. the elephant is the denizen of the forests where, in a succeeding chapter, we shall encounter both him and the rhinoceros. but the hippopotamus belongs incontestably to the fauna of the plain. his name (from the greek) signifies "river horse." and, indeed, he lives in the rivers, the pools, the deep marshes; his manners are essentially amphibious. he dives and swims with a surprising ease and agility, considering the enormous bulk of his body, and the shortness of his heavy, unwieldy legs. he is able to remain a long time under water. his colour is a brownish-black, and his proportions, ten to twelve feet in length, and eight to ten in height. his head is immensely large; the mouth cavernous in its prodigious width; the teeth immensely strong, the incisors and canines of the lower jaw being long, and curved forwards; these canines or tusks sometimes measure more than two feet in length, and weigh upwards of six pounds each. those in the upper jaw are much smaller, and the front teeth are of a moderate size. the broad thick lips are beset with scattered tufts of short bristles; the small quick eyes are placed very near the top of the head; the small ears are slightly pointed, and lined with short thick hair. his food mainly consists of the coarse herbage that flourishes on the banks of lakes and rivers; but milne edwards speaks of three or four of them standing knee-deep in the water, forming an irregular line, and pouncing upon the fish brought within their reach by the rapid currents. at night time they abandon their watery haunts to prowl among the sugar-cane plantations, the fields of millet and rice, which they devour with eagerness. their march is so impetuous, that they break down every barrier; nothing can resist them. the hippopotamus is spread over all eastern and southern africa; is found in nubia, ethiopia, abyssinia; at the cape, the senegal and the congo. both the settlers and the natives of these countries hunt them with ardour for the sake of the ivory they yield, nor is their flesh despised by a keen appetite and vigorous stomach. sometimes they excavate, in the animal's ordinary route, a tolerably deep pit, beset with sharp pointed poles, and concealed by a covering of leafy branches: sometimes, in the shade of the evening, they lie in ambuscade among the bushes, and aim at his huge bulk the deadly bullet, as he comes up from the water, labouring and bellowing. it is necessary to aim well at his head; for the rest of his body is almost as invulnerable as that of achilles. here is a lively picture from sir samuel baker's valuable volumes, in which the hippopotamus is a foremost figure. "we were towing through high reeds," he says,[ ] "the men invisible, and the rope mowing over the high tops of the grass, when the noise disturbed a hippopotamus from his slumber, and he was immediately perceived close to the boat. he was about half-grown, and in an instant about twenty men jumped into the water in search of him, thinking him a mere baby; but as he suddenly appeared, and was about three times as large as they had expected, they were not very eager to close. however the reis pluckily led the way, and seized him by the hind leg, when the crowd of men rushed in, and we had a grand tussle. ropes were thrown from the vessel, and nooses were quickly slipped over his head; but he had the best of the struggle, and was dragging the people into the open river; i was therefore obliged to end the sport by putting a ball through his head. he was scored all over by the tusks of some other hippopotamus that had been bullying him." after conquering your enemy, kill him and eat him: such is the maxim of savage life. it was carried out by sir samuel baker and his men, much to the satisfaction of the conquerors. "a new dish!" exclaims our traveller; "there is no longer mock-turtle soup; _real_ turtle is _mock_ hippopotamus. i tried boiling the fat, flesh, and skin together, the result being that the skin assumes the appearance of the green fat of the turtle, but is far superior. a piece of the head thus boiled, and then soused in vinegar, with chopped onions, cayenne pepper, and salt, throws brawn completely in the shade." the same traveller relates that the natives on the shores of the albert n'yanza, previous to embarking on a voyage, cast a handful of beads into the lake, to propitiate the hippopotamus, that their canoe may not be upset. the genus _tapir_ is wanting in africa; but we find a species, _tapirus indicus_, in india and the indian archipelago, where it was first noticed by diard and duvaucel. these naturalists saw an individual of this species at barrackpore, near calcutta, whither he had been imported from the island of sumatra. "i was much surprised," says diard, "that so large an animal had not hitherto been discovered; but i was much more so, on seeing in the asiatic society's museum the head of a similar animal, a native of malacca, which had been sent to the society, on the th of april , by m. faghuarie, governor of that province." this tapir is as common at malacca as the rhinoceros and elephant. in size he closely approaches the common ass. he is black all over, except the ears, which are fringed with white, and on the back, which is of a pale gray. his habits are identical with those of the american tapirs, to be described hereafter. [illustration: rhinoceros. african phacocoerus (_choeripotamus africanus_).] * * * * * in the african plains, from nubia and senegal to the cape, we meet with a pachyderm intermediate between the hippopotamus and the wild boar: this is the _phacocoerus_, which was known to the ancients, and designated by credulous Ælian the _sus tetrakeros_, or "boar with four horns." he has no horns, however, but only, beneath each ear, a horny protuberance, which greatly disfigures his head, and procures him the popular appellation of the "warty hog"--the "bush vark," or "bush hog" of south africa (_choeripotamus africanus_). he has four projecting tusks, and long sharp tufted ears. his stature, his feet, his tail, the mane of stiff bristles which garnishes his neck, identify him with the wild boar; but his body, almost naked on the flanks and hinder part, likens him to an hippopotamus. he is gregarious, of fierce and brutal habits, and lives chiefly in the bushes or tall herbage. [illustration: the daw and the quagga.] the solidungulæ (or solid-hoofed), which roam among the wide pasturages of the tropical regions of the ancient world, contrast, by the elegance of their forms and the beauty of their clothing, with the unwieldy pachyderms, of rugged and swarthy hide, placed by cuvier under the same classification. the wild horse does not exist in these latitudes, though we may find there the most beautiful species of the genus: the hémione, the onagra, the zebra, the daw, and the quagga. the _hemionus_ ("half-ass"), which we are endeavouring to acclimatize in europe, and numerous specimens of which may be seen in the zoological gardens of london and paris, is of a clear brown colour all over the body, except the belly and legs, which are white. his mane is short, and his tail garnished only with a tuft of hairs at the extremity. the species is asiatic, and appears to have originated in india, whence it spread westward into asia minor, and northward into the steppes which stretch to the base of the himalayas. the modern names are _koulem_, _kiang_, and _dziggethai_ (or "mountain ass"). he roams in great troops across the dreary asiatic deserts, and is fond of bitter and saline herbage, and brackish water. now, as of old, he has "the range of the mountains for his pasture," and the "salt places" for his dwelling. his swiftness and wariness render his chase an exciting pastime, and in persia he is considered the noblest of game. the _hemippus_ ("half horse"), a species closely allied to the hemionus, is a native of the fertile districts of syria and arabia. another species, the _tarpan_, roams the steppes of tartary, and is with great difficulty tamed to the use of man. he is of a reddish colour, but the mane and tail are black, and along the back runs a black stripe. the _onagra_, _onager_, or wild ass of tartary, is represented in abyssinia by a smaller variety, of very graceful form, whose hide exhibits already, upon the legs, some of those well-defined stripes which so magnificently adorn the "outer vestment" of the quagga, the daw, and, especially, the zebra. all these solidungulæ are identical in habits and character: social among themselves, they are fierce and mistrustful towards other animals. when in peril, they seek safety at first by rapid flight; but if driven to bay, they assume a courageous bearing, assail their enemies intrepidly, and frequently compel them to retreat. it is even asserted that the quagga (_asinus quagga_) will mingle with herds of domestic animals, and defend them against the attacks of beasts of prey. according to dr. gray, this animal derives his name from his voice, which resembles the barking of a dog, or a sound like _couagg_, or _quag_. pennant calls him the _quacha_. he resembles the horse in his haughty bearing and rapid movements. his head, neck, mane, and shoulders are blackish-brown, banded with white; the stomach, hind parts, and legs are whitish; the dorsal line is black; the ears have two irregular black bands and a white tip. in the _daw_, the blackish-brown tint extends over all the upper parts of the body, as well as the stripes, which are alternately black and light brown. the quagga and the daw belong to southern africa, and especially to caffraria. the habitat of the zebra appears to be more extended in range. he is found even as far north as abyssinia. he was known to the romans under the name of the _hippotigres_, and figured in the sanguinary sports of the amphitheatre. assuredly he is the handsomest species of the genus _equus_ (horse). he is as tall as the hemionus; his legs are shapely, his mien and bearing full of spirit; he has a well-proportioned head, and a coat of incomparable richness of design, with the skin lustrous, and large black stripes symmetrically arranged over the whole body, on a ground of pure white. [illustration: zebras (_equus zebra_).] * * * * * africa, as i have said above, is the native country of the large ruminants. not less remarkable than the camel in the fantastic originality of his form, which matches the exquisite richness of his skin, the gigantic _giraffe_ (_camelopardalis giraffa_) is distributed over nearly the whole continent south of the sahara. sometimes he even ventures into the desert; but most frequently his long neck and tall legs are seen in the fertile plains of negroland, the soudan, the senegal, and nubia. "his head," says a popular zoologist, "resembles that of the camel in the absence of a naked muzzle, and in the shape and organization of the nostrils, which are oblique and narrow apertures, defended by the hair which grows from their margins, and surrounded by cutaneous muscular fibres, by which the animal can close them at will. this is a beautiful provision for the defence of the air passages, and the irritable membrane lining the olfactory cavities, against the fine particles of sand which the storms of the desert raise in almost suffocating clouds. the large, dark, and lustrous eyes of the giraffe, which beam with a peculiarly mild but fearless expression, are so placed as to take in a wider range of the horizon than is subject to the vision of any other quadruped. while browsing on his favourite acacia, the giraffe, by means of his laterally-projecting orbits, can direct his sight so as to anticipate a threatened attack in the rear from the stealthy lion, or any other foe of the desert. to an open attack he sometimes makes a successful defence by striking out his powerful and well-armed feet; and the king of beasts is said to be frequently repelled and disabled by the wounds which the giraffe has thus inflicted with his hoofs." the lion, however, seldom attacks him unless he can surprise him in a state of repose, when he will leap upon his victim's back and tear him to pieces. le vaillant has justly observed that if precedency among animals were determined by their height, the giraffe would hold the first rank. the most careless observer must be impressed by the enormous length of his fore-legs, and his long tapering neck, which enables him to browse upon the fresh foliage and green young shoots of the loftiest trees; nor can he fail to admire his small and elevated head, his brilliant beaming eyes, and his mildness of aspect. unusual as are the animal's proportions, they are not inharmonious, and his appearance is eminently picturesque. when full grown, he measures seventeen feet from the top of the head to the fore-feet. this, however, is a maximum. it should be added that his fore-legs are not so much longer than the hind, but the shoulders are extraordinarily high. the animal's colour is a light fawn, marked with numerous darker spots. his horns consist of two porous bony substances, about three inches long, which form, as it were, a part of the skull. [illustration: a lion rending a giraffe.] several species of antelopes and wild oxen traverse in numerous herds the wide prairies of africa and asia. among the african species, i may name the _bubalus_, which lives principally in the north-west, and whose keen stout horns, disposed like the prongs of a pitchfork, render him exceedingly formidable; the _gnu_, or connochetæ (_catoblepus gnu_), which inhabits the wild karoos and hilly districts of south africa, in migratory herds, and is distinguished by the weird ugliness of his head, with its curved horns, and its beautiful flowing mane, white at the base, and black at the tips; the _oreas lanna_, improperly called the "cape eland" (_antilope oreas_), a graceful animal, as large as the horse, and five feet high at the shoulder, with straight pointed horns, whose great strength is augmented by a spiral wreath; and the _oryx_ (_oryx gazella_), egyptian antelope, or pasom, somewhat superior in size to a deer, with horns three feet long, black hoofs and horns, a white head, and neck and upper part of the body of a pale bluish-gray. tropical asia presents but a very small number of antelopes, properly so called, of which the _nylghau_, or white-footed antelope (_partux picta_) is the largest. its face is long and narrow; its black, round, and pointed horns, though only about seven inches long, are slightly curved forwards; the broad ears are fringed with white hairs; along the top of the deep narrow neck runs a slight mane of black hair, which is continued to some distance down the back; a long hanging tuft of a similar colour adorns the breast. this animal is said to have abounded in the forests between delhi and lahore in the days of aurungzebe, and formed one of the objects of the chase with that "king of kings" during his expedition to cashmere. the hindoo name, "nyl-ghau," signifies "blue ox," which is true of the male, but the female is a pale brown. he is a courageous animal, very difficult to tame; travellers affirm that when attacked he throws himself on his knees, and in this position moves forward, until, suddenly leaping to his feet, he rushes impetuously upon his enemy, and smites him vigorously with his sharp horns. i must not omit to particularize, among the great ruminants of the tropical regions of the old world, the buffaloes, or wild oxen, which feed in immense troops in the fertile and well-watered prairies. the two african species or varieties which are best known are, the buffalo of caffraria, and the short-horned buffalo. the former is not confined to the caffre country, as his name would lead one to suppose; but ranges as far as abyssinia. his horns, very wide, and close together at the base, form, above the eyes, a kind of helmet very useful to the animal in pushing aside the bushes that impede his progress. his hair is rough and black over the whole body. the short-horned buffalo has a smooth brown skin, muzzle nearly black, ears large, horns arched and of moderate dimensions. [illustration: . antelope gnu. . oreas lanna (or eland). . striped or banded gnu.] these buffaloes, despite of their ferocious aspect and savage habits, are wholly inoffensive, and in all cases of danger are tempted at first to take to flight; but should they be pressed too closely, or wounded, their irascible and vindictive disposition speedily displays itself. when the negroes hunt the buffalo, says paul gervais, they are very careful to attack isolated individuals only, because, in the herds of these animals some will always be found disposed to avenge the death of their companions, and pursue the hunters to the uttermost. in their excesses of fury they strike the ground with their horns; dash their bodies against the trees in which their enemies have taken refuge; sometimes they will spend their rage upon one another, or upon the bodies of those of their kind which have been brought low. asia is the home of the common buffalo (_bos bubalus_), and from thence he has migrated into several islands of the indian archipelago, eastern europe, and even into italy. in france and great britain he has long been domesticated. but there also exist in several indian provinces some savage species of the _arnee buffalo_ (_bos arni_ of dr. shaw), easily recognized by his horns of prodigious size and length, which frequently measure six feet in length, and eighteen inches in circumference at the base. travellers have asserted that nearly all the herbivora, and in particular the more feeble and timorous, evince a marked preference for open and level places; to such an extent, that the herds of antelopes, gazelles, and zebras may be seen abandoning their pastures when the herbage is unusually luxuriant. it is in the thickets, the matted and almost impenetrable jungles, and among the tall rank grasses, that the beast of prey glides stealthily and unseen upon his intended victim. where the surface of the ground is smooth and bare, the herbivora can descry an approaching enemy, and take to flight or make ready for defence. it is not, however, the carnaria that they have most cause to dread, but man; not less cruel he than the stealthy lion or the prowling tiger, and far more formidable since european commerce has furnished the savage with firearms. he quickly learns to make use of these; but prior to their introduction into wilderness, prairie, and forest, he had devised against his prey various more or less successful means of destruction. in central africa, for instance, the bakouain negroes, to capture _en masse_ buffaloes, zebras, giraffes, antelopes, and even rhinoceroses, which gather in crowds around the grateful waters, construct a colossal and all-devouring snare, which they call a _hopo_. [illustration: an african hopo, or snare for herbivorous animals.] "this snare," says dr. livingstone,[ ] "consists of two very stout and very high fences, approaching each other so as to assume the shape of a v; at the apex of the angle, instead of completely joining them, they are prolonged in a straight line, forming an alley about fifty paces in length, abutting on a ditch which may measure from four to five yards square, and be from six to eight feet deep. trunks of trees are arranged cross-wise on the borders of this trench, chiefly on the side from which the animals will arrive, and upon the opposite one, by which they will endeavour to escape. these trees form an advanced border above the ditch, rendering flight impossible, and the whole is carefully covered over with reeds, which hide the snare, and make it resemble a trap placed among the herbage. as the two fences are often a mile in length, while the base of the triangle which they define is nearly of the same dimensions, a company who form around the hopo a circle of three to four miles in circumference, by gradually drawing it closer, are certain to collect a great quantity of game. the hunters direct by their cries the animals which they surround, and cause them to reach the summit of the hopo. men concealed at this point then fling their javelins into the midst of the affrighted herd, which, dashing headlong through the solitary opening it can find, involves itself in the narrow alley leading to the ditch. the animals fall in pell-mell, until the snare is filled with a living mass, which enables the others to escape by passing over the bodies of the victims. the spectacle is horrifying; the hunters, intoxicated by the pursuit, and no longer controlling themselves, strike these graceful animals with a delirious joy, while the poor creatures, crushed to the bottom of the abyss beneath the weight of the dead and dying, raise from time to time the pile of carcasses, by struggling, in the midst of their agony, against the burden which suffocates them." of the _corral_ in which the cingalese entraps the elephant, and of the ingenious snares laid by the malay or the indian for the murderous tiger, i shall speak hereafter. between man and the carnivora it was natural that a deadly war should be incessantly waged; but humanity would seem to dictate towards the inoffensive herbivora a less sanguinary hostility. chapter viii. animal life in the prairies of the old world, continued:--the carnivora. next to man, the most dangerous enemies of the peaceful herbivora are the great carnivora of the _felidæ_ genus, in whose first rank zoologists and poets were formerly wont to place the lion. the so-called "king of animals," however, has of late years lost much of his prestige. observant travellers have watched him with a jealous and suspicious eye; intrepid hunters have dared to measure themselves against him, and to beard him in his retreats. our popular heroes suffer greatly by this close examination. achilles to his myrmidons, i suspect, was less godlike than he appeared to the warriors of troy, who saw him only in the rush and tumult of the battle. certain it is that the researches of modern science have stripped the lion of most of the splendid attributes with which romance had invested him. here is a glowing picture:-- "the lion, who long has reign'd the terror of the woods, and dared the boldest huntsman to the combat, when caught at length within some hidden snare, with foaming jaws he bites the toils that hold him, and roars, and rolls his fiery eyes in vain, while the surrounding swains wound him at pleasure."--(_nathaniel rowe._) but the fact is, that with all his prodigious strength, his terrible teeth and claws, his imposing physiognomy and attitudes, he is an animal more prudent than courageous, and very unlike the highly-coloured portrait which buffon painted. there have not been wanting well-accredited authorities to accuse him of cowardice; as our own countryman livingstone, and the frenchman delegorgue. according to the latter, he is but a nocturnal robber, whom a ray of light disconcerts, or the barking of dogs, and the shouts of men, women, and children, or a blow from a well-applied whip, will frequently put to flight. even if provoked, or wounded by man, he will often refuse to fight to the last extremity; or if he accept the challenge, and succeed in harassing his antagonist, he contents himself by breaking a limb or two, by marking his chest with his teeth and nails, after which he leaves him and goes his way. "i have known," says delegorgue, "an intrepid hunter who, twice in seven years, had been treated in this fashion by a wounded lion; the first encounter cost him two broken limbs; the second, six fractures, without counting the deep scars left by his claws on several parts of the body. another, named vermaës, in his daring, was held for more than a minute by a lion, and got quit with four deep marks of his canine teeth; glorious scars, which he showed to me with an air of lively satisfaction." livingstone records a similar adventure which befell himself with a lion at which he had aimed a couple of shots. the wounded animal turned upon his aggressor, harried him, severely injured an arm, and then directed his wrath against one of the doctor's companions, whom he seized by the shoulder. he intended, in all probability, to administer a similar correction to this individual, when suddenly the two bullets he had received produced their effect, and he fell dead. these facts prove, at least, that if the lion is not brave he is not malicious, and that the reputation for generosity which he has borne from remote times was not undeserved. it is only in his old age that the lion willingly enters upon a regimen of human flesh, from sheer want of power to obtain any other easily. when a lion is too old, says livingstone, to provide himself with game by hunting, he frequently enters into the very villages and kills the goats; if, then, a woman or a child go out at night, he makes them equally his prey; and as thenceforth he has no other means of subsistence, he continues to feed himself in this manner. hence has arisen the saying, that if a lion once tastes human flesh he prefers it to all other kinds. the beasts which attack man are invariably aged lions. when one of them conquers the fear inspired by man so far as to approach a village and seize the goats, the inhabitants invariably say, "his teeth are worn out, and he will soon kill somebody;" and feeling the necessity of defending themselves, they hunt him immediately. it is generally believed, on the authority of buffon, that the lion lives in retirement with his mate, that he hunts in solitary dignity, and will suffer no other carnaria, not even one of his own race, to hunt in his own domain. this is an error. lions, on the contrary, often assemble in a "hunting-party," four or five in number, when they fly at "high game," such as a buffalo or a giraffe. m. vardon saw three lions throw themselves at once on a buffalo which he had just wounded with a musket-shot. "during the day-time, in winter," says delegorgue, "you may frequently see troops of lions, which assemble together for the purpose of marking off and driving the game towards the ravines, or wooded glens difficult of access, where some of their companions are posted; these are strict _battues_, conducted without any noise, the odours of the lions being sufficient to enforce the retreat of the herbivora which they pursue." the lion himself may, in his turn, be chased and tracked with dogs, like a wild boar, a wolf, or a stag; but most frequently the hunters pursue and shoot him on foot, and this is but a pleasure-jaunt for a man of sang-froid, if a good shot, and well acquainted with the animal's habits. we know that the roar of the lion--that is, of the hungry lion--is considered the most terrible of cries, which inspires all the animals, and even man, with unconquerable dread. it appears, however, that man--to say nothing of his dogs--speedily grows accustomed to it, and that the lion, in his turn, cannot be frightened by the barking of the latter. a very curious fact, remarked by livingstone, is the singular resemblance of the lion's roar to the cry of the ostrich. "i have carefully inquired," says the great african traveller, "the opinion of europeans who have heard both. i have asked them if they could discover the least difference between the roar of the one and the cry of the other. they have all informed me that they could not perceive any, at whatever distance the animal might be placed. the voice of the lion, generally, is deeper than the ostrich's; but up to the present time i have only been able to distinguish it with certainty because it is heard during the day, and the ostrich's during the night." lions were formerly common enough in all southern asia, persia, asia minor, and even greece. they long ago disappeared from these countries, and are rarely met with now-a-days in hindostan. the indian lion is smaller than his african congener; his mane is shorter and less abundant, and several naturalists signalize him as a distinct species, intermediary between the true african lion and the american puma. there are three varieties of asiatic lions: the bengal, the persian or arabian, and the maneless lion of goojerat--the latter confined to a very narrow district. the african "king of beasts" is spread over the entire continent from the mediterranean to the cape of good hope; but the species includes three kinds: the barbary lion, with a deep yellowish-brown fur and a full flowing mane; the senegal, whose fur is of a brighter yellow, and whose mane thinner; and the cape, of which there are two varieties, one brown, the other yellowish; the former being the fiercer and more powerful animal. a lion of the largest size measures about eight feet from the nose to the tail, and the tail itself about four feet. the male has usually a thick shaggy mane; the head is large, with rounded ears, and the face covered with short close hair; great strength and muscular force distinguish his conformation; and the tail terminates in a tuft of hair, which is not fully developed until he is six or seven years old. in africa the lion has for his fellows the leopard and the panther. many writers at one time confounded these two felidæ, and even classified them with the indian tiger. for the vulgar, every great cat with a spotted skin _is_ a tiger. but scientific naturalists neither apply this name to the american jaguar nor to other spotted felidæ of the old or new world; and it is with difficulty they now agree to recognize in the leopard and the panther two ill-defined varieties of the same species. assuredly they exhibit very marked differences. the leopard is nearly as large as the lion; his limbs are robust, his head is strong. from nose to tail he measures four feet, his tail is two feet and a half long, and his body so flexible that he accomplishes the most surprising leaps, and swims, and climbs trees, or crawls along the ground, serpent-like, with admirable ease. compared with the jaguar and panther of naturalists, he is uniformly of a paler and more yellowish colour, and rather smaller, while the spots on his skin are rose-formed, or consist of several dots partially united into a circular figure in some instances, and in others into a quadrangular, triangular, or other less determinate forms. the lower part of the neck and inner parts of the limbs are white; the spots are continued upon the tail, which is long, and black at the extremity. [illustration: the african leopard.] the panther is larger than the leopard, measuring about six feet and a half from nose to tail, which is itself about three feet long. on his sleek hide the spots are disposed in circles of four or five, with, usually, a central spot in each circle, in which, as well as in his deeper colour, he differs from the leopard. both are handsome, stealthy, and ferocious animals; supple, agile, and muscular. the leopard (_felis leopardus_) is a native of africa, principally ranging along its western coast and on the confines of the sahara. the panther (_felis pardus_) is also an african denizen, though likewise found in arabia, persia, and hindostan. during the day he lurks in the thickets and among the tall grasses, but when the shades of night descend he issues from his lair, and haunts the brooks and pools whither the herbivora resort to quench their thirst. there, upon some rock, he lies in ambuscade, commanding the track pursued by innocent victims, and darting with unerring precision upon the first which presents itself. neither leopard nor panther often ventures to assail man. when attacked by him, they seek at first to make their escape, and only turn at bay when escape is impossible. in java, and some other of the great indian islands, there exists a black panther, which has gained, it is difficult to say _how_, the reputation of extraordinary ferocity and daring. sometimes, in the world of man, great reputations are built upon equally slight foundations. he owes his fame to the imagination of the natives, and differs from his congeners in no single respect but the blackish colour of his skin. a skilful naturalist, who was for some years a resident in java, relates that, while botanizing in the fields and jungles early in the day, he frequently roused the black panthers in their lairs. at first he was somewhat startled by the apparition of an animal of such terrible renown, but seeing him turn tail very quickly on his approach, he soon grew re-assured, and troubled himself no more at these rencontres than if he had met a dog or a cat. * * * * * we now come to the most formidable of all the carnaria: the tiger, properly so called, or royal tiger, whose portrait buffon has been pleased to paint with his boldest brush and most glowing colours, without any other motive apparently than a love of antithesis, or the artist's desire to give force and effect to a striking picture. he had endowed the king of animals with all the regal qualities his imagination could suggest, and by way of contrast he ascribed to the tiger the lowest and cruellest instincts. he painted him as the moloch of the brute creation; the domitian, caligula, or nero of the jungles. he was blood-thirsty, treacherous, cowardly, and hideous. his limbs were too short, his head was too large, he was ill-proportioned; in a word, on the unfortunate beast he poured out all the vials of his satiric wrath. with this _pièce de fantaisie_ it would be curious to contrast the graver and more authentic description of the impartial daubenton. he asserted that the tiger was very little known to europeans, and that in france there existed but a single specimen, and that a very badly prepared one, in the "cabinet du roi." but we are now better informed, and the tiger, perhaps, up to a certain point, is rehabilitated. let us take him first in his physical aspect. all travellers agree in describing him as the handsomest of animals. he has not the grave countenance, the majestic attitudes of the lion; but he has all the grace, all the suppleness, all the lively and undulatory movements of the domestic cat. he does not stand so high upon his legs as the lion, and he lacks that full flowing mane which invests the physiognomy of the latter with a human and truly noble air; but all the parts of his head and body, despite of buffon, are admirably proportioned. not quite so tall as the lion, and less robust in appearance, he is endowed with a surprising vigour. he can carry off, while in full career, and making the most rapid leaps, the heaviest prey--a kid, for instance, an antelope of full size, even a bull, it is said, and, necessarily, a man. finally, his skin, symmetrically striped, like a zebra's, with wavy bands of brown and black, on a reddish ground, with the contour of the face, the chin and belly of the purest white, defies all comparison. the stripes of his head, legs, and tail are disposed with irreproachable symmetry in curves of the most graceful character. so much for his physical character; let us pass to his moral. his appetites, and consequently his manners and instincts, differ but little from those of the other felidæ, and, in particular, of the lion. while he has a keen love of living flesh and warm blood, he does not scorn to return, under the pressure of hunger, to a dead prey already partially devoured. like all the carnaria, a sagacious instinct prompts him to kill in provision for coming as well as for present hunger. this is the reason that buffon has stigmatized him as "unnecessarily cruel." "the bound with which he throws himself upon his prey," says an english naturalist, "is as wonderful in its extent as it is terrible in its effects." pennant justly observes that the distance which it clears in this deadly leap is scarcely credible. man is a mere puppet in his gripe; and the indian buffalo is not only borne down by the ferocious beast, but carried off by his enormous strength. if he fails in his spring, it has been said that he will take to flight. this may be true in certain instances; but, in general, far from slinking away, he pursues the affrighted prey with a speedy activity which is seldom exerted in vain. hence we are led to the observation of pliny celebrating his swiftness, for which the roman zoologist has been censured, and apparently most unjustly; nor is he the only author among the ancients who notices his speed. appian speaks of the swift tiger as the offspring of the zephyr. pliny, says pennant, has been frequently taken to task by the moderns for calling the tiger "animal tremendæ velocitatis;" they allow it great agility in its bounds, but deny it swiftness in pursuit. two travellers of authority, both eye-witnesses, confirm what pliny says: the one, indeed, only mentions in general his vast fleetness; the other saw a trial between one and a swift horse, whose rider escaped merely by getting in time amidst a circle of armed men. the chase of this animal was a favourite diversion with the great cam-hi, the chinese monarch, in whose company our countryman, mr. bell, that faithful traveller, and the perè gerbillon, saw these proofs of the tiger's speed. the latin "tigris" is from a persian word signifying "swift as an arrow," which we find incorporated in the name of the river tigris. the tiger's habits are essentially nocturnal, and almost aquatic. his favourite haunts are the banks of rivers and lakes, not only because he may there pounce upon the herbivora which come to drink, but because he can there satisfy himself with a banquet of fish. to this he is as partial as any european epicure, and in angling his skill and dexterity are not unworthy of an izaak walton. he is the "complete angler" of the carnivorous world! he swims admirably, and in pursuit of his prey never hesitates at the most tremendous "header," so that the arnee buffaloes, which traverse immense distances by yielding themselves to the swift river-currents, have more cause to dread his attacks than those of the crocodiles. buffon has calumniated the tiger by accusing him of cowardice, while, as we have seen, he has not less grossly flattered the lion by representing him as the perfect type of intrepidity. during the day the tiger, after having supped freely, sleeps in his den; he avoids man, and when aroused by the hunters, his first movement is one of flight. but by night or day, if he be an hungered, no obstacle arrests, no peril daunts him; and he pounces upon man as he would upon any other prey. he penetrates into isolated habitations; breaks into the villages, and sometimes even into the towns; seizes the domestic animals in their very stables; men even within the shelter of their own houses; and sometimes devours his spoil upon the spot; sometimes, if he fears pursuit, drags it off to his secret lair. at goa, in a butcher's stall, was slain a tiger which had fallen asleep there after gorging himself with food; and in the vicinity of that once famous, but now degraded city, a cross marks the spot where a portuguese officer, marching at the head of his men, was seized before their eyes by a tiger, and carried off before they could make the slightest effort to save him. tigers are found in india, in the indo-chinese peninsula, at borneo, at java, and at sumatra. civilization has hunted them out of the celestial empire, but they are met with in tartary, even in extremely cold latitudes. the tigers of the north a beneficent nature has furnished with much longer hair than their congeners of the tropical zone, and they seem to form a distinct variety of the species. wherever the tiger exists, war _à l'outrance_ is declared between man and him! it is a vendetta which has been handed down from the remotest antiquity, and is as bitter now as in any past generation. every year hundreds of persons fall victims to his appetite and his prowess; every year hundreds of his race are shot down by the relentless sportsman, or ensnared and killed by the peasants, whose cattle and whose lives he threatens. by the malays and the half-savage indians who dwell among the indo-chinese jungles, he is hunted in the same way that the african negroes hunt the lion and the leopard. when the presence of one of these scourges becomes known in a district, they place some dainty bait on the bank of the river where he drinks and plants himself every night, and they form an ambush among the thickets, taking care to mark the direction of the wind. it is not long before the tiger directs his steps towards the enticing booty, and the hunters' arrows or musket-balls stretch him dead, in most cases, before he can seize it. a vast amount of pompous preparation attaches to the tiger-hunt of india. it is a sumptuous expedition, commanded by some distinguished chief--an european officer, a native prince, or a stranger of rank--in which each person has his allotted station and particular duties. usually the hunters are mounted on elephants, so that the tiger cannot reach them on the back of the colossus, without being arrested by the trunk of the latter or his formidable tusks. each sportsman provides himself with three or four rifles, besides revolvers and cutlasses. formerly the hindu rajahs made use in this chase of arrows and lances, but now they greatly prefer the european weapons. the expedition is never an _impromptu_ affair. it is always organized against an enemy whose presence has been discovered in the district, and whose den is pretty well known. the march commences at sunrise, that the beast may be surprised while enjoying his siesta, after the fatigues and the plunder of the night. suddenly awaking, says mr. stocqueler,[ ] he bounds out of the jungle, and is saluted by a discharge which often proves sufficient; but sometimes the animal is safe and sound, or only wounded; then he furiously springs upon the first elephant within his reach. if the hunter has not time to plant a ball in his chest or head, the position of the _mahout_, or driver, is very critical; for, placed on the elephant's neck, he has no other defence than the sharp iron-pointed stick which he uses to guide his colossal steed. fortunately the hunters are arrayed in a compact mass, and a few well-directed shots terminate the struggle. the most favourable districts for tiger-hunting, continues mr. stocqueler, are those of goruckpore, on the frontiers of nepaul. sir roger martin relates that in this quarter once reigned a tiger of such ferocity, and so greedy of human blood, that he was the terror of all the "country-side." once he broke open, in full day-light, the cabin-door of a taroo; but the native dealt him such a lusty blow on the head with his hatchet that he took to flight, and ever afterwards preserved the mark of the wound, which caused him to be easily recognized, and dreaded all the more. sir roger resolved to free the country from this plague; he took the field like a gallant soldier, but slew eight-and-forty tigers before he fell in with the balafré of ill renown, who defended himself gallantly, and proved no easy victim. abbye-singh, rajah of omorah, one of the oldest hunters of the country, slew, it is said, to his own hand more than five hundred tigers; a fact which illustrates their numerousness in the terac, nepaul, and goruckpore. despite the activity and address of the hunters, they would never succeed in purging the country; but civilization and clearances of the ground are driving the wild beasts inch by inch towards the north, where the hardy amateurs of "sport" must now go in quest of them. * * * * * [illustration: tiger-hunting in the indo-chinese peninsula.] among the felidæ of the old world peculiar to tropical asia, i must cite the _reinaoudahan_, distinguished by his woolly and tufted tail, from whence he has received the name of the "fox-tailed tiger," and the _guépard_, or "maned leopard," "hunting leopard," and "cheetah." i am inclined to believe that these two varieties really signify one animal; the _gueparda jubata_ of naturalists. "intermediate in size and shape between the leopard and the hound," says burnett, "he is slenderer in his body, more elevated on his legs, and less flattened on the fore part of his head than the former, while he is deficient in the peculiarly graceful form, both of head and body, which characterizes the latter. his tail is entirely that of a rat; and his limbs, although more elongated than in any other species of that group, seem to be better fitted for strong muscular exertion than for active and long-continued speed." his anatomical structure and general habits are those of the felidæ, but the fur is crisper. the general ground-colour is a bright yellowish-brown above, lighter on the sides, and nearly white beneath. on the back, sides, and limbs he is marked with numerous black spots, which on the tail are so closely set together that they appear like rings. the cheetah is easily tamed, and trained to the chase; for which purpose, like our staghounds, he is bred and employed in persia and india. * * * * * the other families of digitigrade carnivora, dogs, hyænas, viverras (_viverra_, civet), mustelidæ (_mustela_, weasel), are largely represented in the prairies and jungles of the tropical regions of the old world. wild dogs, with straight ears, a pendant tail, scanty bristling hair, thin flanks, wander in numerous troops over the plains of southern africa, living, like the wolf or the hyæna, by hunting the small quadrupeds and devouring the remains of carcasses abandoned by the greater carnivora. the jackals, and even the hyænas, range far beyond the limits of the desert. at the cape exists a larger and more ferocious species of hyæna than that of the sahara, from which it differs externally, its skin being marked with spots instead of stripes. moreover, the disproportion in the height of the fore and hind legs is more marked in this animal than in his north african congener. at the cape, also, and in a great part of south africa, we find another species, the _hyæna villosa_, or "sea-shore wolf;" distinguished from the preceding by having stripes on the legs, while the rest of the body is of a dark grayish-brown. allied to the hyænas is the _proteles_, or "aard-wolf " (_proteles lalandii_), an animal nearly as large as a jackal, inhabiting the southern parts of the african continent. he has the teeth and pointed head of the civits; the striped fur and stiff bristly hair of the hyænas. the general colour is a yellowish-gray, radiated with transverse stripes of dusky black; the tail is short and bushy. the fore-feet are provided with five toes; the hinder ones with four; all the claws being strong and large. he burrows like a fox, and prowls abroad at night in search of food, which consists chiefly of carrion and small vermin. but it is said that he particularly affects the enormous fatty tail of the african sheep, devouring with avidity the semi-fluid mass, which requires no mastication. [illustration: spotted hyÆnas (_hyæna crocuta_).] * * * * * one of the most curious and most graceful of the south african carnaria is the _fennec_, or _zorda_ (_megatolis_), a genus of canidæ, resembling the european fox in form and stature, but his hair of a light brown colour; his muzzle is of extreme fineness, and his eye lively and intelligent; his enormous ears gift him with an extraordinary delicacy of hearing. every animal has its particular taste, and that of the fennec is for ostrich eggs, which, as he cannot open them with his teeth on account of their size, he breaks by dashing them against hard angular stones. he is not only met with at the cape, but in dongola, nubia, and the sahara south of tunis and constantina. [illustration: zibeth, and indian genet.] i cannot conclude this chapter without alluding to a few of the carnivora with elongated snout and non-retractile claws, which inhabit the plains of southern asia and the great adjacent islands. the first place i give to the _cuon bansu_, or pariah dog of india, which seems allied to both the wild dog, the wolf, and the jackal. his eyes are prominent, his skin is of a reddish-yellow, brightest about the head, spotted with black upon the tail. he is a gregarious animal, hunting in large troops, and waging war against hares, gazelles, antelopes. he will even venture to attack the buffaloes. some varieties of this species range high up on the mountains. [illustration: striped parodoxure of java devouring a crested goura.] from the order of carnivora i might also select, in the wild plains in the old world, more than one curious species for our investigation, if my space permitted me to pass in review the two families of the viverridæ and the mustelidæ. to the former belong the famous _ichneumon_, that assiduous reptile-destroyer which the ancient egyptians included in their religious _cultus_; the _genets_ (_viverra genetta_) with their sleek, soft fur, natives of the western parts of asia, india, and java; the _civets_ (_viverra civetta_), which furnish the commerce of europe and the east with a once popular scent, to which important medical virtues were attributed; the _zibeth_ (_viverra zibetha_), a maneless civet, peculiar to asia as the latter is to africa, and met with in sumatra, borneo, amboyna, the celebes, and hindostan; and, finally, the _paradoxures_ (animals with a fantastic or paradoxical tail), so named by cuvier because the individual studied by that great naturalist kept his tail constantly coiled up and inclined on the same side. all these carnivora are of small stature; their short paws are furnished with demi-retractile claws; their body is excessively elongated, and of a worm-like shape; their tail is long and flexible, the muzzle tapering, the fur soft, and of a tawny or reddish colour, with spots or bands of black or brown. the mustelidæ are allied to the viverridæ in their general conformation. their skin is equally soft, and capable of furnishing a beautiful fur; but its colour is generally uniform. the head is more rounded, the muzzle more obtuse, the tail shorter, than in members of the preceding family. finally, a great number are plantigrades. these animals are more commonly distributed over the cold regions of the northern hemisphere than in countries bordering on the tropics. the genus _ratel_ (_ratellus mellivorus_), however, is represented both in india and south africa. the cape species is celebrated for the havoc it makes among the nests of the wild bees, of whose honey it is singularly fond, and to whose discovery it is assisted by the voice and movements of a bird called the honey-guide. it has a rough tongue, short legs, with very long claws, a blunt, black nose, no external ears, a remarkably tough and loose skin, with thick hair. its colours are ashen gray on the upper parts, and black on the inferior, and its length from the nose to the tip of the tail is forty inches, the tail measuring twelve. the indian species, differing but little from the african, inhabits bengal. chapter ix. animal life in the prairies of the old world:--birds and reptiles. the savannahs and marshes of the ancient continent are frequented by birds of great stature: cursores, raptores, and palmipeds. the colossus of the feathered world, the _ostrich_, which has been aptly surnamed the camel-bird (_struthio camelus_), inhabits the arid plains of the african interior, and frequently penetrates into the sahara. the male is of a glossy black, with white on the wings and tail; the female wears an uniformly dusky livery. it is the loose flexible plumes of the male which are so prized for a lady's toilette, and which figure in the crest of the prince of wales. the female's feathers are of inferior value, and improperly designated in commerce, "vulture-feathers." the ostrich lives with his fellows in flocks of some number. he feeds voraciously on grass, grain, young twigs, and will swallow pieces of wood, leather, metal, or any hard substance. in his apparent want of taste he is probably guided by instinct, for these objects are probably useful in promoting the work of digestion. some travellers have represented him as a stupid animal; but this is an error, for he displays both vigilance and shrewdness in avoiding the attacks of his enemies. the chase of this bird is exceedingly laborious, for though he does not fly he skims the ground, and his wings impel him forward with a velocity which distances the swiftest horse. but neither his speed nor his strength avails against the stratagems of man. the arab horsemen surround the flock in a circle, which they gradually contract as they advance, until the poor birds are confined in a very narrow area, and dashing madly against one another, fall exhausted with fatigue. they are then slain by a few blows from a stick. the female lays from ten to twelve eggs in a hole in the sand; she broods over them during the night, occasionally leaving them in the hottest part of the day. in procuring the eggs, which weigh about three pounds each, and are reputed a great delicacy, the natives are very careful not to touch any with their hands, as the parent birds would be sure to discover it on their return, and not only discontinue laying any more in the same place, but trample to pieces all those which have not been removed. a long stick is accordingly made use of to push them from the nest. another gigantic bird, whose wings are but partially developed, and whose legs are long and robust, the _galeated_ or _helmeted cassowary_ (_casuarius_), is a native of java and the adjacent islands of the indian archipelago. his head is surmounted by a sort of osseous crest or horny helmet. in size he is much inferior to the ostrich, not exceeding five feet when erect; but he is robustly built, and of exceeding strength. his plumage is very poorly supplied with feathers, so as to resemble at a little distance, it is said, a coat of coarse or hanging hair. he is a swift runner, like the ostrich; is equally voracious, and not more dainty in his food. [illustration: ostriches (_struthio camelus_).] at that season of the year when the coming winter in our northern hemisphere already "casts its shadows before," legions of migratory birds swarm towards the tropical regions of africa and asia. storks and cranes, and aquatic birds, descend upon those vast and genial southern prairies, where they obtain in abundance the precious food denied them in less favoured climes. a beautiful crane, of ashen plumage, with a shapely ebon-black neck, and her head adorned with two white tufts of plumes, the "lady of numidia," selects for her dwelling-place the eastern and western shores of the african continent. the stork (_ciconia_) is a cosmopolitan bird which alternately favours with his presence the north of europe and the torrid zone, everywhere discharging with fidelity his useful sanitary mission by destroying myriads of noxious vermin. to kill them was considered by the ancients a foul crime, which could only be fitly punished by death, and the egyptians included the stork with the ibis in their allegorical and mysterious worship. in his migrations he avoids the two extremes of heat and cold, never going farther north than russia, nor, in winter, further south than the land of the nile. the white stork (_ciconia alba_) is upwards of three feet six inches long. one species, popularly known as the _marabout_, never quits africa and the indies. the name is also applied to the light silken feathers which embellish the wings of the species--one of the ugliest, let me add, created by nature, with his bald head and neck, his huge beak, and absurdly meditative postures. * * * * * the chief of the birds of the shore and river-bank, the flamingo (_phoenicopterus_), may merit admiration on account of his dazzling scarlet plumage and handsome bearing. owing to the great length of his legs and neck he stands nearly five feet high, and measures six feet from the point of the beak to the tip of the claws. the small round head is furnished with a bill nearly seven inches long, which is higher than it is wide, light and hollow, having a membrane at the base, and suddenly curving downwards from the middle. the legs and thighs are singularly delicate and slender. the flamingoes are timid and suspicious birds; they keep together when feeding, drawn up in artificial array like the lines of a battalion of british infantry, with some of their number planted as sentinels to give notice of the approach of danger. their voice has a peculiarly deep trumpet-like sound. at the note of alarm they all take to flight, swooping through the air in the form of a triangle. they are skilful fishers. they wade deep into the water, where their long necks enable them to seize their prey with ease. their food consists of spawn, insects, and molluscous animals. owing to their peculiar structure they are both waders and swimmers. [illustration: rose flamingoes (_phoenicopterus antiquorum_).] several of the african grallatores wage a murderous war against reptiles in the marshes and the meads; a war which claims the gratitude of man, who could never defend himself against their prolific increase and pertinacious attacks. i have already referred to the stork; it is needful i should also mention the ibis, once an object of worship on the banks of the nile; the jacana, his long claws armed with sharpened nails that transfix his prey; the formidable-billed baléniceps, which devours the young crocodiles; and the famous serpent-bird of the cape, belonging to the grallatores by his legs, to the raptores by the talons and crooked beak with which he is provided, as well as by the structure of his internal organs. these birds are the allies and protectors of man, as michelet has shown with characteristic eloquence in his rhapsodical prose poem, "_l'oiseau_;" yet even these, in their combined efforts, are insufficient against the prolific races of aquatic and terrestrial reptiles, some formidable by their size and strength, some by their subtlety and venom. the narratives of the adventurous men who have not feared to incur "the moving accidents of flood and field," in traversing the wild regions of the ancient world, are full of striking accounts of encounters with these monsters, and of the miseries they inflict upon the countries cursed with their presence. "in afric's sunny clime," flood, and river, and lake are haunted by the loathsome and dangerous crocodile (_lacerta crocodilus_), one of the most powerful species of the saurian race. though he preys chiefly on fish, his capacious jaws will devour any animal that comes within their reach; and when one reflects that he often attains the length of twenty to thirty feet, that the upper part of his body is clothed with an almost impenetrable scaly armour, that his long, oar-like tail is of immense strength, one can readily comprehend the vast amount of destruction such a monster can effect. happily his movements on land are impeded by the unwieldiness of his body, which prevents him from turning except with great difficulty, and enables his intended victims to effect their escape. in the water, however, he glides along with great rapidity. the female deposits her eggs, which are not much larger than those of a goose, in the sand or mud near the banks of the rivers or streams which she frequents. by a beneficent provision of nature, the young are largely devoured by birds, ichneumons, and other animals, preventing their otherwise rapid increase. the colour of a full-grown crocodile is a blackish-brown above and yellowish-white beneath, the upper parts of the legs and sides being relieved by shades of deep yellow, and in some places tinged with green. the mouth is of vast width, and both jaws bristle with a terrible array of sharp-pointed teeth. the african species all belong to the same genus, of which the crocodile of the nile is the type. at the gaboon, the negroes hunt their enemies either with muskets or a kind of harpoon. their vulnerable points are the attachment of the anterior limbs, and, of course, the eyes. it is here that their assailants endeavour to mark them. they are killed every day without their number appearing to be sensibly diminished, and, what is singular enough, without their seeming to grow mistrustful. during the heat of the noon, they retire among the reeds and rushes for repose, but never remain long in any one place. at evening and at morning they sally forth in quest of prey. they swim without making any noise, scarcely disturbing the water, which they cleave like dogs; they will also remain motionless on its surface, glancing around them with cruel, dull, sinister eyes. the negro does not feel towards them so great an horror as europeans experience, who are powerfully affected by their exceeding hideousness. they eat their flesh, with which their huge bony skeleton is scantily furnished, and, according to du chaillu, can never obtain enough of the much-prized delicacy.[ ] the indian crocodile, the _gavial_ or _garial_ (_crocodilus gangeticus_), is of the same size as his african congener, but easily distinguished by the peculiar conformation of his mouth; the jaws being remarkably straight, long, and narrow. the sides of the head are straight and perpendicular, the upper surface quadrilateral; and the mandible, instead of sloping gradually from the forehead, sinks suddenly to follow a straight and almost horizontal direction. the teeth are nearly double in number those of the nilotic monster, but he is far less dangerous, and feeds only on fish. there are two species: the gavial of the ganges, found in all the great rivers of southern asia; and the gavial of schlegel, belonging exclusively to the island of borneo. serpents of every size, venomous and non-venomous, multiply in the jungles, marshes, and woods of all tropical countries. africa and asia are abundantly provided with them. in senegal they are all, or mostly all, inoffensive, and the objects of devout worship on the part of the negroes of dahomey; but naturalists have not yet determined their respective genera. it is certain, however, that they do not all belong to the same species. in size, says the french traveller, dr. répin, they vary from three to ten feet. their head is large, flattened, and triangular; the neck not quite so large as the remainder of the body; in these respects resembling the entire host of _ophidia_. they vary in colour from a bright yellow to a yellowish-green, according perhaps to their age. most of them are marked upon the back, for their whole length, with two brown lines, while a few are irregularly spotted. the long and prehensile tail, and the facility with which some of them climb, would refer them probably to the genus _leptophis_ of duméril and bibron. at whydah, these divinities are lodged in a temple shaded by lofty and beautiful trees. this curious edifice is described as a kind of rotunda, from thirty to forty feet in diameter, and from twenty-two to twenty-five feet high. its walls, constructed of sunburnt clay, are pierced, like those of the dahomean houses, by two opposite gates, affording free ingress and egress to the deities of the place. the roof, formed of branches curiously interlaced and covered with a layer of dried grass, is constantly tapestried with a myriad serpents. some climb or descend by writhing round the trunks of trees arranged for this purpose along the walls; others, suspended by the tail, balance themselves indifferently in the air; others, again, lie coiled up in spiral folds on the ground or among the grasses of the temple roof. they never want for nourishment; the devout supply them with constant renewals of food, and in such abundance, that the priests, who, moreover, exercise the double profession of sorcerers and doctors, are in no greater peril of starvation than their gods! the spotted serpents of which dr. répin speaks may possibly be no other than _pythons_, those gigantic ophidians of the tropical regions of the old world which are found in africa, in india, in the indian archipelago, and even in australia. it should be noted, however, that their size generally exceeds that of the largest serpents which dr. répin saw at whydah. their length is from fifteen to twenty-five feet--specimens have been met with measuring thirty--and their maximum diameter ranges from ten to twelve inches. their back is variegated with large spots, whose form, colour, and disposition differ according to their species. the tail is short, and not prehensile. their favourite haunt is the low marshy ground, rank with moist herbage, where they prey upon birds and small animals, swallowing them whole--swallowing them even alive--after having seized them in the invincible folds of their long sinuous bodies, and always commencing with their hinder parts. so greedy a repast must necessarily be followed by a slow and difficult digestion, and cannot be renewed at any very brief interval. they eat in effect but once a month, or once in two months. during the lethargic and semi-somnolent condition which invariably follows their debauch, they fall easy victims to the attacks of their enemies. the principal african species of this genus are, the python of seba, of central africa, and the royal python of senegambia. the species peculiar to asiatic climes is the python molure, a native of the indian peninsula, and of the islands of java and sumatra. the python of the sunda islands, called by the natives _ular-sawa_, attains the length of fully thirty feet. it has a large flat head, of a bluish-gray colour, a thick yellowish muzzle, and cylindrical neck. its body is marked with deep-blue spots, with a yellow or tawny border; its yellow tail with blue rings. its ordinary habitat is the rivers; it feeds on rats and birds, but also pursues, when ashore, the largest animals. we are indebted to dr. livingstone for much curious information respecting the serpents of south africa, and especially in reference to the _striking echidna_, a singularly formidable viper, which the negroes designate _picakolou_. he tells us that he killed one day a reptile of this species, which was of a deep brown colour, verging on black, and measured seven feet and a half in length.[ ] these reptiles possess so abundant and deadly a venom, that when one of them is attacked by a band of dogs, the first dog bitten dies immediately; the second, five minutes afterwards; the third, at the end of an hour; and the fourth, after a more or less lengthened agony. a great number of beasts is annually destroyed by the picakolous; the fangs of an individual killed at kolobeng distilled poison for several hours after its head had been severed from its body. it is probably this plentiful secretion which the natives call "the serpent's spittle," and which leads them to suppose that the picakolou is endowed with a power of injecting it into its enemies' eyes when the wind is favourable. [illustration: python molure. echidna, or _picakolou_. fennec (_megalotis_).] other venomous species exist in this part of africa, of which several are vipers, and among others the puff-adder (_vipera inflata_). the natives have named it _noga-poutsane_, or the goats' serpent, because it makes at night a bleating exactly resembling that animal. there were certainly no goats, says livingstone, in the place where i happened to hear it. the natives suppose that by this bleating it hopes to deceive the traveller, and draw him within its reach. some species emit, when they are frightened, a peculiar odour, strong enough to indicate their presence when they have found their way into the huts. there are also several varieties of cobras (the _naja-haje_ of dr. smith). when they are attacked, they raise their head a foot from the ground, extend their neck in a threatening manner, dart their tongue to and fro with extreme rapidity, while rage glares in their fixed and glassy eyes. different serpents of the genus _dendrophis_, as, for example, the green climber (_bucephalus viridis_), scale the trees in search of birds and their eggs, to which they are curiously partial. the bucephalus is armed with fangs; nevertheless it is not venomous, and these fangs, which turn inwards, are only of use in preventing the retrogression of their prey, only one part of which is enclosed between its jaws. the cobra or naja (_vipera naja_), the "hooded snake" and "spectacle snake" of the english, the "cobra de capella" of the portuguese, must be classed among those serpents which are the most dangerous through their violence, and the subtle character of their venom. it is easily recognized by its faculty of dilating the back and sides of the neck, under the influence of fear or rage, to which it owes its popular appellation; the elevated skin of the back of the neck presenting much the appearance of a hood (_capella_). it is usually three or four feet in length; of a pale reddish-brown colour above, and bluish or yellowish-white below; with a characteristic mark on the back of the neck closely resembling the figure of an old-fashioned pair of spectacles. it is a sluggish creature, and easily killed, but its poison is of the most fatal quality, causing death within two hours. it frequents the purlieus of human residences in india, and occasionally penetrates into the very houses, attracted apparently by the domestic poultry, and by the humidity of the wells and drainage. in ceylon, the natives, if journeying abroad by night, carry a small stick with a loose iron ring, whose strange metallic sound, as they strike it on the earth, frightens the cobra from their path. the poison is harmless if taken internally. it is secreted in a large gland in the serpent's head, and flows, when the animal compresses its mouth on any object, through a cavity of the tooth into the wound.[ ] the indian species plays a conspicuous part in the displays of the hindu jugglers, who exercise a strange power over them by the tones of their voice and the sounds of various musical instruments, compelling them to rise partially from the ground and go through a succession of fantastic movements. something of this power is also due to the fascination of the juggler's eye. serpent-charming is of remote antiquity in egypt and in most oriental nations, where the profession would seem to be hereditary. several allusions to it occur in holy writ.[ ] chapter x. animal life in the prairies of the new world:--herbivora, insectivora, and carnivora. we have seen that the order of pachydermata, which furnished the ancient world with the most gigantic species of the terrestrial creation, is represented in the new world by comparatively insignificant types: the tapir and the peccary. the first, although far inferior in stature to the elephant, the rhinoceros and the hippopotamus, is, nevertheless, one of the largest american herbivora; the bison, llama, and stag alone exceeding it in size. [illustration: american tapir (_tapirus americanus_).] two species are distinguished, which both inhabit south america,--the _american tapir_ and the _tapir pinchaca_. the former is about as large as a mule or an ass. his skin is black, covered with rough brown hair. he has a long bowed neck, legs and feet resembling those of the hog, and a nose prolonged into a kind of trumpet. he feeds on leaves and many kinds of fruit, and sometimes does much injury in the mandioca fields of the indians. his flesh is very good eating, and considered exceedingly wholesome. it is even reputed to be a remedy for the ague. a very shy and timid animal, he wanders about principally at night. "when the indian discovers a feeding-place," says mr. wallace,[ ] "he builds a stage between two trees, about eight feet above the ground, and there stations himself soon after dusk, armed with a gun, or with his bow and arrow. though such a heavy animal, the tapir steps as lightly as a cat, and can only be heard approaching by the gentle rustling of the bushes; the slightest sound or smell will alarm him, and the indian lies still as death for hours, till the animal approaches sufficiently near to be shot, or until, scenting his enemy, he makes off in another direction." when compelled to stand at bay, however, he defends himself with extraordinary vigour. d'azara assures us that if the jaguar flings himself upon the tapir, the latter will drag him onward and onward through the densest bushes, until, torn cruelly by the thorns and brambles, he is constrained to let his would-be victim escape. the _tapir pinchaca_ appears to be confined to the region of the cordilleran table-lands. the name "pinchaca," bestowed on the species by m. roulin, is that of a fabulous animal mentioned in the traditions of new grenada. it is distinguished from the former species by the absence of those lateral folds on the snout and occipital ridge to be remarked in the american tapir, by its long thick hair--which, however, does not form a mane on the neck--and by a white mark at the extremity of the lower jaw. the _peccaries_ are the wild boars of tropical america. they are smaller than those of the old world; have fewer teeth, and their tail is rudimentary. they live in numerous herds, and not only defend themselves energetically against aggressors, but when the latter have grown fatigued, assume the offensive, and pursue them with incredible fury. hunting them, therefore, is for man, no less than for the jaguar, a dangerous adventure. when one of them has been seized by the latter, or slain by the former, the herd combine in pursuit of the murderer, and if he does not succeed in escaping them by a rapid retreat, or by opposing some insurmountable obstacle to their headlong career, he is infallibly torn to pieces. the genus _horse_, or, to adopt the new nomenclature, the family of _equidæ_, are altogether wanting in the american fauna; that is, in the native indigenous fauna of the new world. previous to the era of spanish conquest, america did not possess a single species analagous to the horse, the onagra, the hemionus, the zebra, or the quagga; and the reader of the animated pages of prescott or arthur helps will remember with what terror the peruvians as well as the mexicans regarded the mounted cavaliers of pizarro and cortez. the horse, however, when introduced by europeans, multiplied rapidly in the savannahs, where he soon became wild, and breeding with the ass, produced the mule, which, in the spanish-american states, as in the mother-country, is now the most useful auxiliary of man. the european ox is likewise acclimatized over the entire extent of the new continent; and immense herds of the latter species, together with troops of horses and mules, people the llanos and pampas of south america, where the first conquerors had only met with herds of stags (_cervus mexicanus_), llamas, and cobiais. [illustration: hunter pursued by peccaries.] the _llama_, or _guanaco_ (_auchenia llama_), and his congeners, the vicuna and the alpaca (_auchenia_), are now only found among the recesses of the andes, their native country, to which they have retreated before the restless advance of man. in describing them i shall freely avail myself of dr. von tschudi's interesting notices.[ ] the llama measures from the sole of the hoof to the top of the head, four feet six to eight inches; from the sole of the hoof to the shoulders, from two feet eleven inches to three feet. the female is usually smaller and less strong than the male, but her wool is finer and better. a great variety of colour prevails; the more general is brown, with shades of yellow or black; frequently speckled, but very rarely quite white or black. the speckled brown llama is, in some districts, called the moromoro. the burden carried by this useful animal, the camel of the new world, should not exceed from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five pounds. if the load be too heavy, he lies down, and no force or persuasion will induce him to resume his journey until the excess be removed. in the silver mines his utility is very great, as he frequently carries the metal from the mines in places where the declivities are so steep that neither asses nor mules can keep their footing. his abstemiousness is remarkable, and he will not feed during the night. "a flock of llamas journeying over the table-lands," says dr. von tschudi, "is a beautiful sight. they proceed at a slow and measured pace, gazing eagerly around on every side. when any strange object scares them, the flock separates, and disperses in various directions, and the arrieros have no little difficulty in re-assembling them. the indians are very fond of these animals. they adorn them by tying bows of ribbons to their ears, and hanging bells round their necks; and before loading, they always fondle and caress them affectionately. if, during a journey, one of the llamas is fatigued and lies down, the arriero kneels beside the animal, and addresses to it the most coaxing and endearing expressions. but notwithstanding all the care and attention bestowed on them, many llamas perish on every journey to the coast, as they are not able to bear the warm climate." when resting they make a peculiar humming noise, which, if it proceed from a numerous flock and is heard at some distance, resembles a concert of Æolian harps. the flesh of the llama is spongy, and not agreeable in flavour: its wool is used in manufacturing coarse cloths. the alpaca (_auchenia_), or paco, is smaller than the llama. it measures only three feet three inches from the lower part of the hoof to the top of the head, and to the shoulders two feet and a half. in form it resembles the sheep, but has a longer neck and a more graceful head. its fleece is very long, in some parts four or five inches, and exquisitely soft. its colour is usually either white or black, but in some few instances is speckled. of its wool the indians weave their blankets. it is also exported to europe, and especially to england, in large quantities, though since the alpaca was naturalized in australia, through the patriotic exertions of mr. ledger, england has begun to obtain a supply from her great and thriving colony.[ ] the alpacas are kept in large flocks, which graze, throughout the year, on the green and level heights, and are driven to the huts only at shearing-time. their shyness is very great, and at the approach of a stranger they take to rapid flight. their obstinacy is remarkable. if one of these animals should be separated from the flock he will throw himself on the ground, and neither force nor persuasion will induce him to rise; he will frequently suffer the severest punishment rather than go the way his driver wishes. few animals seem to stand in such urgent need of the companionship of their species, and it is only when brought to the indian huts very young that they can be separated from their flocks. the largest animal of this tribe is the huanacu or guanaco. he measures five feet from the bottom of the hoof to the top of the head, and three feet three inches to the shoulders. so nearly does he resemble the llama in form that, until very recently, zoologists supposed the latter to be an improved species of the huanacu, and that the huanacu was neither more nor less than a wild llama. but there are specific differences between them. the huanacu is of a uniform reddish-brown colour on the neck, back, and thighs. the under part of the body, the middle line of the breast, and the inner side of the limbs are of a dingy white. the wool is shorter and coarser than that of the llama, and of nearly uniform length on all parts of the body. the huanacus assemble in small herds of five or seven, and if taken very young may be tamed, but can with difficulty be trained as beasts of burden. the vicuña is a more beautiful animal than either of the preceding. his size is a medium between that of the llama and alpaca. he measures four feet one inch to the top of the head, and two feet six inches to the top of the shoulders. he is distinguished by his longer and shapelier neck, by the superior fineness of his short curly wool. the crown of the head, the upper part of the neck, the back, and thighs are of a peculiar reddish-yellow hue, which the natives call _color de vicuña_. the lower part of the neck and the inner parts of the limbs are of a bright ochreous colour, and the breast and lower part of the body white. during the wet season the vicuña browses on the scanty vegetation of the cordilleran ridges. he never ventures up to the bare rocky summits, for his hoofs, being accustomed only to the yielding sward, are very soft and tender. he lives in herds, consisting of from six to fifteen females, and one male, who is the protector and leader of the herd, and who, while the females graze, stands a few paces apart, carefully watching over their safety. at the approach of danger he gives a signal, consisting of a kind of whistling sound and a quick movement of the foot. immediately the herd draws close together, each animal stretching out his head in the direction of the impending alarm. then they take to flight; first moving leisurely and cautiously, but quickening their pace to the utmost degree of speed; whilst the male vicuña, who covers the retreat, occasionally halts to observe the motions of the enemy. the females reward his devotion by the warmest affection and fidelity, and will suffer themselves to be killed or captured rather than desert him. the mode in which the indians hunt the vicuña is sufficiently curious. in the _chacu_, as it is termed, the whole company, seventy or eighty in number, proceed to the attos--the most secluded districts of the peruvian mountains--which are the animal's favourite haunts, with an abundant supply of rope and cord, and numerous stakes. selecting a spacious open area, they drive the stakes into the ground in a circle, at intervals of from twelve to fifteen feet apart, and connect them together by ropes fastened at the height of two or two and a half feet from the ground. the circular space within this enclosure measures about half a league in circumference; an opening of about two hundred paces in width is left for entrance. on the ropes which are carried round the stakes, the indian women hang pieces of coloured rag that flutter gaily in the wind. the chacu being thus made ready, the indians, who are mounted on horseback, range over the country within a circuit of several miles, driving before them all the herds of vicuñas they encounter, and forcing them into the chacu. when a sufficient number is collected, they close the entrance. the timid animals do not attempt to leap over the ropes, being affrighted by the fluttering rags, and when thus secured, the indians easily kill them with their _bolas_. these bolas consist of three balls, composed either of lead or stone; two of them heavier than the third. they are fastened to long elastic strings, made of twisted sinews of the vicuña, and the opposite ends of the strings are all tied together. the indian holds the lightest of the three balls in his hand, and swings the two others in a wide circle above his head; then, taking his aim at the distance of about fifteen or twenty paces, he lets go the hand-ball, whereupon all three whirl in a circle, and cling round the object aimed at. the aim is usually directed at the animal's hind legs, and the cords twisting round them, he is unable to move. great skill and long practice are required to throw the bolas dexterously; a novice in the art incurs the risk of dangerously hurting either himself or his horse, by not giving the balls the proper swing, or by letting go the hand-ball too soon. [illustration: . guanaco. . llama. . vicuña.] the vicuñas, after being secured by the bolas, are killed; their skins belong to the church, and their flesh, which is tenderer and better flavoured than that of the llama, is distributed in equal portions among the hunters. under the dynasty of the incas, the peruvians rendered almost divine worship to the llama and his congeners, adorning the temples with large figures of these animals fashioned in gold and silver.[ ] if the natives of the south american continent possess neither the ox nor the sheep, they have at least a precious resource in the bison, and the musk ox, or ovibos. of the latter i shall speak when my survey brings me to the colder regions of north america. the bison is wholly confined to the great prairies of this continent, which he traverses from north to south, and reciprocally, in his periodical migrations. according to some naturalists, he is a variety of the aurochs, the fierce wild bull that formerly tenanted the forests of gaul, germany, and sarmatia, and is still found in the densely-wooded districts of moldavia, wallachia, lithuania, and caucasia. herds of aurochs (_bos bison_), under the special protection of the russian emperor, and believed to number fully eight hundred animals, still roam in the depths of the great lithuanian forest of bialowieza. the american genus commonly called buffalo, but not to be confounded with the buffaloes of the old world, occurs as far north as the great martin lake, in latitude °, and congregates in countless thousands on the wide undulating prairies between the mississippi and the rocky mountains. their flesh is supposed to supply with provision some , indians, who pursue them on horseback, and kill them with bow and arrow, spear or rifle. the chase is exciting, and has proved a great attraction to the more adventurous spirits of the new world. it is exciting because it is perilous, for the hunted animal will often turn upon his adversary, and in speed he can outstrip the swiftest horse. he finds a formidable enemy in the white wolf. hunting in packs of one or two hundred, the latter fling themselves upon two or three solitary bisons, and, surrounding them, worry the huge brutes to death. never have they courage enough, however, to attack a herd, though the latter, when they catch sight of wolves, manifest the greatest alarm, form into battle array, and are only prevented by excess of terror from taking to flight. this panic-stricken feeling the indian often turns to his advantage. he clothes himself in the skin of a white wolf, and with bow and arrows in his hands, boldly faces a herd, crawling towards them on his hands and knees; the affrighted buffaloes press closely together to receive the supposed wolf, who, on arriving at a convenient proximity, suddenly springs to his feet, and utters an unearthly yell. they fall into a frenzy of terror which enables him to select several victims. the indians also capture great numbers by setting fire to the grass of the prairies; the flames compel them to retire to the centre, where they are easily slain. or they endeavour to throw them into a panic of alarm, in which case they seem possessed with a sudden madness, and, if driven towards a precipice, will dash themselves headlong over it, falling crushed and bleeding into the chasm beneath. the american bison is similar to the european, but his tail and limbs are shorter; the horns are shorter and more blunt; the tail has fewer vertebræ; and the mane is fuller and shaggier. his flesh is excellent eating, having a flavour like that of venison. the tallow forms an important article of trade, one bull sometimes yielding pounds. the skins are much used by the indians for blankets, and when tanned they employ them as coverings for their beds and wigwams. spread upon frames of wicker-work, they make admirable canoes. the long hair or fleece, of which a male bison yields six to eight pounds, is spun and woven into cloth. the favourite nourishment of the bison, says humboldt, is the _tripsacum dactyloides_, called "buffalo-grass" in north carolina, and a species of trefoil, resembling _trifolium repens_, which burton has named _trifolium bisonicum_. it is remarkable, he continues, that the buffalo, or bison of the north, has exercised an influence upon geographical discovery in the mountainous regions where no road is laid down. assembled in herds of several thousands, and seeking a milder climate, they migrate at the approach of winter into the countries situated south of arkansas. their massive form and size render it difficult for them to cross the mountains; and, consequently, wherever the traveller finds a track beaten out by numerous hoofs--a "buffalo-path," in fact--he may confidently adopt it as the most convenient route for himself and his steed. in this manner have been discovered the best passes in the cumberland mountains, the rocky mountains, from the sources of the yellow-stone to the river la plata; and, finally, from the southern branch of the river columbia to the rio colorado of california. the animals which we most frequently meet with in the steppes of south america are the small spotted stag (_cervus mexicanus_); the mailed armadillos; some species of tatous, which glide like rats into the burrows of the hares; troops of indolent cobiais; of civets agreeably striped, but infecting the air with their emanations; and the great maneless lion, the jaguar or american tiger, whose strength is sufficient to slay the young bulls and carry them off to the summits of the hills. [illustration: . agouti. . capybara.] the _cervus mexicanus_ wanders in numerous troops in the grassy llanos of the caraccas. he is only spotted while young; and varieties completely white have been discovered. on the slopes of the andes he is never found at a greater elevation than to feet. at feet he is replaced by a much larger variety, slightly differing from the european stag. the rodents of the genera capybara, agouti, and paca, are widely diffused over the plains of tropical america. of the three, the capybara (_hydrochærus capybara_) is the largest. he attains the size of a sheep, has a voluminous head, small round ears, eyes large and black, a thick divided nose flanked by formidable whiskers, a short neck, a thick body covered with short, coarse, russet hair, and short legs; altogether, _not_ a "thing of beauty." like the peccary, he is tailless, and in a manner web-footed, being thus adapted for a semi-aquatic life. these great rodents, says the illustrious author of "the origin of species," in one of his earlier works,[ ] are generally called "_carpinchos_;" they occasionally frequent the islands in the mouth of the plata, where the water is quite salt, but are more abundant on the borders of fresh-water lakes and rivers. in the day-time they either lie among the aquatic plants, or openly feed on the turf plain. when viewed at a distance, from their manner of walking and colour, they resemble pigs; but when seated on their haunches, and attentively watching any object with one eye, they re-assume the appearance of their congeners, the caries. both the front and side view of their head wears quite a ludicrous aspect, from the great depth of their jaw. the capybara leads no joyous life apparently, for in the water he is perseveringly pursued by the crocodile, and in the plain by the jaguar. he runs so awkwardly as to be easily caught by hand, and the south americans profess to relish his flesh. the paca (_coelogenys_) differs from the capybara in the complex structure of his molar teeth. he inhabits the woody regions of south america, where he is generally found in the vicinity of water, concealing himself in burrows so near the surface, that the pedestrian's foot often intrudes within them. his form is thick and clumsy, spotted with white on the sides, and intermediate in size and appearance between a hog and a hare.[ ] he is about a foot in height and two feet in length, with hind limbs much longer than the fore, but considerably bent. the claws are thick, strong, and conical; the eyes large, prominent, and of a brownish hue; the ears nearly naked, and whiskers rigid. the paca is heavy and corpulent, but swims and dives with remarkable agility. as he feeds only on fruits and tender plants, his flesh is exceedingly savoury, and a staple dish in many parts of america. his burrow is provided with three apertures, and his capture is managed by closing up two of these, and digging up the third. the agouti (_dasyprocta agouti_) is another south american rodent, about one-third the size of the paca; he swims, but does not dive. he has sometimes been named "the rabbit of the south american continent," but differs from it in many essential points, and really belongs to the _cavidæ_, or guinea-pig tribe. he possesses the voracious appetite of the hog, and devours indiscriminately everything that comes in his way. he conveys his food to his mouth with his fore-paws, like a squirrel, and as he has long hind legs, runs, or rather leaps, with considerable swiftness. he is hunted very perseveringly on account of the devastation he causes among the sugar-canes. there is a larger species called the _mara_, or pampas hare (_dasyprocta patachonica_), which will wander for miles away from its home. among the most interesting rodents of the new world must be classed the vizcacha and the chinchilla, whose furs are so highly valued. the vizcacha, or bizcacha (_calomys bizcacha_), somewhat resembles a rabbit, but his teeth are larger, and he has a long tail. he lives, it is said, on roots, and never wanders far from his burrow. his flesh, when cooked, is very white and savoury. the chinchilla (_c. lanigera_) inhabits the cold mountain-valleys, where his close, fine gray fur is an invaluable protection. he is a pretty animal, much like the rabbit, but with a squirrel's tail; of a mild and sociable disposition; and living with his kind on the most amicable terms. nor must the beaver be forgotten, the most industrial animal of the rodentia, which has wholly disappeared from europe, and is yearly growing scarcer in america. the beaver (_castor fiber_) is specially recognizable by his broad horizontally-flattened tail, which is of a nearly oval form, but slightly convex on its upper surface, and covered with scales. his hind feet are webbed, and together with the tail, which acts as a rudder, propel him through the water with ease and swiftness. his length, exclusive of his tail, which measures one foot, is about three feet; colour, a deep chestnut; hair, very fine, glossy, and smooth. the incisor teeth are large, and so hard, that the north american indians used them in fabricating their horn-tipped spears and cutting bone, until iron tools were introduced from europe. the sagacity with which he constructs his habitation has long been a theme of eulogy, and has furnished moralists with many an apt image and pregnant illustration. water is the necessity of his life. it is indispensably necessary that the stream near which the animal lives should never run dry; and to prevent so dire a misfortune, he is gifted with an instinct which teaches him to keep the water at or about the same mark, by building a dam across the channel. in order to comprehend the art with which this dam is constructed, we must watch the beaver at his patient toil.[ ] when the animal has fixed upon a tree which he believes suitable for his purpose, he sits upright, and with his chisel-like teeth cuts a bold groove completely round the trunk. he then widens the groove in exact proportion to its depth, so that when the tree is nearly cut through, it somewhat resembles the "contracted portion of an hour-glass." when this stage has been reached, he looks anxiously at the tree, and views it on every side, as if to measure the direction in which it should fall. having settled this question, he goes to the opposite side, and with two or three powerful bites cuts away the wood, so that the overbalanced tree comes to the ground. the beaver next proceeds to cut it up into lengths of about a yard or so, employing a similar method of severing the wood. the next part of the task is to make these rounded and pointed logs into a dam. for this purpose the logs are laid horizontally, and covered with stones and earth until they can resist the force of the water. vast numbers are thus laid; and as fast as the water rises, fresh materials are added, being obtained mostly from the trunks and branches of trees which have been stripped of their bark by the beavers. in those places where the stream runs slowly the dam is carried straight across the river; but where the current is strong, a convex shape is given to it, so as to resist the force of the rushing water. the dam is frequently of great size, measuring two or three hundred yards in length, and ten or twelve feet in thickness. in many localities the streams have been diverted by these erections into entirely different channels. it is in this manner that the beavers keep the water to the required level; we must next see how they make use of it. they build their houses close to the water, and communicating with it by means of subterranean passages, one entrance of which passes into the house, or "lodge," as it is technically named, and the other into the water, so far below the surface that it cannot be closed by ice. it is, therefore, always possible for the beaver to gain access to the provision stores, and to return to its house, without being perceived from the land. "the lodges," says mr. wood, "are nearly circular in form, and much resemble the well-known snow-houses of the esquimaux, being domed, and about half as high as they are wide--the average height being three feet, and the diameter six or seven feet. these are the interior dominions, the exterior measurement being much greater, on account of the great thickness of the walls, which are continually strengthened with mud and branches, so that during the severe frosts they are nearly as hard as solid stone. each lodge will accommodate several inhabitants, whose beds are arranged round the walls." there is no animal, however, whose sagacity can foil human ingenuity. the trappers, who hunt the beaver for the sake of his fur, and the peculiar odoriferous secretion called _castor_, are more than a match for all his artifices. not even in winter-time is he safe from their pursuit. striking the ice smartly, they judge from the sound whether they are near an aperture; and as soon as they are satisfied, cut away the ice and stop up the opening, so that the beavers, if alarmed, may not escape into the water. they then proceed to the shore, and by repeated soundings trace the course of the beavers' subterranean passage, which is sometimes eight or ten yards long, and by closely watching the different apertures invariably catch the inhabitants. while thus engaged, they must be careful not to spill any blood, as in case of such a mishap the rest of the beavers take alarm, retreat to the water, and cannot be captured. the trappers entertain a superstitious notion, which leads them to remove a kneecap from each beaver and throw it into the fire. the beavers generally quit their huts in the summer-time, though one or two of the houses may be tenanted by a mother and her young family. those old beavers which are free from domestic ties take to the water, and swim up and down the stream in bachelor-like liberty until the month of august, when they return to a settled life. there are, also, certain individuals called by the trappers "_les paresseux_," or "the idlers," which do not live in houses, and construct no dam, but dwell in subterranean tunnels like those of our common water-rat. they are always males; gay young bachelors, with no incentives, we will suppose, to an industrious career. neither in the beaver nor in the human world, however, does idleness prosper, for the capture of "les paresseux" is a comparatively easy task. * * * * * south america is the home of those singular edentate mammals, with scaly shields, which the natives call _tatous_, but which are better known to europeans by the name of _armadillos_ (_priodonta gigas_). cuvier has divided the whole genus into five groups, distinguished from one another by the number and form of their teeth and claws:--"cachecames," "apars," "encouberts," "cabassous," and "priodontes." their general characteristics, however, are the same, and to describe one is virtually to describe all. the body of the armadillo has been invested by nature with a complete suit of armour: thus the head is protected by an oval or triangular plate, the shoulders by a large buckler, and the haunches by a similar buckler; while between these solid portions intervenes a series of transverse bands, or zones of shell, which accommodate this coat of mail to the various postures of the body; the tail also is covered by a series of calcareous rings, so that the animal exhibits a peculiar and somewhat ungainly appearance. like the hedgehog, he can roll himself up into a ball, and present a solid impervious substance to the attacks of any adversary. the interior surface of the body, not covered by the shell, is clothed with coarse scattered hairs, some of which also emerge between the joints of the coat of mail. this strange quadruped, like a mediæval knight,-- "in armour sheathed from top to toe,"-- has a rather pointed snout, long ears, short and thick limbs, and stout claws. nature has thus fitted him by a peculiarly admirable organization for those habits of burrowing, which he performs with such astonishing rapidity that it is almost impossible to capture him by digging. his hunters therefore smoke him out of his subterraneous lair; as soon as he reaches the surface he rolls himself up, and is easily taken prisoner. he is then roasted in his shell, and devoured with avidity, his flesh being as great a dainty to a south american indian as turtle to a london alderman. by the side of the armadillos we may place another individual of the edentata, not less strange in form: this is the _tamanoir_, or great ant-eater (_myrmecophaga jubata_), which feeds exclusively on ants, digging open their hills with his powerful crooked claws, and drawing his long flexible tongue, covered with viscous saliva, lightly over the myriad insects that immediately sally forth to defend their homes. [illustration: . armadillo loricata. . ant-eater.] "the habits of the myrmecophaga jubata are now pretty well known. it is not uncommon in the drier forests of the amazons valley. the brazilians call the species the _tamanduá bandeira_, or the banner ant-eater; the term banner," says mr. bates,[ ] "being applied in allusion to the curious coloration of the animal, each side of the body having a broad oblique stripe, half gray and half black, which gives it some resemblance to a heraldic banner. it has an excessively long, slender muzzle, and a warm-like extensile tongue. its jaws are destitute of teeth. the claws are much elongated, and its gait is very awkward. it lives on the ground, but all the other species of this singular genus are arboreal. i met with four species altogether. one was the _myrmecophaga tetradactyla_, or little ant-eater; the two others, more curious and less known, were very small kinds, called _tamanduá-i_ (_myrmecophaga tamandua_). both are similar in size--ten inches in length, exclusive of the tail--and in the number of the claws, having two of unequal length to the anterior feet, and four to the hind feet. one species is clothed with grayish-yellow silky hair; this is of rare occurrence. the other has a fur of a dingy brown colour, without silky lustre. one was brought to me alive, having been caught by an indian clinging motionless inside a hollow tree. i kept it in the house about twenty-four hours. it had a moderately long snout, curved downwards, and extremely small eyes. it remained nearly all the time without motion, except when irritated, in which case it reared itself on its hind-legs from the back of a chair to which it clung, and clawed out with its fore-paws like a cat. its manner of clinging with its claws, and the sluggishness of its motions, gave it a great resemblance to a sloth. it uttered no sound, and remained all night on the spot where i had placed it in the morning. the next day i put it on a tree in the open air, and at night it escaped. these small tamanduás are nocturnal in their habits, and feed on those species of termites which construct earthy nests, that look like ugly excrescences on the trunks and branches of trees. the different kinds of ant-eaters are thus adapted to various modes of life, terrestrial and arboreal." in tropical america the most remarkable representatives of the carnivora are two great species of felidæ: the puma, or cougouar (_felis concolor_), also called the lion of america; and the jaguar, or ounce (_felis onca_), sometimes distinguished as the american tiger. the puma measures about five feet from nose to tail; the tail alone measuring two feet and a half. his colour is a brownish-red, with small patches of deeper tint, only shown up by certain lights; the breast, belly, and inner flanks are of a reddish ash; the lower jaw and throat entirely white; the tail of a dusky ferruginous tinge, tipped with black. as he grows older, however, his general colour becomes a silvery fawn. he has no mane. his manners--that is, his habits and disposition--are rather those of the panther than the lion. he climbs trees with cat-like expertness, whether in chase of birds, or to secure a vantage-point from which he may pounce upon some unsuspecting victim. he never attacks the larger quadrupeds, confining himself to such "small deer" as young calves, colts, and sheep. men, children, dogs--these he suffers to pass by unmolested. his depredations are nocturnal. when domesticated, he may well be likened to the common cat, and he shows his pleasure at being caressed by the same kind of gentle purring. but he is a ferocious animal, and will kill fifty sheep or more in order to drink their blood. [illustration: cougouars, or pumas.] a much more formidable animal is the jaguar. in size and strength he is but little inferior to the tiger. he has a large and rounded head; his pliant body is marked on the back with long uninterrupted stripes, on the legs and thighs with full black spots; his ground colour is a pale brownish-yellow; his legs are short, thick, and robust. he extends his ravages over all central and south america, and over a considerable range of the northern continent. like the tiger, he loves the shade of hot swampy jungles, the neighbourhood of the river and the lake. he generally preys on animals of domestic origin, which have grown wild in the prairies and the pampas, but he will also attack the bisons, and the other herbivora. fish, too, he does not disdain to eat; and in default of other food, will even seize upon the caïmans. it is rare that he attacks man; but if attacked by him, he defends himself courageously, and his muscular strength renders him exceedingly formidable. not even an ajax could maintain a combat with him as fitz-james fought with roderick dhu, when-- "foot, and point, and eye opposed, in dubious strife they darkly closed;" if man would win, he must arm himself with bow and arrow, keen spear, or unerring rifle. the hunter, thus provided, pursues him with restless animosity to obtain his fur, which is much esteemed in commerce, where it is improperly designated by the names of "great panther," and "american tiger." [illustration: bison attacked by a jaguar.] according to humboldt, the pampas are colonized with dogs grown wild, which gather in great numbers in subterranean caverns, and oftentimes, when stimulated by hunger, fling themselves upon man, in whose defence they originally displayed their courage. [illustration: prairie wolves (_arctomys ludoricianus_).] in north america there exists a very curious species of rodents, belonging to the sub-genus _spermophilus_, or _spermatophilus_--that is, "grain-eaters." they are better known by the hunter's name, "prairie dogs." mr. murray remarks that it is difficult to say _why_ they obtained such an absurd appellation, for they do not bear the slightest resemblance to the canine species, either in formation or habits.[ ] "in size," he says, "they vary extremely, but in general they are not larger than a squirrel, and not unlike one in appearance, except that they want his bushy tail; the head is also somewhat rounder. they burrow under the light soil, and throw it up round the entrance to their dwelling like the english rabbit; on this little mound they generally sit, chirping and chattering to one another, like two neighbour gossips in a village. their number is incredible, and their cities (for they deserve no less a name) full of activity and bustle. i do not know what their occupations are; but i have seen them constantly running from one hole to another, although they do not ever pay any distant visits. they seem on the approach of danger always to retire to their own homes; but their great delight apparently consists in braving it, with the usual insolence of cowardice when secure from punishment; for, as you approach, they wag their little tails, elevate their heads, and chatter at you like a monkey, louder and louder the nearer you come; but no sooner is the hand raised to any missile, whether gun, arrow, stick, or stone, than they pop into the hole with a rapidity only equalled by that sudden disappearance of punch, with which, when a child, i have been so much delighted in the streets and squares of london." captain murray observes that as there is generally neither rain nor dew on the plains which they inhabit, during the summer, while, on the other hand, these little creatures never wander far from their "towns," it seems reasonable to conclude they need no other liquid than they can extract from the grass they eat. it is certain that they pass the winter in a complete state of lethargy and torpor, for they accumulate no supply of provisions against that season; while the herbage which thrives about their habitat dries up in autumn, and soon afterwards the frosts render it impossible for them to procure their ordinary food. when the prairie dog feels the approach of his time of somnolence--generally about the end of october--he closes all the passages of his dormitory to protect him from the cold, and wholly resigns himself to the pleasures of repose. he remains thus immured and inert until awakened by the first warm airs of spring, when he throws wide his gates and reappears on the surface of the refreshened earth, in all his whilome liveliness and gaiety. chapter xi. animal life in the prairies of the new world:--birds and reptiles. we have seen in a preceding chapter that the great terrestrial and aquatic birds ("waders") of the wild plains of the ancient world have few analogues in america, and that the small number of genera which are represented therein are represented by much smaller species. i have cited the ostrich and the phenicopterus. the american ostrich, or nandou (_rhea_), is not above half the size of his african congener, from which he differs in having the feet three-toed, and each toe armed with a claw. moreover, his head and neck are more fully clothed with plumage; the wings are plumed, and more perfectly developed; and he is tailless. the neck has sixteen vertebræ. though endowed with more perfect wings than the ostrich of africa, he is nevertheless incapable of flight, representing another grade in nature's slow ascent from the wingless bird to the bird possessed of full powers of flight. he inhabits the wide grassy plains of south america below the equator, and as far south as latitude °. he is never seen across the cordilleras, but roams in great numbers the banks of la plata and its tributaries. he is generally seen in small troops. there are at least three species: the _rhea americana_, about five feet high; the _rhea macrorhyncha_, distinguished by its large bill; and the _rhea darwinii_, the smallest, which inhabits patagonia. the flamingoes proper to the new world are: the red flamingo, all whose plumage glows with a more or less vivid red; and the fiery flamingo, probably only a variety of the preceding. both are natives of the dreary patagonian desert, of chili, and some other southern districts. [illustration: . cathartes-urubu. . king of the vultures.] the order of waders, and that of palmipeds, include, in the low marshy levels of this continent, some characteristic species: notably, the jacanas and the kamichis; the agami or trumpet-bird, remarkable for its pastoral instinct, its domestic aptitudes, and the ringing sound of its voice; the savacou, which, in the structure of its enormous beak and its general habits, is allied to the african balæniceps. here, as in africa, a species of rapacious grallator flourishes, the _cariama_, delivering "a war to the knife" against the reptile legions. raptores more accurately defined--such, for example, as the _falco cachinnans_, or laughing vulture--share in the destructive campaign against frogs, toads, lizards, and small serpents. and in the new, as in the old world, nature does not neglect the work of purification, intrusting it in the savannahs and the pampas to various kinds of vulturidæ, which devour the putrid carcasses that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere. the _cathartes-urubu_ and the _aura_ are the most common species; the mexicans call them _zopilotes_. they are found in all central and southern america, and frequently range to very high latitudes. they are of small size, very social, easy familiarized with man, and may be seen in great numbers, not alone in the deserts and plains, but in the great towns, where they efficiently play the part of great sanitary reformers. they are gifted with extraordinary delicacy of scent; they detect the existence of carrion at great distances, and flock from the four quarters of heaven to banquet upon it. the _sarcoramphus papa_, or "king of the vultures," a species closely allied to the great condor of the andes, is likewise encountered very frequently in the plains of tropical america, but only where the herbage has been set on fire; which is a common enough occurrence, either through lightning, or by accident or design on the part of the indians. then he arrives on rapid pinion to prey upon the lizards, and frogs, and serpents which are destroyed by the scathing and consuming flames. his attire is more elegant than his mission in creation would seem to render necessary. the plumage on the upper part of the body is of a reddish hue, the neck and head of a delicate bluish-violet, the beak red, the crest orange, the eyebrows white, and the wings black. he is about the size of the domestic turkey. the tawny _caracara_, a bird of the genus _polyborus_, as large as the common kite, and with a tail nine inches long; and the _harpy eagle_ (thrasaëtus), distinguished by its formidable beak and legs, its erect crest and flashing eyes--both widely distributed in all the hot regions of the new world--belong to the _falconidæ_ family (in the latest classification), as well as the great white-headed fishing eagle, or pygargue (_haliaëtus leucocephalus_), which inhabits the northern continent. the latter has been eloquently described by the paisley ornithologist, the celebrated wilson:[ ]--"elevated on the high dead branch of some gigantic tree that commands a wide view of the neighbouring shore and ocean, he seems calmly to contemplate the motions of the various feathered tribes that pursue their busy avocations below; all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid magazine of nature. high over all these hovers one whose action instantly arrests his attention. by his wide curvature of wing and sudden suspension in the air, he knows him to be the fish hawk, settling over some devoted victim of the deep. his eye kindles at the sight, and, balancing himself with half-opened wings on the branch, he watches the result. down, rapid as an arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his attention, the roar of his wings reaching the ear as he disappears in the deep, making the surges foam around! at this moment, the eager looks of the eagle are all ardour, and, levelling his neck for flight, he sees the fish hawk emerge struggling with his prey, and mounting in the air with screams of exultation. these are the signals for our hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives chase, and soon gains on the hawk; each exerts his utmost to mount above the other, displaying in these rencounters the most elegant and sublime aërial evolutions. the unencumbered eagle rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest execration, the latter drops the fish; the eagle, poising himself for a moment, as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods." a similar picture, let me add, has been painted by the poet spenser, though he refers, of course, to the british eagle:-- "like to an eagle, in his kingly pride, soaring through his wide empire of the air to weather his broad sails, by chance has spied a goshawk, which hath seizèd for her share upon some fowl that should her feast prepare. with dreadful force he flies at her again, that with his voice which none endure or dare her from the quarry he away doth drive, and from her griping pounce the greedy prey doth rive." the _reptilia_ are represented in america by a very great number of species, many being remarkable for their great size or the terrible venom with which they are provided. the crocodiles of the american continent form a distinct genus, sometimes designated _alligator_, and sometimes _caiman_. the alligators, or caimans (_alligator lucius_), are saurians of huge bulk; with a long flat head, thick neck and body, a cavernous mouth suggestive of infinite voracity, dull cruel eyes, and a long taper tail, which, strongly compressed on the sides, is surmounted with a double series of strong plates, that unite about the middle, and form a single row to the extremity. it is this tail that gives them most of their progressive power in the water, and though it obstructs their movements on land, it is useful even then as a powerful weapon of defence. transverse rows of square bony plates, rising in the centre into keel-shaped ridges, protect the body, and render the hideous animal exceedingly formidable as an antagonist. it frequently attains the length of eighteen, and is seldom less than fifteen feet. its teeth are numerous, sharp, and strong; its claws long and tenacious. it feeds generally on fish, turtle, fowl, or whatever other prey may fall within its reach; and woe to the unfortunate animal that comes to the river-bank in quest of water within the range of this ferocious saurian. [illustration: alligators, or caimans.] the caiman never attacks man if his intended victim is on his guard, but he is cunning enough to know when this may be done with impunity. mr. bates records an affecting instance. the river amazons at caiçara had sunk one season to a very low point, so that the port and bathing-place of the village now lay at the foot of a long sloping bank, and a large caiman made his appearance in the shallow and muddy water. "we were all obliged," says our traveller,[ ] "to be very careful in taking our bath; most of the people simply using a calabash, pouring the water over themselves while standing on the brink. a large trading canoe, belonging to a barra merchant, arrived at this time, and the indian crew, as usual, spent the first day or two after their coming into port in drunkenness and debauchery ashore. one of the men, during the greatest heat of the day, when almost every one was enjoying his afternoon's nap, took it into his head whilst in a tipsy state to go down and bathe. he was seen only by the suiz de paz (justice of peace), a feeble old man who was lying in his hammock, in the open verandah at the rear of his house on the top of the bank, and who shouted to the besotted indian to beware of the alligator. before he could repeat his warning the man stumbled, and a pair of gaping jaws, appearing suddenly above the surface, seized him round the waist and drew him under the water. a cry of agony was the last sign made by the wretched victim. the village was aroused; the young men, with praiseworthy readiness, seized their harpoons and hurried down to the bank; but of course it was too late, a winding track of blood on the surface of the water was all that could be seen. they embarked, however, in light boats, determined on vengeance; the monster was traced, and when, after a short lapse of time, he came up to breathe, one leg sticking out from his jaws, was dispatched with bitter curses." in the temperate regions of north america, where crocodiles still exist, these animals pass the entire winter in lethargic torpor. in the pampas of tropical america, on the contrary, it is during the hot season that they remain inert in the mud of the dried-up marshes. "according to the statements of the natives," says humboldt, "you may sometimes see, on the return of the rainy season, the humid clay slowly uplifted and loosened in great clods. a violent detonation soon makes itself heard, and the earth is flung up into the air to a great height, as in eruptions of small mud volcanoes. if you understand the cause of this phenomenon you will quickly take to flight, for from this retreat immediately emerges a monstrous water-serpent or a plated crocodile, which the first shower has awakened from his lethargy." the great water-serpent here spoken of is, in all probability, the gigantic boa-constrictor, one of the most dangerous denizens of the marshy plains of equatorial america. travellers of unimpeachable authority assert that this frightful reptile often attains the length of thirty-six to forty-five feet. day and night he lurks among the tall rank herbage; in the morning and the evening he places himself in ambush on the border of some lake or water-course to surprise the quadrupeds which flock thither to quench their thirst. by means of his prehensile tail he suspends himself to a tree on the shore, and patiently awaits the coming prey. when an animal passes within his reach, he swiftly seizes it, enfolds it in his spiral coils, crushes it against the tree which serves for his _point d'appui_, compresses its bleeding mass into a convenient form, covers it with a glutinous saliva, and swallows it. in this fashion the boa will devour a stag or even an ox entire, nor does he fear to attack the puma and the jaguar. whether he is dangerous to man may reasonably be doubted; his immense size, at all events, renders it easy to avoid him. he preys upon fish in default of other provision, and to catch his victims often remains for a considerable time with his head and a portion of his body plunged under water. the true scourges of tropical america and the antilles are the _rattlesnake_ and the lance-headed _viper_. the rattlesnake (_crotalus horridus_) is one of the deadliest of venomous serpents, is frequently six feet in length, and as thick as a man's leg. but providence has furnished it with an antidote against its own poison, or, at least, with an instrument which makes it its own betrayer, and warns man involuntarily against its formidable presence. this is the _rattle_ to which it owes its vulgar appellation. the rattle is situated at the end of the tail, and consists of several hard, dry, bony processes. imagine a string of hollow, dry, semi-transparent bones, nearly of the same size and figure, and resembling to some extent the shape of the human _os sacrum_: imagine these so placed that the tip of every uppermost bone runs within two of the bones below it; imagine these constantly clattering against each other, as the reptile moves, with a hoarse, dull, echoing sound, and you will be able to form some idea of the permanent warning of its approach which the crotalus carries about with it. the rattle is placed with the broad part perpendicular to the body, and not horizontal; and the first joint is attached to the last vertebra of the tail by means of a thick muscle beneath it, no less than by the membranes which unite it to the skin. the bony rings increase in number with the reptile's age, and it gains an additional one, it is said, at each casting of the skin. [illustration: crotalus, and boa-constrictor.] the _crotalus horridus_ is of a yellowish-brown colour, varied with patches of a deeper hue, and from the head to some distance down the neck run two or three longitudinal stripes of the same. its habits are sluggish; it moves slowly, and only bites when angered, or for the purpose of killing its prey. it is provided with two kinds of teeth--viz., the smaller, which, planted in each jaw, serve to catch and retain the food; and secondly, the fangs or poisonous teeth, which kill the prey, and are placed outside the upper jaw. it feeds principally upon the smaller mammals and upon birds, which it seems certain it possesses a peculiar power of fascinating--the effect, it may be, of intense fear. "when the piercing eye of the rattlesnake is fixed on them," says mr. murray, "terror and amazement render them incapable of escaping; and, while involuntarily keeping their eyes fixed on those of the reptile, birds have been seen to drop into its mouth, as if paralyzed, squirrels descend from their trees, and leverets run into the jaws of the expecting devourer." hogs and peccaries, however, are unaffected by this panic, and feed greedily upon the reptile which causes it, whose venomous fangs cannot penetrate their formidable hide. its poison, once imbibed, is very fatal, acting upon man and the larger mammals, such as the horse or ass, in a few hours. [illustration: trigonocephalus pursued by birds.] the lance-headed viper or trigonocephalus (_bothrops lanceolatus_), is most common in the west indian islands, where it is justly dreaded. it has been computed that, at martinique, fifty persons out of a population of , souls die annually from the bite of these odious reptiles. their fecundity is frightful. every female bears sixty young, which on their very advent into the world are completely formed and able to wound. this viper, moreover, carries no warning rattle; nothing indicates its presence; and in the countries which it inhabits, the wayfarer, if prudent, will beat the herbs and bushes as he advances with a switch. then the trigonocephalus, if there be one in the way, will take flight and reveal itself, for it is too large to glide away unseen. therefore, the negroes of martinique, who, of necessity, are assiduous reptile hunters, state as an incontrovertible axiom, confirmed by immemorial experience, that "a serpent seen is a serpent dead." in truth, the serpent is only formidable to man when not perceived, and when one treads upon it accidentally. in the open field its defeat and death are inevitable, however little coolness or skill its assailant may possess. and to warn us of the presence of the trigonocephalus, nature has supplied us with numerous watchful sentinels in the small birds, whose not unreasonable hate against this serpent is a remarkable proof of their intelligence. if ever your destiny conduct you to the antilles, says a naturalist, cold-blooded sportsman as you may be, do not slay the little bird which the grateful negroes, though he sings but little, have wished to name the nightingale; for if you do so, they will regard you with suspicion and dislike. he is their protector, and he watches also over you. no sooner does he see, from his aërial station, the scales of the reptile gliding into the herbage or glittering among the large leaves, than he can no longer control himself. he flies to and fro, he leaps from branch to branch, summoning with a lamentable cry all the feathered tribe from the neighbouring trees. from far and near the cry widens and is repeated; from all directions flock nightingales, and thrushes, grosbeaks, and humming-birds, and hovering above the assassin, furiously denounce it, and indicate its lurking-place to man. irritated by such a concert of maledictions, the serpent elevates its crest, but, lo! they are far beyond its reach! and the cries, the murmurs, the insults are redoubled! it seeks to conceal itself, but these cries persistently accompany it. wherever it drags its slimy shining bulk, they follow, they harass, and they denounce it. either night comes on, or it succeeds in completely hiding itself from their watchful gaze, before they reluctantly leave it to its own devices. great the consternation if their enemy escape them! but what joy, what triumphal sounds, if man appears upon the scene and slays it! * * * * * i have previously alluded to the enormous toads found in south america, and to the gigantic frog which belongs to the northern continent. among the former i may particularize as one of the largest known species, the _agua_; and, as remarkable for its mode of gestation, the _pipa_. the surinam toad, or _pipa surinamensis_ (the _bufo pipa_ of linné), is distinguished by its large triangular head, and horizontally flattened body, with a granulated back. it is now ascertained that the female deposits her spawn at the brink of some shallow or stagnant pool; the male then collects the heap and cautiously places it on the back of the female, where, after impregnation, they are pressed into cellules produced by the tumefaction of the skin. in rather less than three months the eggs are hatched, and the young emerge in a complete state. the bull-frog (_rana pipilus_), of north america, is from six to eight inches long and from three to four inches broad. when his limbs are fully extended he measures about eighteen inches in length. its back is of a sombre green colour, varied with black; the under-parts being of a whitish hue, tinged with green, and thickly spotted. the fore-feet have only four toes, and are unwebbed; the hind-feet are large, long, and widely webbed. its voice may be compared to the distant lowing of a bull, and a chorus of them at night is sufficient to arouse the soundest sleeper. they prey upon ducklings, goslings, and small birds, drowning before devouring them. spite of its size and ungainliness, it is very nimble, and can accomplish a leap of upwards of six feet in height. [illustration: . bufo agua. . pipa surinamensis.] incomplete as is this rapid survey of the fauna of the new world deserts, i cannot terminate it without referring to the strange and formidable fish which haunt the pools, lakes, and marshes of south america--those _gymnoti_, or electrical eels, sometimes five, six, and even eight feet long, which emit electrical discharges of sufficient violence to strike down a man, a horse, or an ox. it is by this singular property the gymnotus supports its existence; its shocks stupify the smaller fishes and other animals that come within its range, so that they fall an easy prey to its voracity. the electrical organs consist of four bundles of parallel membranaceous laminæ arranged along the inner side of the tail, and constituting a remarkably powerful battery. [illustration: fishing for gymnoti.] in hunting the gymnoti the indians adopt a cruel expedient. they drive a herd of horses and mules into the ponds which these eels inhabit, and harpoon them when they have spent their electrical force on the unhappy quadrupeds. the fish swim on the surface of the water like serpents, and skilfully glide beneath the animal's body, discharging the whole length of their electrical battery, and attacking simultaneously the digestive viscera, and, above all, the gastric plexus of nerves. fain would the horses escape their enemies' attacks, but the indians drive them back into the water with stout canes of bamboo and long whips. after awhile the eels grow exhausted; the animals show less alarm; and the indians begin to ply their harpoons with equal agility and success. there are several species of this remarkable fish, and most, if not all, are valued as wholesome food. the gymnotus electricus, however, is the only one which possesses any electrical powers. chapter xii. animal life in the australian prairies. the first naturalists who explored the littoral of the australian continent and its adjacent islands were struck with astonishment at the sight of the strange and almost monstrous animals they discovered there. far more certainly than columbus had they fallen in with a new world; a new world of zoology and botany; a world apart, peopled by beings wholly different from those they had elsewhere studied, and some of which exhibited a complexity and originality of organization and structure wholly antagonistic to the received theories of fundamental characteristics belonging to the various classes of the animal kingdom. the australian fauna, in this respect, can only be compared to that of madagascar, which equally bears an impress peculiarly its own, and presents but a few features of kinship with the indian fauna. it is the latter also that the australian fauna most closely approaches, or, to speak more correctly, from which it least widely diverges. the great herbivora--pachyderms, ruminants, and solidungulates--are absolutely wanting in australia, as well as the carnivora properly so called--apes and lemuridæ. the class of mammals is only represented by a small number of cheiroptera and rodents; by some amphibia, phocæ, and otidæ (seals and bustards), which inhabit the bays carved out of its long line of coast; by the marsupials and a very limited order of monotremata. the two latter groups are pre-eminently characteristic of the australian fauna; the second belongs exclusively to it. little, indeed, is wanting to make it identical with the sub-class of the marsupials, represented only in south america by the genera opossum didelphis, hemiurus, and chironectes, and elsewhere limited to new holland, tasmania, new guinea, new zealand, and some other less important islands of oceania. the marsupials (from the greek [greek: marsypos], a purse) owe their distinctive name to a very curious peculiarity in the organization of the females. the latter bring their young into the world while still very feeble, and of themselves fix them to their breasts, where they remain attached until they have acquired that degree of development which all other mammals possess at their birth. generally the breasts are covered with a loose skin, forming a sort of pouch or purse, in which the young are concealed, which protects them against climatic changes, and enables the mother conveniently to carry them everywhere about with her. two particular bones, called the marsupial bones, attached to the pubis, and placed amidst the abdominal muscles, support this pouch. they assist, says professor owen, in producing a compression of the mammary gland, necessary for the alimentation of a peculiarly feeble offspring, and they defend the abdominal viscera from the pressure of the young as they increase in size, during their mammary or marsupial existence, and still more when they return to the pouch for temporary shelter. the marsupials present, moreover, in the different families composing the order, a great diversity of organization. most of them are herbivorous or frugivorous; but there are some which prefer animal nourishment, and which, in their habits as well as in the structure of their jaws and their digestive apparatus, closely approach the carnivora. the order of which i am speaking includes some animals of great size. such is the great kangaroo (_macropus giganteus_), which generally measures about seven and a half feet in length from the nose to the tip of the tail, the tail being rather more than three feet in length, and fully twelve inches in circumference at the base. in its erect sitting posture, when it rests on its hind-legs and the root of its tail as on a tripod, its height amounts to about fifty inches; but when it rises on its toes to look around, its stature exceeds that of a man. the great length of its hind-legs is a notable peculiarity; their feet are provided with only four toes, the central being very long, of great strength, and terminated in a large and powerful hoof-like nail or claw. the fore-legs, on the contrary, are very short, and the feet divided into five toes, each furnished with a short and somewhat hooked claw. the animal's head is small, with rather pointed ears, and large but placid eyes; it has a thin and gracefully proportioned neck; so that a startling discrepancy is observable between the fore and the posterior parts of the animal, though the general effect is neither ungraceful nor unpleasing. it should be noticed that the kangaroo never folds his tail between his legs, which, i may add, are extraordinarily strong. the thighs are thick, the tarsi long and robust. he only walks on all fours when hotly pressed, and then his appearance is decidedly ungainly. in escaping from an enemy he rears himself upright, skims the plain with bounding leaps, and in a few minutes leaves behind him the swiftest horse or dog. but if all avenues of retreat be closed to him, he plants himself firmly against a tree or a rock and fights with obstinate courage, ripping up his assailants with his potent hind-feet, like a stag with his horns or a wild boar with his tusks. the diet of the kangaroo is essentially "vegetarian;" he lives upon leaves, herbs, and roots, and employs his fore-paws, like the rodents, to carry his food to his mouth. the animal's habits are mild and inoffensive. they roamed very peacefully about the australian prairies before the new continent was opened up to european enterprise; having no other enemies to fear than the natives, who were scattered in small tribes over a few points of an immense territory. their chase is now one of the favourite amusements of the colonists, who destroy them in great numbers. they are easily domesticated, and may be regarded as already acclimatized in europe, where, it is hoped, they may prove of great utility. the flesh of the tame kangaroo is very good, but that of the wild animal is still better. their skin, covered with a thick hair of an uniformly gray colour, may be adapted to various purposes. the genus comprehends several species of very different dimensions: as, the great kangaroo, already mentioned; the woolly or red kangaroo (_m. laniger_), which rather exceeds it in size; and the potoroo, which is larger than a rat. [illustration: large-browed wombat (_phascolomys latifrons_).] i must cite, besides the kangaroos, as the most remarkable types of the australian marsupials, the phascolomys, the phascolarctos, the phalangas, and the thylacynas. the phascolomys, like the kangaroo, has been introduced into europe, where he seems to be perfectly acclimatized, and specimens may be seen both in the london zoological gardens and the jardin zoologique of paris. he is better known by his native name of the wombat (_phascolomys wombat_), and was first discovered by bass, the gallant explorer and surgeon, whose name is indissolubly connected with the bright deeds of australian discovery. the large-browed wombat might, at first sight, be mistaken for a small bear. his loins are thick, his limbs short, his hair coarse--thickly set on the loins, back, and head, thinly scattered about the belly--and of a light, shining sandy-brown. it is difficult to say why he is surnamed _latifrons_, for his forehead is no larger than that of other animals of his family; and, at all events, he exhibits, by way of compensation, an extraordinary extent of surface in the hinder parts, which, as they are utterly deficient in tail, present a very grotesque appearance. he burrows like the badger, and on the australian continent never quits his retreat until night sets in. he lives on herbs and roots. the natives roast his flesh, and esteem it a viand of no ordinary excellence. the phascolarctos, or koala (_phascolarctos cinereus_), is closely allied to the wombat. he is strongly but clumsily made, with robust limbs and powerful claws, which he employs in clinging to the branches of the trees where he chiefly makes his home. however, he frequently visits _terra firma_, and burrows with great ease; concealing himself in a torpid state in his subterranean retreat during the cold season. his fore-feet have each five toes, of which two are opposed to the other three--a circumstance noted in no other mammal. he has no tail, like the wombat. his coat is a bluish-gray fur, very thick and extremely soft, darkest on the back, and very pale under the throat and belly. an elongated nose looks as if it were tipped with black leather. the eyes are round and dark; the ears almost hidden in the plenitude of fur. by day he is a drowsy and, sooth to say, a stupid animal; but at night he wakes up into a more active state. he feeds upon the fresh young tops of trees, selecting their blossoms and young shoots; and though in appearance resembling the phalanga, in habits seems closely allied to the sloth. the _phalangas_ form the typical genus of the tribe of phalangistins, which comprehends, in addition, the genera _trichosura_, _pseudochira_, and _dromicia_. several species are met with in malaysia, but they chiefly belong to the australian fauna. they live chiefly in trees, feeding on various kinds of small animals, insects, eggs, and fruits, which they grasp between their fore-paws, and so bring to their mouth. their appearance may be imagined by putting together a rather short head with short ears and short woolly fur; a squirrel-like body and long prehensile tail, sometimes completely covered with hair: the body measures about twenty-six inches, and the tail about fifteen inches. the two principal species are the sooty phalanga (_phalangista fuliginosa_), found in van diemen's land, and named in reference to its smoky black fur; and the vulpine phalanga, or vulpine opossum (_p. vulpina_), widely distributed over australia, and having a fox-like character about his head. the flying phalangas are also allied to this genus. the _thylacyni_ are distinguished from the opossums by the hind-feet having no thumb, by a hairy and non-prehensile tail, and by having two incisors less to each jaw. only one species is known to exist in australia,[ ] where it is called the "tasmanian wolf," and sometimes "tiger" and "hyæna." it resembles a wolf in many respects, but its hinder parts are sensibly higher than its fore; its elongated muzzle is almost cylindrical in shape, and very thick; and his tail, broad at the base, tapers away to a fine point. the colour is gray, striped with black across the hinder limbs. of the _thylacynus cynocephalus_ m. paul gervais furnishes the following description:[ ]-- "there exists in tasmania an animal of carnivorous habits almost as large as a wolf, and whose external forms at the first glance do not differ sufficiently from those of the latter to prevent one from including him in the family _canidæ_; but this member of the carnivora, though he has also the wolf's appetite, and commits havoc in the same manner among the flocks of the colonists, belongs, like most of the australian mammals, to the sub-class of marsupials. there is also much analogy, in many of its osteological characteristics, with the extinct genera of the hyenodons and ptérodons; but the latter are in reality monodelphia, and should be ranged among the carnivora properly so called. the english settlers in van diemen's land give the thylacynus the name of _zebra wolf_, because it has, in effect, the greater portion of the dorsal region and the base of the tail marked with transversal brown lines, like zebra stripes. this carnivorous animal is also their _dog-headed opossum_. [illustration: thylacynus cynocephalus.] "allied to other marsupials by the totality of its anatomical characteristics, it is nevertheless easy to distinguish generically; in the first place, it is of great size, and its exterior recalls that of the wolf, though it has a longer head and a tail garnished with very short hair; the latter is, at the same time, a little depressed. moreover, it numbers forty-six teeth, with wide intervals between each. it is digitigrade: it has five toes on the fore, and four toes on its hinder feet; its marsupial bones are simply rudimental." if there be one group of animals more than another whose unforeseen discovery has succeeded in astonishing and embarrassing zoologists, it is assuredly that which has been designated by the name of _monotremata_. it is the lowest order of vertebrated animals, the very bottom of the scale, approximating in many characteristic points to the family of birds. the pelvis, it is true, is furnished with marsupial bones, but these animals possess no pouch. the skull is smooth, the brain-case proportionately very small, the snout much prolonged, while the jaws have neither teeth nor soft movable lips. the shoulder-bones do not resemble those of a mammal, but in some respects the scapular joint of the bird; in other respects, that of the reptiles. the feet have five toes, each armed with a long nail; and, in addition, the hind-feet are provided with a perforated spur-like weapon, which is connected with a gland. the genus derives its distinctive name from the circumstance that the orifices of the urinary canals, the intestinal and the generative canals, open, as in birds, into a common vent. the mammary glands, of which only one exists on each side, are not furnished with nipples, but open by simple slits on each side of the abdomen. this order includes two families: the _ornithorhynchidæ_ and the _echidnidæ_, both belonging to australia and tasmania. the former are aquatic in their habits, the latter terrestrial. the echidna (_echidna hystrix_), or porcupine ant-eater, resembles the porcupine in his general appearance and coat of spines, the ant-eater in his snout, mouth, and long lubricated tongue. his legs are very short and thick, and each is furnished with five broad rounded toes; the four toes are armed with a long blunt claw, but on the hind-feet one toe is without a claw, two are short and blunt, and one is of great length, rather curved, and sharp pointed. he measures about twelve inches, and all over the upper-parts of the body and tail is thickly beset with formidable spines, very sharp and strong; over the head, legs, and under-parts with bristly hair of a deep brown colour. his short tail is covered with perpendicular spines. digging up the ground with his keen claws he disburies a host of insects, which he rolls over his long red cylindrical tongue. he is very timid, and when any one approaches him, coils himself up in a ball, like a hedgehog. [illustration: . ornithorhynchus. . echidna.] the _ornithorhynchus_ ("bird-beaked"), or _duck-billed platypus_, is another extraordinary animal, which seems to serve as the connecting link between the aquatic birds and the mammalia. his length is about twenty inches; his body, long and flattened like an otter's, is covered with a thick soft fur, moderately dark brown above and whitish beneath; his tail is flat and obtuse; his feet are furnished with a membrane that unites the toes; and he has an elongated, enlarged, and flattened muzzle like a duck's beak. it is evident, therefore, that he can live only on soft food, and that his habits must be aquatic; and hence we find him burrowing in the banks of the streams, and groping for his food, like a duck, among the mud and water. the settlers term him characteristically "the river-mole." a word of allusion must now be permitted to the _petrogale_, a genus of the kangaroo family, described by dr. gray. the brush-tailed rock wallaby (_p. penicillata_) has a rough long fur, of a dusky brown hue, tinged with red and gray; a white streak passes down the middle of the throat; his tail is very black, like a raven's plumage, long, and furnished with thick hairs forming a brush. the male is about three feet and a half long. another species is called the short-eared rock kangaroo (_p. brachiotis_). both are excessively wild and shy in their habits, frequenting in the day-time the most inaccessible rocks and the loftiest mountain-peaks, and descending, at the approach of twilight, to feed in the retired and grassy valleys. they flock together in such numbers as to form well-beaten paths along the mountain-sides, and leap from crag to crag with all the agility of the chamois. * * * * * the ornithological fauna of australia and the islands of oceania is incomparably richer than the mammalogical fauna, and includes several species of the most dazzling plumage; but nearly all these species inhabit the forests which cover a part of the littoral and probably of the interior. however we must signalize, as peculiar to the prairies, a great number of the _brevipennes_ (_i.e._, short-wings), the emu or emeu (_dromaius novæ hollandiæ_); two palmipeds, the black swan and the cereopsis; and, finally, a bird, the only one of its order, almost as much of a paradox among bipeds as is the ornithorhynchus among quadrupeds, the apteryx. the emu is allied to the cassowary; he is nearly equal to the ostrich in bulk, but has a thicker body, shorter legs, and a shorter neck. he measures more than seven feet in length; his plumage exhibits a mixture of brown and gray; his beak is black, his head covered with feathers; he has real wings, though they are of so small a size as to be useless for flight; they are covered with feathers like the rest of the body, from which, when the bird is not in motion, they can hardly be discerned. internally, the emu differs, it is said, from all other species, particularly in having no gizzard, and in the extremely small size of his liver. emus are killed, according to captain (now sir george) grey, in precisely the same manner as kangaroos, but as they are more prized by the natives, a greater degree of excitement prevails when an emu is slain; shout succeeds shout, and the distant natives take up the cry until it is sometimes re-echoed for miles. the feast which follows the death, however, is a very exclusive one, for the flesh is much too delicious to be made a common article of food. heavy penalties are accordingly pronounced against young men, and unauthorized persons, who venture to touch it; and these, invariably, are rigidly enforced.[ ] every schoolboy knows the famous quotation in his latin grammar which tells of a "rara avis, simillimaque nigro cygno." a _black swan_ is no longer a "rara avis." the species (_cygnus atratus_) belongs to new holland and tasmania, and is of the same size as the common swan. his plumage is wholly black, with the exception of the primary pens, which are white; his beak is red, and so is the featherless skin surrounding it at the base. he has been successfully acclimatized in europe, and ornaments the lakes and streams of many english parks. the cereopsis, or cerefaced goose, of new holland, is a palmiped genus, about the size of a common goose, which, in general appearance, he resembles, except that his legs are longer, averaging from two and a half to three feet. the plumage is of a dingy gray. a large patch of dull white occupies the top of the head; the quill-feathers, both of the wings and tail, are of a dusty black. his voice has a hoarse deep clang, like that of a storm-bell. he usually weighs from seven to ten pounds, and makes an excellent dish for an australian christmas table. specimens may be seen both in the zoological gardens of london and paris. [illustration: apteryx australis.] the _apteryx australis_, or wingless emu--the _kiwi_ of the new zealanders--somewhat resembles a penguin in form, and stands about two feet in height. the only living specimen in europe lives, i believe, in the london zoological gardens. as it does not appear to rank, in scientific classification, with any other family or genus, naturalists have erected it into a distinct order--the _nullipennes_, or wingless. the wings of the apteryx are literally rudiments; a mere stump, terminated by a hook. none of his bones are hollow; he has no abdominal air-cells; his feathers have no accessory plume; his feet have a short and elevated hind-toe; his eyes are small; he feeds on insects; and his habits are nocturnal. he is a bird of great physical power, and runs with ostrich-like swiftness; taking refuge, when pursued, in burrows, hollow trees, and the clefts of the rocks. his cry resembles a loud whistle, and the natives entrap the bird by imitating it. when the female has been taken, the male is easily caught, owing to his reluctance to leave her. he will, however, defend himself vigorously with his spurs. the erpetological fauna of australia, and, in general, of oceania, is very poor, and comprehends no great species. i may notice a genus of lizards, the chlamydosaurus, discovered by allan cunningham, the naturalist attached to captain king's expedition, about . it measures about seventeen inches in length, of which twelve inches are apportioned to the tail; is of a yellowish-brown colour; has a large head, with prominent eyes; and a membraneous ruff or tippet round its neck, covering its shoulders, and when expanded spreading about five inches in the form of an open umbrella. if attacked or terrified, it elevates the frill or ruff and makes for a tree; where, if overtaken, it throws itself upon a stem, raising its head and chest as high as it can upon the fore-legs, then doubling its tail underneath the body, and displaying a very formidable set of teeth from the concavity of its large frill, it boldly faces any opponent, biting fiercely whatever is presented to it, and even venturing so far in its rage as to fairly make a fierce charge at its enemy. venomous serpents are numerous: particularly the _hydrophis_, or water-snake, very common in the neighbouring seas, where it feeds on fishes. the back part of the body and tail being much compressed, and vertically raised, endows it with the capacity of swimming. [illustration] [illustration] book iv. _the forests._ chapter i. the virgin forests. "the noonday sun now shone upon the forest, one vast mass of mingling shade.... like restless serpents, clothed in rainbow and in fire, the parasites, starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around the gray trunks, and, as gamesome infants' eyes. with gentle meanings, and most innocent wiles, fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, these twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs uniting their close union; the woven leaves make net-work of the dark blue light of day, and the night's noontide clearness, mutable as shapes in the weird clouds." shelley. in all parts of the world some regions exist where, owing to a concourse of favourable circumstances, the productive forces of nature have been able to manifest themselves with an exceptional energy--where vegetable life, in particular, has acquired an extraordinary development. the rich soil is covered, over more or less extensive areas, with vivacious plants, robust and of great stature, which closely rooted, one against another, with intertwining and overarching boughs, sustaining by their bulk and shading with their foliage other and weaker plants, have formed in the course of innumerable ages those masses of umbrageous gloom called forests. these, undoubtedly, are one of the grandest and most impressive monuments of the creative power; one, i may add, of the most eloquent, for there is nothing in all nature whose study better repays the student, or which more largely abounds in important lessons. the virgin forest, moreover, is one of the sanctuaries of nature, where her mysteries are seldom profaned by man. there life reveals itself, and moves at liberty, under an infinite variety of forms. it is the asylum of a multitude of animals of all classes, which find therein, united, the two essential conditions of existence--shelter and nourishment. without the difficult approaches, the obscurity and the profound depth of the forests, says a naturalist, what would become of the species of mammals, birds, and reptiles, against which man wages incessant war? nature, then, seems to have provided these immense reservoirs to prevent their species from being totally annihilated. independently of the trees which constitute the forests, a host of other plants make them their exclusive _habitat_; thence the specific and eminently characteristic names--such as _sylvestris_, _sylvaticus_, _nemorosus_--imposed upon a great number among them. such plants are distinguished from their congeners by the great dimensions of their stems; but, on the other hand, they do not possess the brilliantly-coloured flowers which adorn the plants of the mountains and the plains always exposed to the action of the solar light. the forests, moreover, offer for the botanist this remarkable and singularly precious circumstance, that they form natural collections of trees of the same species, or of several species of the same genus, or at least of the same family; so that their limits circumscribe the _habitat_ of these grand vegetables, and permit us to determine with ease their geographical distribution. [illustration: the virgin forest of the gaboon.] the forests fill an important function in the general economy of the globe, by the influence which they exercise upon the mean temperature and the other meteorological conditions of the regions they shelter. all other things being equal, the temperature of well-wooded countries is perceptibly less elevated and more uniform than that of dry and open districts. the amount of humidity which is retained on the surface of the soil by wide-spread woods is considerable; it results from the lesser evaporation of the waters, the abundant transpiration of the leaves, and the heavy rains which inundate the forests during the tropical summer. forests, like mountains, seem to attract the clouds. so the plains which lie on their borders are ever better watered and fertile than those whose horizon no obstacle encumbers. thus, then, in the forests, in this bright and beautiful world of vegetation, most of the pleasures which man can derive from external nature are garnered up, and most of the lessons he requires are written. all kinds of precious grace and teaching, says mr. ruskin,[ ] are united in this link between the earth and the stars: wonderful in universal adaptation to his need, desire, and discipline; god's daily preparation of the earth for him, with beautiful means of life. "first, a carpet to make it soft for him; then, a coloured fantasy of embroidery thereon; then, tall spreading of foliage to shade him from sun heat, and shade also the fallen rain, that it may not dry quickly back into the clouds, but stay to nourish the springs among the moss. stout wood to bear this leafage: easily to be cut, yet tough and light, to make houses for him, or instruments (lance-shaft, or plough handle, according to his temper); useless it had been, if harder; useless, if less fibrous; useless, if less elastic. winter comes, and the shade of leafage falls away, to let the sun warm the earth; the strong boughs remain, breaking the strength of winter winds. the seeds which are to prolong the race, innumerable according to the need, are made beautiful and palatable, varied into infinitude of appeal to the fancy of man, or provision for his service: cold juice, or glowing spice, or balm, or incense, softening oil, preserving resin, medicine of styptic, febrifuge, or lulling charm--and all these presented in forms of endless change. fragility and force, softness and strength, in all degrees of aspects; unerring uprightness, as of temple pillars, or undivided wandering of feeble tendrils on the ground; mighty resistances of rigid arm and limb to the storms of ages, or wavings to and fro with faintest pulse of summer streamlet. roots cleaving the strength of rock, or binding the transience of the sand; crests basking in sunshine of the desert, or hiding by dripping spring and lightless cave; foliage for tossing in entangled fields beneath every wave of ocean--clothing with variegated, everlasting fibres, the peaks of the trackless mountains, or ministering at cottage doors to every gentlest passion and simplest joy of humanity." considered in their physiological aspect, it is evident that the forests have played, from the remotest ages of our planet, a pre-eminently useful part, by absorbing the carbonic acid with which the atmosphere was surcharged, fixing the carbon, and restoring to the air a quantity of oxygen sufficient for the support of animal life, impossible or rudimentary previous to their creation. and they still serve to maintain the chemical equilibrium of the atmosphere, by incessantly refeeding it with the oxygen which the respiration of animals and the phenomena of combustion have transformed into carbonic acid. * * * * * forests formerly abounded in europe. in gallia, germania, illyria, sarmatia, whole provinces were covered with immense woods of ancient and patriarchal trees. civilization has destroyed them in great part, and often without discernment. at the present day few forests in europe remain untouched. they are rare in western asia, in central asia, and in northern asia; rarer still in the chinese empire, where the population is denser than in any other country of the world, and where it is the great object of the policy of the state that not a rood of land shall be lost for the culture of plants valuable as food or for industrial purposes. it is only to the south of the himalaya mountains, in the still savage and scantily peopled regions of india and indo-china, that one sees the great vegetables of the tropical zone agglomerated in compact masses of considerable extent. in africa, forests of any size or density only exist in the mountainous countries and towards the western littoral; as, notably, in the soudan, the senegal, in guinea, at the gaboon, and on the coasts of angola and benguela. in north america, civilization has accomplished, in less than three centuries, the work which in europe occupied a much longer period. the magnificent forests which spread their awful shades--their vast luxuriance of gloom--over the surface of this continent have fallen before the axe of the pioneer. only at a few points is realized the fine picture of the poet; only in a few untrodden recesses still flourishes the primeval forest, where-- "the murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, stand like druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms."[ ] when captain palliser's expedition attempted to reach the head waters of the north thompson from the sources of the north saskatchewan river, the leader encountered a forest-growth so dense, and so encumbered with fallen timber, that it proved an insurmountable obstacle. viscount milton and mr. cheadle, in their adventurous journey across the rocky mountains to british columbia, were involved in one of these wildernesses, and with difficulty effected a passage. "no one," they remark,[ ] "who has not seen a primeval forest, where trees of gigantic size have grown and fallen undisturbed for ages, can form any idea of the collection of timber, or the impenetrable character of such a region. there were pines and thujas of every size--the patriarch of feet in height standing alone, or thickly-clustering groups of young ones struggling for the vacant place of some prostrate giant. the fallen trees lay piled around, forming barriers often six or eight feet high on every side: trunks of huge cedars, moss-grown and decayed, lay half-buried in the ground on which others as mighty had recently fallen; trees still green and living, recently blown down, blocking the view with the walls of earth held in their matted roots; living trunks, dead trunks, rotten trunks; dry, barkless trunks, and trunks moist and green with moss; bare trunks, and trunks with branches--prostrate, reclining, horizontal, propped up at different angles; timber of every size, in every stage of growth and decay, in every possible position, entangled in every possible combination. the swampy ground was densely covered with american dog-wood, and elsewhere with thickets of the aralea, a tough-stemmed trailer, with leaves as large as those of the rhubarb-plant, and growing in many places as high as a man's shoulders. both stem and leaves are covered with sharp spines, which pierce your clothes as you force your way through the tangled growth, and make the legs and hands of the pioneers scarlet from the inflammation of myriads of punctures." far grander the scene, however--far richer in form and colour--which meets our gaze in the stupendous forest growth still covering the basins of the amazon and the orinoco. as a companion to the foregoing picture, we borrow one of this brighter and more wonderful region as painted with equal truth and vigour by mr. bates:--[ ] "the ground was thickly carpeted with lycopodiums,[ ] but it was also encumbered with masses of vegetable _débris_ and a thick coating of dead leaves. fruits of many kinds were scattered about, amongst which were numerous species of beans, some of the pods a foot long, flat and leathery in texture, others hard as stone. in one place might be seen a quantity of large empty wooden vessels; such they appeared to be, but in reality they had fallen from the sapucaya tree. they are called _monkey's drinking-cups_ (cuyas de macaco), and are the capsules of the nuts sold under this appellation in covent garden market. the top of the vessel is pierced with a circular hole, in which a natural lid fits easily. when the nuts ripen this lid becomes loosened, and down falls the heavy shell with a crash, scattering the nuts over the ground. the tree[ ] which bears this extraordinary burthen is of immense height. it is closely allied to the brazil-nut tree,[ ] whose seeds are likewise enclosed in large wooden vessels, but these are without lids, and fall entire to the ground. it is at least feet high, and rises to the noble stature of feet before it throws off any branches. from twelve to twenty of these sweet edible nuts lie in a pod. the monkeys are very partial to them, and will patiently sit for hours hammering at a capsule with a stone, in order to open it; and as soon as they have succeeded, the on-lookers rush to the spot, to purloin as many as they can. the natives assail the quarreling party with stones, a proceeding which incites the monkeys to revenge themselves by a discharge of nuts. by this means the indians load their boats without trouble, and the monkeys are left to make a fresh foray." in his forest wanderings, mr. bates was especially attracted by the colossal trees. he says that, on the whole, they had not remarkably thick stems; the great and uniform height to which they grow without throwing off a branch is a much more noticeable feature than their thickness; but at intervals he paused before a veritable giant. only one of these huge patriarchs of the woods can flourish within a given space; it monopolizes the domain, and none but humble individuals can nestle within its shadow. the cylindrical trunks of these larger trees were generally about twenty to twenty-five feet in circumference. von martius, another brazilian traveller, mentions having measured trees in the pará district, belonging to various species (symphonia coccinea, lecythis spirula, and cratæva tapia), which were fifty to sixty feet in girth at the point where they become cylindrical! the height of the vast column-like stems could not be less than feet from the ground to their lowest branch. the total height of the pao d'ano[ ] and the massaranduba, stem and crown together, may be computed at from to feet. where one of them stands, the vast canopy of leafiness rises above the other forest trees like a domed cathedral above the minor buildings of a city. a very curious feature in these trees is the growth of buttress-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems. the spaces between these buttresses, which may be compared to thin walls of wood, form spacious chambers, like stalls in a stable; some of them large enough to hold half-a-dozen persons. "the purpose of these structures," says mr. bates, "is as obvious at the first glance, as that of the similar props of brickwork which support a high wall. they are not peculiar to one species, but are common to most of the larger forest trees. their nature and manner of growth are explained when a series of young trees of different ages is examined. it is then seen that they are the roots, which have raised themselves ridge-like out of the earth; growing gradually upwards as the increasing height of the tree required augmented support. thus they are plainly intended to sustain the massive crown and trunk in these crowded forests, where lateral growth of the roots in the earth is rendered difficult by the number of competitors." among other remarkable inhabitants of the brazilian wilderness, we may name the lofty moira-tingu,[ ] the samaüma,[ ] and the massaranduba or cow tree.[ ] the eriodendron samaüma, or silk-cotton tree, holds in the new world the same position as the bombax in the old. it rises to an enormous stature without branches, and then spreads out a glorious mass of foliage. the bark is light in colour; and the capsule pod contains a large quantity of down, of a brown tint, and exquisite silky softness. the massaranduba is also called the palo de vacca, the arbor de lacte, the galactodendron utile, or the cow tree. its bark furnishes an abundant supply of milk as pleasant to drink as that of the cow. if exposed to the air it thickens into a glue, which is excessively tenacious, and often employed to cement broken crockery. the tree has a wild, strange appearance, owing to its deeply scored, reddish, and rugged bark, a decoction of which is used as a red dye for cloth. did our readers ever hear of the pashiúba, or bulging-stemmed palm?[ ] it is not one of the tallest kinds, for its height, when full grown, seldom exceeds forty feet; the leaves are somewhat less drooping, and the leaflets broader, than in other species; but if less beautiful, it is, perhaps, far more remarkable. its roots grow above ground, radiating from the trunk at an elevation of ten or twelve feet, so that the tree seems to be supported on stilts; and when it is old, a person can stand upright amongst the roots with the perpendicular stem wholly above his head! about midway, this stem bulges out in a circular swelling, which gives it its distinctive name. the roots closely resemble straight rods, but they are studded with stout thorns, whilst the trunk of the pashiúba is perfectly smooth. it is in the vast primeval forests of central and southern america, and in the leafy wildernesses of the great east indian islands--borneo, sumatra, java, madagascar--that man may still contemplate in all its savage majesty the prodigious flora of the tropics. these, too, are the haunts of many remarkable animals--mammals, and birds, and reptiles--which are there comparatively safe from the pitiless persecution of the hunter and the trapper. to obtain an idea--which, however, can only be very vague and imperfect--of the strange and imposing spectacle and the unexpected scenes which at every step astonish the traveller in the great tropical woodlands, we must study the descriptions of those few but richly endowed adventurers who, after exploring them with the enlightened curiosity of science, have been able to embody the results in language worthy of the subject. in the foremost rank of those who have possessed the twofold qualification of scientific knowledge and descriptive power, we must place the illustrious humboldt. his works are a rich storehouse from which later writers have freely borrowed the materials of their essays. in reference to the phrases " virgin forest," "primeval forest," he has some judicious observations:--ought we to call, he says, by either of these appellations every kind of wild thick wood, encumbered with vigorous trees, upon which man has never laid his destructive hand? in that case they would be appropriate in a number of very different countries, under the temperate, ay, and even under the frigid zone. but if we intend them to designate the impenetrability of an almost boundless forest, the impossibility of clearing a path with the pioneer's axe between serried ranks of trees, not one of which is less than from eight to ten feet in diameter, such virgin forests belong exclusively to tropical regions. we must not believe, however, according to the ordinary story in europe, in the creeping parasitical lianas which, by the interlacement and entanglement of their branches, render the equatorial forests impenetrable. the lianas form but a comparatively insignificant portion of the underwood. the principal obstacle is found in the arborescent plants, which leave not a space uncovered, and this, too, in a country where all vegetables spreading over the soil become ligneous. if a traveller, as soon as he arrives in a tropical clime, whether in the continent or the islands, believes, even before he has penetrated inland, that he is transported to the heart of the virgin forests, his error simply originates in his impatience to realize a long-cherished desire. all tropical forests are not virgin forests. the true virgin forests, notwithstanding the recent explorations of wallace, bates, and agassiz, are very imperfectly known; because it is, in truth, perfectly impossible to survey them in every direction, on account of their vast extent and astonishing impenetrability. when we are told by the traveller that he opened for himself a path with his trusty hatchet, we readily understand that he achieved his boasted victory in places where the obstacles were reduced to feeble lianas and brushwood of no great density, and that he turned aside from the massive barriers formed by the closely-planted trunks of colossal trees. than these mighty vegetable anakim, nothing, says a naturalist, is more imperfectly known in botany. the stems of most being bare and branchless up to a considerable height, their fructification is frequently beyond the reach of man. in vain would he level them by their base: their summits remain suspended by the inter-tanglement of the neighbouring summits, and like so many tantaluses, our travellers see themselves shunned by the fruits which their eyes devour. the rivers, those "tracks which march" through the leafy, woody depths, and the tortuous paths trodden down by generations of wild beasts in their quest after new pastures, after fresh hunting-grounds, or fountains to slake their thirst, are the only roads which can be pursued by the explorer. [illustration: the virgin forest in brazil.] as far as concerns their botanical composition, the virgin forests of the tropics are distinguished from those of cold and temperate regions by general characters which it will, perhaps, be useful to indicate. if, for example, we adopt as our standard of comparison the european forest, we there remark, in the first place, the complete absence of trees belonging to the important groups of acotyledons and monocotyledons, and, in consequence, of the superb palms and elegant arboreal ferns of tropical countries. or, considering only the dicotyledonous plants, we see again that, in lands bordering on the equator, there is scarcely a family of this class which does not furnish its contingent of woody plants, offering most frequently, with forms of infinite variety, clearly displayed and brilliant flowers, remarkable either for their beauty or their fragrance,-- "sweet as sabæan odours from the shores of araby the blest;" while our trees are comprised in a small number of natural groups, and present in general very opposite features; as, for instance, an almost uniform character or aspect, and flowers scarcely visible and of little elegance. it suffices to name the families of the coniferæ and the amentaceæ, which compose the greater portion of the flora of our forests. moreover, as humboldt observes, in the temperate zone, particularly in europe and the north of asia, certain species of trees (_plantæ sociales_) grow together, and form of themselves forests which we may designate by their specific name. in the forests of oaks, firs, and birches which cover the countries of the north, in the forests of limes of the east, one unique species of amentaceæ, coniferæ, or tiliaceæ generally prevails. this uniform society is foreign to the tropical forests. the infinite variety of flowers which expand in these _hylææ_ do not permit us to ask of what the virgin forests are composed. an innumerable quantity of different families stand side by side; even in the most confined spaces it is rare to see trees of the same nature re-united. every day, as the traveller advances, he discovers new forms; oftentimes the outline of the leaf and the ramification of a tree attract his attention, without his being able to distinguish the flowers. there is yet another feature, more striking still, and more general than those previously mentioned, which broadly distinguishes the arborescent vegetation of the tropics from that of northern climates. here the plants, exposed annually to an often intense degree of cold which lasts for several months, experience a kind of suspension of their vital activity, cease to flower and to fructify, and entirely shed their foliage; the resinous species are the only exceptions to this rule. in the neighbourhood of the equator, on the contrary, it is during the hottest, driest season that vegetation suffers; then the herbaceous plants and bushes of the plains die down; but the great trees of the virgin forests are hardly affected; their foliage incessantly renews itself; their branches are at all times loaded with fruits and flowers, and to the wayfarer's eyes they present the glorious spectacle of an eternal freshness, of a life which never wanes. compared with these great points of difference, common to all the virgin forests of the tropics, the peculiar features resulting from the botanical constitution which distinguishes more or less exactly one region from another, have, as the reader will understand, but a secondary importance. with the exception of a few countries which possess a flora _sui generis_--such, for example, as madagascar and australia--the same aspects, the same general forms are almost everywhere reproduced. more distinctive differences may be remarked, at the first glance, in the animal life which peoples the forests of the different quarters of the world; but yet these animals everywhere display the same habits. the great majority of the insects and the birds, the apes, the squirrels, and, in general, all the arboreal animals, awake and put themselves in motion at the first glimpse of day, and animate the forest with their murmurs, their songs, their utterances, their lively sports and frolicsome gambols. i borrow from the entertaining pages of an english traveller the following description of the diurnal cycle of phenomena which revolves in the depths of a virgin forest.[ ] in the early dawn the sky is invariably cloudless; the heavy dew or the previous night's rain, which lay on the moist foliage, becoming quickly dissipated by the glowing sun, which, rising straight out of the east, mounts rapidly towards the zenith. all nature is fresh, new leaves and flower-buds expanding rapidly. some mornings a single tree will appear in flower amidst what was the preceding evening a uniform green mass of forest--a dome of blossom suddenly created as if by magic. the birds are all active; from the wild fruit trees, not far off, we hear the shrill yelping of the tucano (_ramphastos vitellinus_). small flocks of parrots flow over on most mornings at a great height, appearing in distinct relief against the blue sky, always two by two chattering to each other, the pairs being separated by regular intervals. their bright colours, however, are not discernible at such a height. towards two o'clock the heat rapidly increases, and every voice of bird or mammal grows hushed; only in the trees sounds at intervals the harsh whirr of a cicada. the leaves, so moist and fresh in early morning, now become lax and drooping; the flowers shed their petals. on most days in june or july a heavy shower will fall some time in the afternoon, producing a most welcome coolness. the approach of the rain clouds takes place after a uniform fashion very interesting to observe. first, the cool sea-breeze, which commenced to blow about ten o'clock, and which increases in force with the increasing power of the sun, flags, and finally dies away. the heat and electric tension of the atmosphere then grows almost insupportable. languor and uneasiness seize on every one; even the denizens of the forest betraying it by their motions. white clouds rising in the east gather into cumuli, with an increasing blackness along their lower portions. the whole eastern horizon becomes almost suddenly black, and this darkness spreads upwards, obscuring the "orb of day." then through the forest hurtles a mighty wind, swaying the lofty tree-tops; a vivid flash of lightning bursts forth, then breaks a crash of thunder, and down streams the deluging rain. such storms soon cease, leaving bluish-black motionless clouds in the sky until night. meantime all nature is refreshed; but heaps of flower-leaves and fallen petals lie under the trees. towards evening life revives again, and the ringing uproar is resumed from bush and tree. the following morning the sun again rises in a cloudless sky, and so the cycle is completed; spring, summer, and autumn, as it were, in one tropical day. the days are more or less like this throughout the year in this country. a little difference exists between the dry and wet seasons; but generally the dry season, which lasts from july to december, is varied with showers; and the wet, from january to june, with sunny days. "it results from this," says mr. bates, "that the periodical phenomena of plants and animals do not take place at about the same time in all species, or in the individuals of any given species, as they do in temperate countries. of course there is no hybernation, nor, as the dry season is not excessive, is there any summer torpidity as in some tropical countries. plants do not flower or shed their leaves, nor do birds moult, pair, or breed simultaneously. in europe, a woodland scene has its spring, its summer, its autumnal, and its winter aspects. in the equatorial forests the aspect is the same, or nearly so, every day in the year--budding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf-shedding are always going on in one species or other. the activity of birds and insects proceeds without interruption, each species having its own separate times. the colonies of wasps, for instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold climates; but the succession of generations and colonies goes on incessantly. it is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day is a combination of all three. with the day and night always of equal length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutralizing themselves before each succeeding morn; with the sun in its course proceeding mid-way across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or three degrees throughout the year, how grand in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of nature under the equator!" now night comes on, not, as in temperate climes, with a hush and a silence that are almost breathless, but with a thousand strange and formidable sounds. in asia, in africa, in america, as well as in the great islands of the pacific ocean, the forests and the savannahs re-echo all night with discordant cries. the branches are torn down with a crash as the beasts of prey sweep past, and earth resounds beneath their headlong steps. it is no longer the gay, fresh movement of happy life which in the golden noon of day converts the forest into a veritable eden; it is the rush to and fro of scattered animals, pressed by hunger and thirst, either in flight or pursuit; it is the roar of rage or the wail of agony; it is, in a word, the mêlée of sharpened appetites; it is the "witches' sabbath" of the savage world, at which no european, however hardened by the perils of an adventurous career, can be present for the first time without experiencing a deep emotion of melancholy and apprehension. chapter ii. vegetable life in the forests of the old world. i do not think that in all europe, nor, indeed, in the entire temperate zone of the old world, exists such an agglomeration of plants and trees as may merit the appellation of "primeval" or "virgin forest." at all events, this forest, if it really exists, will assuredly be composed of the very trees which we see every day in our own woods, our fields, our parks, and even in our towns, and which have long ceased to awaken in us the idea of wild nature. with the woods of great britain, france, or spain we are all familiar:-- "the beam of noon is broken there by chestnut boughs down the steep verdant sides; the air so freshened by the leaping stream, which throws eternal showers of spray on the mossed roots of trees, and veins of turf, and long dark shoots of ivy-plants, and fragrant hanging bells of hyacinths, and on late anemones that muffle its wet banks."[ ] our poets have sung of the murmurous groves of pines, and the deep dark beech-woods that clothe with shadows the rounded forms of the chalk-hills, and the long alleys of blossoming chestnut, fragrant lime, or sombre yew. therefore, without losing valuable time in these familiar shades, without pausing before the oak which the history of a thousand years has made immortal, let us rapidly traverse the corsican forests, where among the twisted leaves of the elms flourishes the gigantic larician pine; those of greece, where thrive the pines of cephalonia and apollo, and the oaks sacred also to the divinity of delphi and dodona--those oaks, dumb to-day, which formerly gave utterance to oracles not less reverend than those of the pythoness. we will not even suffer ourselves to be delayed among the forests of eastern europe, of asia minor, and of persia, where dominate such species as the pine, the beech, and the chestnut. it is not until we have crossed the indus--that mighty river on whose banks halted the legions of alexander--that the exuberant vegetation of the tropical world breaks upon us in all its glorious verdure and prodigious richness, though confined to a comparatively limited area. the wooded region of the western ghauts, from goa to cape camorin, exhibits the greatest abundance of plants peculiar to southern asia. [illustration: tropical vegetation. . calamus rotang. . bamboos. . borassus flabelliformis. . diospyros ebenum.] to form an idea of the variety and potency of the flora of this region, says m. lanoye,[ ] we must contemplate the specimens immured in our european gardens, and augment tenfold their etiolated proportions; we must bring together, in the dazzling confusion of nature, the mimosas, the musas, the odorous screw-pines, the mangoes, and the orange trees; twine around their trunks the many-branched stems of the bignonias, the nagatelly, the dictantes-sambas, and the lianas which furnish pepper and the betel-nut; group under their shade the most beautiful varieties of azaleas, jasmines, and gardenias; unite those laurels whence we extract camphor, cassia, and cinnamon, with the red santul, the nopals, and the dragon trees which supply the costly gum-lacs; the shrubs which give us spikenard, cardamoms, and amome, with those canes which secrete sugar. above these masses of flowers, above these sources of honey and perfume, we must next display the immense leaves of the talipot and the bourbon-palm, must spread in undulations the aërial palm-crests of the cocoa-nut and the gigantic bamboo; must accumulate the sombre verdure of the teaks and the tamarinds, and the impenetrable branches of the consecrated pines. then, all this being accomplished, we shall still have but a vague and colourless perception of the indian flora, and notably of that which clothes the base of the western ghauts to the east and to the south of the city of goa. the difficulty of picturing to ourselves the entirety of so glorious and rich a scene reveals the impossibility of seizing all its details, of studying one by one all its elements. our attention, however, will be arrested by a small number of species remarkable above all others by their extraordinary dimensions, the elegance of their bearing, the beauty of their flowers and foliage, or by some peculiar and destructive property. we notice in the first place several trees whose close relationship cannot be mistaken to the date trees which we have already met with in the open desert, and which, we may remember, constituted the entire wealth of the inhabitants of the oases. we find representatives of the immense family of palms in every tropical country, and even in the coral islands of the great ocean. india possesses several species. i shall refer only to the _borassus flabelliformis_, whose trunk, to feet in height, is surmounted by a crown of great fan-shaped leaves, folded longitudinally in their first half, cut in the other, and sustained by prickly supports. the other half is made use of by the hindus in the shape of paper, or rather tablets, on which they write with the point of a stylet. the spadices (clustered flowers), if incised before reaching maturity, yield a liquid which, after fermentation, forms the favourite indian beverage of "palm wine." the bamboo, the most gigantic of the tropical gramineæ, is plentifully distributed over india, indo-china, and china, where it frequently flourishes in considerable masses. in height it equals the loftiest palms. its culm is smooth, glittering, straight, and flexible, of a beautiful yellow colour, and regularly intersected by annular rings marked by so many brown streaks. it wavers gently to and fro with the impulse of the wind, as if to refresh with its breath the light undulating foliage. almost innumerable are the services which this heaven-sent plant renders to the inhabitants of the countries where it flourishes. in hedges or plantations it forms around their abodes a formidable defence. with its stems sawn either in accordance with their diameter, or split longitudinally, the natives not only fabricate a host of utensils and articles of furniture, but build their barks and construct their houses. they extract from the spaces between the joints of the young plant a feculent substance which supplies them with an agreeable nutriment, analogous to _sago_. a saccharine juice flows spontaneously from the joints formed by the knots; when fermented it becomes alcoholic and heady like hydromel. the bamboo also proves serviceable in the manufacture of mats and cordage. the slender stems are split into thin strips, which are probably softened in water. these strips, woven together, form mats or carpets of extreme solidity. * * * * * the banana,[ ] like the bamboo and most of the palms, is a cosmopolitan plant throughout the tropic world. its native habitat is supposed to be asia. the oriental christians have a tradition that this tree, which they call the _lignum vitæ_, was that whose fruit was forbidden to our first parents. hence the name of _musa paradisiaca_, given by botanists to one of the two species of the genus; the other is the banana of the wise men, _musa sapientum_. however this may be, it is certain that if the use of the banana was at any time interdicted to man, the prohibition has been annulled for many generations; and its fruits form one of the most wholesome and most general articles of food in tropical countries. although the wild banana maintains its place honourably in the forests of these regions, it is not a tree, but an herbaceous plant. it propagates itself through its suckers, and its stem perishes immediately after fructification. its mode of vegetation is analogous to that of the liliaceæ. from a bulbous and fleshy platform issue, beneath, its fibrous roots; above, enormous leaves, often nearly a yard wide and two to three yards long. the petioles of these leaves are adhesive. by folding themselves one over another, and successively drying up, they grow into a stem which sometimes attains the dimensions of the trunk of an ordinary tree (about seven feet) and the stature of twelve to sixteen feet, and which is traversed throughout its centre by a stalk springing from the bulb. this stalk rises again several inches above the terminal leaf, then bends, sinks towards the ground, and terminates in a stem which carries at its extremity the male flowers, and at its base the female flowers, then the fruit. the latter, collected in clusters of twelve to fourteen, are elongated, of a prismatic triangular form, enveloped in a rind, green at first, then yellow, and internally consist of a soft, feculent, sugary pulp, very nutritious, and agreeable to the taste. in its native clime the banana is born, grows, flourishes, fructifies, and dies in the space of twelve or eighteen months. in the climates most akin to ours, and in our european gardens, its development is not only on a smaller scale, but occupies a longer period, and it has been known to reach the age of ten or a dozen years. [illustration: the banyan tree (_ficus indica_).] by the side of these weak-stemmed plants, with their soft and spongy contexture, grow hosts of robust trees, whose timber is compact and sometimes exceedingly hard, and whose branches are of immense span. my readers will probably remember the lines in which southey so admirably describes one of the most majestic and most singular of these: the banyan, or indian fig-tree (_ficus indica_),[ ] also designated the "multiplying fig-tree," the "admirable fig-tree," and "tree of life." the passage will bear transcription:[ ]-- "it was a goodly sight to see that venerable tree, for o'er the lawn, irregularly spread, fifty straight columns propped its lofty head; and many a long depending shoot seeking to strike its root, straight, like a plummet, grew towards the ground. some on the lower boughs, which crossed their way, fixing their bearded fibres, round and round, with many a ring and wild contortion wound; some to the passing wind, at times with sway of gentle motion swung; others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung like stone-drops from the cavern's fretted height. beneath was smooth and fair to sight, nor weeds nor briars deformed the natural floor; and through the leafy cope which bowered it o'er, came gleams of chequered light." the banyan surpasses in diameter the finest oaks of europe, and throws off numerous branches, of which several redescend towards the earth, force their way into it, take root therein, and in their turn develop into new trunks, whence spring other boughs that go through the same process of fructification; so that a single stem spreads in time into a kind of forest, and the canopy formed by the outgrowth of a solitary tree will frequently overshadow an area of square yards. the evergreen foliage of this beautiful tree forms an immense vault, which has justly been compared to the domed roof of a stately edifice supported by a host of columns. here a myriad birds raise their songs of joy; underneath, the weary pilgrim finds a delightful asylum; from branch to branch leap the mocking ape and the nimble squirrel. the hindus hold their "pagod tree" in great veneration. it is to them one of the emblems of their god siva, and in its dense deep shade they assemble to celebrate their sacrificial rites, whether in honour of this potent deity, or whether in honour of ganesha, a rural divinity, analogous in his attributes to the pan of the greeks and latins. several other tropical trees possess, like the banyan, the property of producing adventitious roots which spring from the trunk or branches which implant themselves in the soil; but not one enjoys an equal power of reproduction and multiplication. * * * * * one of the greatest trees of southern asia, and possibly one of the greatest in the world, is the teak or indian oak (_tectona grandis_), which covers vast areas of ground in hindostan. it flourishes also in pegu, ava, siam, java, and the burman empire. it works easily, and though porous, is permanent and strong; is readily seasoned, and shrinks but little; is of an oleaginous character, and therefore does not corrode iron. it is as strong as oak, and more buoyant. its durability is more uniform and decided; and to insure that durability it needs less care and preparation; for it may be taken into use almost green from the forest, without danger of dry or wet rot. it will endure all climates and all alternations of climate.[ ] the teak of malabar, grown on the high table-lands in the south of india, is esteemed the best, because it is the heaviest, the most durable, contains the most oil, and is the closest in its fibre. next in quality ranks that of java, and inferior to these in some respects is the teak of burmah, rangoon, and siam; which, however, is the most buoyant, and the best fitted for masts and spars. african teak, let me note, is not teak properly so called, but the timber of the _oldfieldia africana_. it is largely imported from the west coast of africa, and though an useful wood, lacks the most valuable properties of the genuine teak. the teak is a handsome and even stately tree, often attaining the noble stature of to feet, with a trunk of proportionate diameter, upright, well-shaped, and surmounted by wide-spread branches. its large leaves are oval, of a velvety under-surface, and besprinkled on the upper with whitish spots. its flowers cluster at the extremity of the branch in an ample and beautiful panicle. the poisonous properties of its wood preserve it from the attacks of vermin, but render it dangerous to work, for men who are but lightly wounded by its splinters die after a very brief interval. a less useful timber than the teak, but much esteemed for the manufacture of articles of luxury, is furnished by the _diospyros ebenum_ and the _santalum album_. in the flora of tropical asia a very important position is occupied by the laurel family. several species of this family deserve to be particularized on account of their commercial value: thus, from the _laurus camphora_ comes the camphor most esteemed by british physicians, while the aromatic rinds of the _laurus cinnamomum_, _culilawan_, _malabathrum_, and _cassia_, constitute the various kinds of cinnamon. the _laurus cassia_ is not to be confounded with another indian tree, one of the leguminosæ, the _cassia fistula_, whose enormous cods formerly played an important rôle under the name of cassia in therapeutic science. while speaking of trees which produce aromatic substances, i must not forget to mention the _styrax benzoïn_, and the _boswellia serrata_. the former is a member of the family _styracaceæ_, whose trees or shrubs, chiefly tropical, are known by their monopetalous flowers, their epipetalous stamens, their long radicle, leafy cotyledons, and by a part at least of the ovules being suspended. the _styrax benzoïn_, a native of the indian islands, yields the resin called benzoin. the juice exudes from incisions made in the bark, and when dried, is removed by a knife or chisel. each tree yields about three pounds' weight annually, the gum formed during the first three years being superior in quality to that which subsequently exudes. it is largely employed by perfumers, and in medicine is esteemed a remedy for chronic pulmonary disorders. _styrax officinale_, a native of the levant, furnishes the balsamic resinous substance known as storax, which is also one of the materials manipulated by perfumers, and in medicine is used as a stimulating expectorant. the _boswellia serrata_ supplies the fragrant incense whose vapours were anciently supposed to be peculiarly agreeable to the gods made by man's hands or conceived by his imagination. india is also the native country and home-land of the indigo plants (_indigofera tinctoria_, and _indigofera anil_, of the leguminosæ family), and the _gossypiums_, from whose expanded fruits is obtained the all-powerful cotton; and in cochin-china we meet with the _croton sebiferum_ or _stillingia sebifera_ (family of the euphorbiaceæ), whose berries contain a rich concrete substance called "tree-tallow," employed, in the far east, in the manufacture of tapers. the latter tree, popularly known as the "tallow tree," has rhomboid leaves, with two prominent glands at the point of attachment between the stalk and the leaf; and its flower catkins are from two to four inches long. "its fruits contain three seeds thickly coated with a fatty substance which yields the tallow. this is obtained by steaming the seeds in large caldrons, and then bruising them sufficiently to loosen the fat without breaking the seeds, which are removed by sifting. the fat is afterwards made into flat circular cakes, and pressed in a wedge-press, when the pure tallow exudes in a liquid state, and soon hardens into a white brittle mass. this tallow is very extensively used for candle-making in china; but as the candles made of it become soft in hot weather, they generally receive a coating of insect wax. a liquid oil is obtained from the seeds by pressing. the tree yields a hard wood used by the chinese for printing blocks, and its leaves are employed for dyeing black."[ ] climbing and epiphytous[ ] plants are very numerous in india; but there are none, perhaps, which in vegetative force and tenacity can be compared to those of the _calamus_, and particularly of the _calamus rotang_ (family of the _palmaceæ_). these lianas are all remarkable for their flexible stem, which attaches itself to the trees, and frequently attains the prodigious length of , , , and even yards. this stem is formed of a series of internodes, or jointed pieces, more or less wide apart, each of which bears a leathery flower, with elongated sheath. the calami frequently render the forests which they inhabit virtually impenetrable, through their long, flexible, and tenacious arms, stretching across from tree to tree, or crawling over the ground, and bristling with formidable thorns. it is these stems which are imported into europe as bamboos, cut into different lengths, and there employed for various industrial purposes. but it is time we took our leave of india, and allowed "observation with extensive view" to survey the far-spreading african forests. there, in the first place, we are called upon to salute the patriarch of the tropical flora, the _baobab_ (_adansonia digitata_), a gigantic genus of the family _bombaceæ_. [illustration: . baobab. . elæis guinensis, or guinea palm. . acacia verek.] this colossus of the vegetable world was discovered in senegal by the french botanist adanson, in . he measured the trunks of several individuals, and found them from to feet in circumference, with mighty branches, each of which was equal to a great oak or magnificent chestnut. one baobab he computed at feet in girth, and its rounded crest extended over an area of upwards of yards in circuit. a root which was exposed to view, through the washing away of the superjacent soil, measured feet in length. adanson estimated the age of some of these anakim of trees at years. they were just shooting above the ground, if this reckoning be true, at the time that constantine, the first christian emperor, removed the seat of empire from rome to constantinople. there are other gigantic trees in the forests of senegambia, as, for instance, the _khaya senegalensis_, which rears its crest to a height of or yards, whose hard reddish-coloured timber belongs to the species known in commerce under the name of _mahogany_. another kind of mahogany, but less valuable, called senegal mahogany, is furnished by the _swietenia senegalensis_ (family of _meliaceæ_, tribe of _cedrelaceæ_), named after baron von swieten, a dutch botanist. it forms a stately tree, some or feet high. _swietenia mahogani_, a native of the warmer regions of america and the west indies, yields the mahogany of commerce. the first discovery of the existence of this kind of wood is ascribed to the carpenter on board sir walter raleigh's vessel, when lying off trinidad in . it is not considered to reach perfection under the venerable age of two hundred years. the seeds prepared with oil are used by the modern mexicans, as they were by the ancient aztecs, for cosmetic purposes; and the bark is considered a febrifuge. among the most curious trees of the senegal, whose flora has quite a character of its own, travellers have singled out the butter tree (_bassia butyracea_, family of the _sapotaceæ_), whose fruits contain an edible fatty substance, used by the natives as a substitute for butter; and the henna (_lawsonia inermis_), which also flourishes on the eastern coast and in upper egypt. the henna is a shrub from six to seven feet high. its flowers exhale a goat-like odour, which seems much affected by the orientals and the natives of africa. its roots, of a deep red hue, are distinguished by a bitter taste and astringent properties. finally, its leaves supply an orange-red colouring matter, with which the arabs and negroes tint their hair, beard, and nails. let us not pass over without the tribute of our respectful notice the numerous tribe of acacias, which form vast forests in the districts north of the senegal, and yield the gum-arabic of commerce. the best known species of this important and useful group are the _acacia arabica_, or red gum-tree, the _acacia adansoni_, the _acacia vera_, and the _acacia verek_. we also meet at senegal with a tree which i ought, perhaps, to have ranked of right among those of india, and which, like many others, belong rather to the whole zone of the tropics than to any particular country; i refer to the tamarind (_tamarindus indica_),[ ] whose well-known name is supposed to be derived from the arabic _tamar_, signifying "dates," and _indus_, in allusion to its original habitat. there is only one species of the genus, but the east indian variety has long pods, with six to twelve seeds, while the west indian has much shorter pods, containing one to four seeds. it is a tree of graceful appearance, with elegant pinnated foliage and numerous racemes of fragrant flowers. the pods are slightly curved, and consist of a brittle brown shell, enclosing a soft, acid, brown pulp, traversed by strong woody fibres; a thin membranous covering wraps up the seeds. the pulp has a savour at once acid and sugary, and acts as a gentle laxative. the timber is useful for building purposes, and furnishes excellent charcoal for the manufacture of gunpowder. the _sterculiaceæ_ have numerous representatives at the senegal. these tall and handsome trees remind the traveller in their appearance of our english oaks. the seeds of the _sterculia acuminata_ and _tomentosa_ are masticated by the negroes until reduced to a fluid paste, in which form they employ it to dye their cotton-stuffs yellow. the dye is very bright, and, it is said, extremely durable. we know that a great part of the gaboon is occupied by virgin forests, where fig-trees are predominant, and in marshy soils the mangle or mangrove trees (_rhizophora mangle_), which must not be confounded with the savoury-fruited mangoes of eastern india. the mangroves form, in the family of the _rhizophoras_, a genus distributed in the moist localities of the tropics, and we shall hereafter meet with them in south america. equatorial africa possesses several species of palm-trees peculiar to it. such are the thorny date-tree, the _borassus_ of ethiopia, the _raphia vinifera_ of congo, which, as its name "wine-bearing" indicates, furnishes a wine analogous to that extracted in other regions from other trees of the same family; the _elæis guinensis_, or guinea palm, whence we obtain the well-known product of palm oil. this oil, or palm-tree butter, forms an important article of food among the guinea negroes. it is imported into europe in large quantities, and employed in the manufacture of soap. the forests of the hottentot and bechuana countries, and in general of all those regions bordering on the cape colony, are frequently of great extent, but mainly composed of trees of small stature, or even of shrubs, such as the cape olive, a few acacias, some compositæ and conifers. forests, as i have said, are rare in the explored portions of the west african coast; they become denser and more numerous as we leave the great ocean in our rear, and penetrate into that vast interior which for ages has been haunted by so many mysteries. their flora, however, offers no special character, and does not materially differ from that of guinea and senegambia. chapter iii. vegetable life in the forests of the great islands. i have said that under the same parallels of latitude, or under neighbouring parallels, the physiognomy of the virgin forests was everywhere nearly the same, and hence we must study from a point close at hand the species which compose them, to determine the distinctive characters of the great agglomerations of vegetables peculiar to different countries. and yet the traveller who, after having explored the primeval forests of africa and asia, should be transported to the wild and wooded regions of the great indian archipelago and the pacific ocean, could not fail to be struck with the novel spectacle presented to his gaze. undoubtedly he would meet, at first, with a great number of plants not unknown to him; but he would not fail to discover many others which he had not hitherto observed, and especially would he contemplate with astonishment--perhaps with admiration--the chaos of this rich, various, dense, but disordered vegetation. it seems, in truth, as if within these "summer isles of eden" nature had hastened to accumulate her choicest products, and feeling herself restricted within narrow limits, had carefully laboured not to lose the smallest particle of space--not even of the aërial territory, if i may so speak--allotted to her. not only are the trees set in the closest possible array, but they struggle with wonderful effort to develop the exuberance of their strength. nearly all display an abundant and persistent foliage; their branches are, in general, thick and spongy, and begin to shoot at the base of the trunk; in such wise that the lower boughs extend close to the ground, and by interlacing with those of neighbouring trees, form impenetrable thickets. many send forth, from their trunk and their branches, frail flexible roots like the lianas, which descend to the earth, plant themselves in the soil, and contribute to render the forests absolutely impervious. nor is this all; the plants grow there, literally, one upon another. nowhere, under the tropics, does one see a similar profusion of epiphytous plants; not a single tree but is invaded by the close-clinging roots and flexible ramifications of these parasites, mingled with brightly-blossoming lianas, whose multifold stems are of immeasurable length. species worthy of note, either on account of their beauty, their various uses, or formidable poisonous properties, and belonging to widely-differing families, abound, moreover, in these perennial forests. ceylon, which has justly been named by the orientals "a pearl detached from hindostan," so admirable is its situation, so marvellous is its fertility, so exhaustless its mineral wealth, is the native country of the _laurus cinnamomum_--which was early transplanted to the neighbouring continent--and of the artocarpus, or bread-fruit tree, one of the most curious and most useful plants of this region. [illustration: bread-fruit tree of ceylon (_artocarpus incisa_).] the bread-fruit tree (_artocarpus incisa_) is a tree of the family _muriaceæ_, some to feet high. make an incision in its bark, wherever you will, and it exudes a white lacteal fluid, which hardens on exposure to the air. its branches are very numerous, and those nearest its base attain a considerable length. its leaves are large, consistent, and somewhat deeply cut. it owes its name of "bread-fruit tree" to its ovoid or rounded fruit, about the size of an ostrich's egg, which forms the staple food of the cingalese. when fully ripe, the pulp or flesh is white, firm, farinaceous, and very agreeable to the taste. the natives boil it whole, or cut it into slices for roasting, and prepare it for the table in numerous other modes. two or three trees, it is said, suffice for the provisioning of one man. my readers will remember that its introduction in the west indian islands was signalized by the famous mutiny of the bounty, and led indirectly to the settlement of pitcairn's island; thus originating a strange and sufficiently poetical romance. in the forests of ceylon also flourish the _cambogia guttu_, the _stalagmites cambogioides_, and the _garcinia morella_ (family _guttiferæ_), whence camboge is extracted. this substance, at once medicinal and tinctorial, exudes in a liquid state from wounds made in the bark of the trees; it solidifies spontaneously in the vessels wherein it is collected. immense forests overspread the humid plains of sumatra. they are constituted in the main of numerous species of fig-trees (_ficoidæ_), whose abundant and persistent leaves form an obscure vault, impenetrable by the sun's "golden arrows." above this leafy dome shoot the rigid trunks of trees of lofty stature. of these, the most remarkable, perhaps, is the ipo-antiar (_antiaris toxicaria_), whose juice, after having undergone certain preparations, becomes one of the deadliest known poisons. it was for a long time unknown with what substance the malays envenomed their arrows and their famous _kris_, or crease; nor was it until the beginning of the present century that the traveller leschenault ascertained, not without difficulty, that it had for its basis the juice of a very tall tree, with decaying leaves, to which he gave the name of _antiaris toxicaria_. this is the celebrated upas, whose deadly properties were formerly exaggerated in so many wonderful fables. the poison is prepared in an earthen vessel, and mixed up with certain quantities of the seed of the pimento and the pepper tree, and the roots of various kinds of ginger. these are mixed together slowly, except the pimento-grains, which are precipitated one by one to the bottom of the vessel by means of a small stick. each grain produces a slight fermentation, and rises to the surface. it is then extracted, to be plunged anew into the mixture, and this process is eight or nine times repeated; after which the mixture is complete. it appears that the upas-antiar, taken internally, acts at first as a purgative, but afterwards its influence extends to the brain, and produces death with frightful tetanic convulsions. introduced into the blood through a wound, it kills small animals in a few moments, and men in a few hours. [illustration: . nipa fruticans. . sugar palm (_areca saccharifera_). . ipo-antiar (_antiaris toxicaria_).] marvel-loving writers formerly asserted that this deadly poison was employed in the execution of criminals, who, however, received a pardon if they contrived to reach a tree, and bring back a supply of its venom. birds, it was said, dropped dead while flying over it--as was formerly told of the pestilential waters of the dead sea--and the whole country around was desolated by its noxious effluvia. but the fact is, the upas tree is merely a tree with poisonous secretions, and in no way affects the atmosphere of the locality where it lives. a not less terrible poison is furnished by the liana tieuté (_strychnos tieuté_), a member of the family _loganiaceæ_. it has an exceedingly long stem, but does not yield, like the upas, a whitish milky juice. its voluminous roots are covered with a thin reddish bark, of a peculiarly bitter taste. by boiling these roots the javanese obtain the poisonous resin called in malaysia _upas tieuté_, and which was at one time supposed to be identical with the essential element introduced by the indians of south america into their famous _ourari_ or _wourali_. sir richard schomburgk, however, has shown that the latter is obtained from the _strychnos toxifera_, a native of guiana. there are several other species of strychnos; all with flattened, disc-like, and silky seeds, surrounded by pulp. _s. nux vomica_, a moderate-sized tree, with fruit much like an orange in appearance, furnishes the valuable medicine and fatal poison--for it is both--called _nux vomica_. the seeds have an intensely bitter taste, owing to the presence of two most virulent poisons, _strychnia_ and _brucia_; but the pulp is innocuous, and greedily devoured by birds. _strychnos colubrina_, a native of malabar, furnished a variety of snakewood, which in cases of bites by serpents is esteemed an infallible remedy. _s. pseudo-quina_, which flourishes in brazil, yields a bark scarcely inferior in value as a tonic and a febrifuge to quinine. * * * * * i have spoken of the abundance and variety of the epiphytous plants which grow profusely in the islands of the indian ocean. in sumatra and in borneo, the more venerable trees are clothed in a rich garment of lycopodiums and ferns, and these often glow with dazzling orchidaceous flowers, while by their side flourish strange aroidaceæ, with climbing crawling stems, and aërial suckers. but of all these brilliant parasites, the most extraordinary, without doubt, is the _rafflesia arnoldi_--a plant without any stem, which grows along the surface of the ground upon the roots of the _lianas_, and principally of the _lissus_, a species of vine peculiar to tropical countries. it was discovered by dr. arnold, while in attendance upon sir stamford raffles, governor of java. it produces only a fleshy flower, of a wine-like colour, with an intolerably disgusting odour; but it acquires extraordinary, and one might say monstrous dimensions, for it seldom measures less than a yard in diameter, and its weight frequently exceeds four pounds. upon the humid coasts of borneo and sumatra, the _casuarinas_ mingle their weeping branches with those of the mangroves and fig-trees. palms are common in these two great islands, as well as at ceylon and at java. i may mention among the most useful the _nipa fruticans_ and the sugar palm (_areca saccharifera_). the transformed leaves which accompany the inflorescence of the nipa are brimful of a sugared and effervescent liquid, which is extracted by pressure, and converted into a palm wine of indifferent quality, consumed in great quantities in the sunda archipelago. a very sweet liquid, a species of syrup fit for the confection of dainty sweetmeats, escapes from incisions made into the floral envelopes of the _areca saccharifera_. a tree-wax, analogous to that of the _croton sebiferum_, is furnished by the tree which the natives of borneo designate pallagrar-minjok (_dipterocarpus trinervis_). and, finally, it is at borneo and at sumatra we meet with the _dryobabanops camphora_, whence is procured a species of camphor preferred by the chinese to that of the _laurus camphora_; the _urceola elastica_, whose milky sap indurates into a kind of caoutchouc, called suitawan; and the _isonandra-percha_ (genus _bassia butyracea_, family of the sapotaceæ), which of recent years has become the staple of an extensive commerce. it is from this tree we obtain the valuable product of gutta-percha, which has received such various and ingenious applications, and is scarcely less useful in the arts than in the sciences. [illustration: flora of the east indian islands:-- . rafflesia arnoldia. . niphobolus pubescens. . phalænopsis amabilis. . Ærides suaveolens. . cycas circinnalis. . nepenthes distillatoria. . scindapsus pertusus.] java is perhaps the most fertile of the sunda islands. immense forests extend over its plains, and climb up its mountain-slopes to an elevation of upwards of feet. the damp localities are peopled with clusiaceæ, and with other trees of thick soft trunks and branches. mangroves and avicennias thrive upon the littoral. the latter are specially noticeable on account of their roots, which climb to a great distance above the muddy soil, and throw off a number of suckers, not unlike gigantic water-pipes (_asperges_). among the palms most abundant at java, i confine myself to naming the borrassus, the corypha, and the areca. the vaquois (a species of _pandanus_), which in stature and appearance resemble the palms, are also widely diffused in that rich and fertile island. in the forests of its interior swarm such splendid ferns as the _niphobolus pubescens_, and such graceful archids as the _aerides_ _suaveolens_, with its far-shooting fronds and flowers, and the _phalænopsis amabilis_. there, too, the traveller pauses before the _cycas circinnalis_, whose trunk, upright and cylindrical as a grecian column, is surmounted by a crest of feathery leaves, each six to seven feet in length, stiff, and cut into numerous strips, somewhat like our native bracken; or he refreshes himself with the pure liquid which the winding _nepenthes distillatoria_, or pitcher plant, collects in its horn-shaped leaves, as a constant source of nutriment for its active life; or, finally, he gazes wonderingly at the _scindapsus pertusus_, an epiphytous plant, whose cartilaginous leaves are perforated with an infinity of small circular holes, and which twines itself round the tallest forest-trees in an embrace as close as love's! the forest-flora of the moluccas differs but little from that of the sunda islands. it presents, however, a few plants particularly calculated to excite our interest. thus, at amboyna, the sago-palms, with other trees of the same family, accumulate in immense woods, spreading over hundreds of acres. everybody knows that the pith of this palm is a white farinaceous substance, called _sago_, which not only enters largely into the daily food of the natives, but forms an important item in the european bill of fare, at least for children and invalids. amboyna, moreover, is the classic land of spices. the air is thick with "sabæan odours." every breeze comes laden with perfumes. the nutmeg (_myristica aromatica_), the clove (_caryophyllus aromaticus_), and the pepper-plants grow there in a wild state. in the philippines vegetation is singularly favoured by the humidity of the climate and the elevation of the temperature, so that the flora of these richly-endowed islands displays a prodigious variety. not a single family of tropical plants but is here represented by several species. hill and valley and plain alike are characterized by the exuberant growth of leaf and fruit and flower; the graceful forms might have enchanted an ancient greek, the wealth of glowing and intense colour would have fired the imagination of turner, and defied the palette of titian or tintoretto. there are landscapes of such beauty and fertility as the fancy of artist or poet never conceived. ferns and orchids are, perhaps, even more abundant here than in the forests of java, borneo, or sumatra. the bamboo attains to unusual proportions; the areca (_areca catechu_) raises to the sky its tall shapely stem, crested with plume-like leaves; and the betel-nut tree supplies in profusion the grains which, mixed with the fruits of the gigantic palm, constitute the _pinangue_; a kind of _quid_, which the orientals chew delightedly, and to which they attribute very valuable stomachic and digestive properties. under the dense shade of the great forests we are amazed by untold numbers of various kinds of plants, all adorned by richly coloured leaves, which invest the scene with a singular charm, nay, with something of a fairy character; and amongst these we single out the _dracæna terminalis_, with its blood-empurpled foliage, which, recently introduced into europe, has already become one of the greatest ornaments of our parks and gardens. i have previously had occasion to remark the singularity of character which in australia distinguishes almost every member either of the vegetable or the animal kingdom. i have already said that this immense island-continent seems to have been the chosen theatre for a distinct creative display, where every type differs from the representatives of our scientific classifications in other parts of the globe. the reader has been able to form some idea of the fancifulness of the vegetable forms peculiar to the australian savannahs. nor are those which constitute the so-called forests less strangely fantastic. on the southern coast, which is the coolest, the forests are of very moderate extent. in fact, they may be more correctly described as enormous thickets scattered in tolerably sheltered localities. most of the trees which compose them have trunks of great feebleness compared with their height, which is often prodigious, and they do not begin to ramify until near their summits. their bark is smooth, and usually of a grayish-white. of all their species it can only be said that two--the _stadmannia austral_ and the _alectryon_--bear fruit which men can eat even under the pressure of hunger. finally--and this without doubt is the most singular feature of a truly exceptional vegetation--while all the trees and herbaceous plants of the old and new worlds develop their leaves horizontally, or on a plane tangent to the cylindrical surface of the trunk or stem, in australia the leaves of the trees are disposed vertically; in such wise that they give scarcely any shade, and yet are themselves exposed in the very slightest degree to the action of the solar rays. it is owing to this latter circumstance they are always weakly coloured; and thus they give to the densest forests and the most robust trees a sickly tint, a sort of pallor of disease, which saddens the gaze accustomed to the varied tones and vivid hues of the verdure of tropical forests, or to the bold contrasts of light and shade exhibited by the woods of europe and north america. the australian species are comprised in a small number of families, notably in those of the coniferæ and myrtaceæ. certain forests are wholly composed of casuarinas; others, of acacias; others again, of eucalypti. some of the latter trees may be ranged among the greatest with which botanists are acquainted. the blue gum (_eucalyptus globulus_) attains, for instance, the extraordinary stature of upwards of feet, and does not send out a single branch until half this distance from the ground. its upright cylindrical trunk furnishes a timber much appreciated by ship-wrights, and especially makes admirable masts. the eucalypti secrete in abundance a white, sugary, and aromatic substance; whence they derive their popular name of "gum trees"--a name which is also bestowed very frequently upon the gum-bearing acacias. the family of coniferæ exhibit themselves in australia, like every other group of plants, under strange and novel forms. the shape of those trees is generally fusiform and pyramidal; their leaves are sometimes extraordinarily small, sometimes large and flattened. many are of great size; none, however, attaining the gigantic proportions of the celebrated columnar pine of new caledonia, which cook's companions mistook for a colossal mass of basaltic pillars, and which moore, like a true son of industrious albion, compared to an enormous factory-chimney. this tree exceeds feet in height, and its ramifications, all of the same height, radiate regularly around its trunk, from the base even to the summit. [illustration: . ravenala madagascariensis. . heritiera argentea. . tanghin.] * * * * * [illustration: a forest in madagascar.] i have now to ask the reader's companionship on an excursion into the forests of the great african island of madagascar. the insalubrity of the climate and the jealous inhospitality of the inhabitants will not permit us to penetrate far into their luxuriant depths; but the most superficial glance will satisfy us upon their wild magnificence and the original variety of their superb flora.[ ] we should seek in vain among their leafy, blossoming glades, for the famous manchineal, a member of the american _euphorbiaceæ_, which holds a high place in the records of vegetable poisons; but the toxicological amateur will find ample compensation in examining the formidable tanghin,[ ] whose deadly juice, mixed with some other substances, plays an important part in the judicial ordeals popular among the malagasy. the tanghin, or tanguen (_t. venenifera_), is the only plant of its genus, and is confined to madagascar. it is described as a tree with smooth alternate leaves of moderate thickness, clustered towards the points of the branches, with large terminal cymes of flowers, having a salver-shaped corolla, with rose-coloured lobes. the ovary is twofold, with a long style and thick stigma; but usually only one attains to perfection, and forms an ellipsoid fruit, somewhat pointed at the ends, invested in a smooth purplish-green skin, and containing a hard stone surrounded by a thick fibrous pulp. the poisonous seed of the tanghin is esteemed by the natives an infallible criterion of guilt or innocence. after being pounded, a small piece is swallowed by the supposed criminal. if he be cursed with a strong stomach, which retains the poison, he speedily dies, and is held guilty; if his feeble digestion rejects it, he necessarily escapes, and his innocence is considered proven. beneficent nature has planted by the side of this fatal tree a species of infinite value, the _ravenala madagascariensis_, or "traveller's-tree," which derives the latter designation from the base of the petiole of its large leaves, expanded and hollowed out into a kind of gutter, being constantly filled with fresh water, and serving as a reservoir for the thirsty wayfarer. the vacquois, or vacoa (_pandanus utilis_), one of the screw-pines, is of much utility to the natives, who fabricate sacks and bags out of its tenacious leaves. the manufacture of these bags is a source of comparative wealth for the poorer inhabitants of madagascar, and to a still greater extent for those of réunion and the mauritius, whence they are exported annually by millions. the malagasy forests also include several resinous species; among others, the copal-tree, which furnishes the well-known gum used in europe as a varnish; and the _vahea_, a genus of apocynaceæ, yielding caoutchouc, which will hereafter figure largely in the exports from this magnificent island. there are two species, namely, _vahea madagascariensis_--the "voua héri" of the natives--and _vahea gummifera_. numerous lianas, and a multitude of epiphytous plants, ferns, and orchids, envelop and intertangle the trunks of the great trees. i shall specify only the beaded liana (_abrus precatorius_), whose small hard fruits, rounded and of a scarlet red, make graceful wreaths and necklaces; the _angræcum sesquipedale_ (an orchid), with bright irregular flowers; and the _angræcum fragrans_, whose perfumed leaves supply a wholesome and savoury infusion. finally, the _heritiera argentea_, a tree about as large as our lindens, which certain botanists place among the byttneriaceæ, and others among the sterculiaceæ, is noticeable on account of its abundant foliage glittering silver-white. chapter iv. vegetable life in the forests of the new world. nature, said linné, is admirable above all in the smallest things: _natura maxime miranda in minimis_. he might, perhaps, have more justly said, _natura non minus miranda in minimis quam in maximis_: nature is not less wonderful in the least than in the greatest. whether any created thing occupies a more or less considerable space, or contains a greater or lesser quantity of matter, is of no importance to the naturalist, who only studies the structure of the organs, the springs of life, and the different forces which set them in motion; and considered from this point of view, a vibrio[ ] and an elephant, a penicillium and a baobab, possess for him the same importance, the same amount of interest. it would, however, be unjust not to recognize the fact that there is something very legitimate in the kind of reverential admiration which every man is conscious of in the presence of those things that symbolize, to a certain extent, power, strength, majesty, endurance--of those that possess in a high degree the two valuable qualities of force and greatness. coleridge tells us that we admire the cataract because it is the type of power. probably our feelings for the oak are connected with its emblematic properties of permanency, vigour, and durability. all the logic of logicians, and all the sentiment of natural philosophers, will never induce the mass of men to regard with the same interest an ant and a lion, a tuft of moss and a forest of oaks, a grain of sand and an alpine peak. i do not think, therefore, that i am stooping to a merely vulgar prejudice in signalling out to the reader, among the vegetables of the forests, those whose exceptional dimensions and venerable antiquity are for every traveller an object of astonishment and curiosity. the truth is, that from their contemplation we derive a more vivid conception of almighty power than from the examination of even the most wonderful microscopical mechanism. to the still small voice of nature our ears are deafened by the clash and clang of an ever-active world; but we cannot refuse to listen to the roar of the ocean or the reverberation of the thunder. as we move swiftly onward in the press of the crowd and the race of life, we ignore the tiny blade and the delicate organism beneath our feet; but our eyes must perforce be opened to the splendours of the sea, the undulating summits of snow-crowned mountains, the sapphire vault of the starry heavens. those things realize to us, at once and with impressive force, the ubiquitous majesty of the divine builder. and it is well that they should lift us for a while above the materialism of our daily lives into a purer atmosphere of thought and feeling--should bid us, while still lingering in the dusty track, expand our souls to hear "the mighty waters rolling evermore." it is not only in tropical regions that we meet with the giants of the vegetable world. europe possesses a few of them; isolated, it is true, but comparable in their stature to the most robust denizens of the torrid zone: such are the chestnut-tree of etna, and the plane of boudjoukdéré, near constantinople, of which so many travellers have spoken. the remains of the virgin forests of north america also abound in species analogous to our own, and capable of attaining, with an almost incalculable longevity, truly extraordinary proportions. * * * * * the lofty table-lands of california (the rocky mountains) nourish an entire tribe of gigantic coniferæ, frequently assembled in immense forests. the _pinus lambertiana_, the _pinus sabiniana_, and the _pinus insignis_, are not less than to feet in height; the _douglas fir_ boasts of an almost equal stature, with a circumference which varies from to feet. yet these colossal trees are surpassed by the _sequoia sempervirens_, which is to feet high, and by the titan of titans, the huge _wellingtonia gigantea_, which is also a sequoia. i shall mention a few individuals of the latter species, whose dimensions may defy all comparison with the greatest trees of the tropics. according to müller, about ninety-four of these coniferæ flourish on a plateau of the sierra nevada, at an altitude of feet. they are distributed in small groups over a fertile soil. the gold-seekers have named one of them the "miner's cabin." its trunk, feet in height, presents an excavation feet in width. the "three sisters" are individuals springing from one root; the "old bachelor," stripped of its branches by successive hurricanes, stands in solitary desolation; the "family" consists of two aged trees around which four-and-twenty scions have sprung up. the "riding-school" is an enormous hollow trunk, prostrate on the ground, into which a man on horseback may enter as far as thirty yards. another hollow trunk has been exhibited at san francisco, where they have constructed out of it a saloon, adorned with tapestry and furniture, capable of accommodating forty persons. [illustration: . large-leaved magnolia. . virginian catalpa. . pinus sabiniana.] other resinous trees of smaller dimensions grow in the more or less humid localities of north america; such are the _chamoecyparis chamæcyparis sphæroidea_, which does not exceed feet in height, and the western _thuya_ of pyramidal outline. nor must i forget to name, among the conifers of this continent, the cypress of louisiana, a tree of handsome appearance, about feet high and to feet in circumference, which lives, it is said, to years. its leaves are shrunken like those of the larch; and from its roots, somewhat deeply buried, spring several protuberances, or rounded conical exostoses, which sometimes grow to the height of three feet without bourgeoning. the forests of the west and of the south which have hitherto escaped the torch and the axe of the pioneer present to the traveller's admiring gaze those magnificent species described so eloquently by chateaubriand and cooper, and which are even less remarkable for their gigantic stature than for the majestic elegance of their port, the beauty of their foliage, and the dazzling splendour of their flowers. some of these forests are partly formed of oaks whose leaves assume in autumn a purple tint, like the "pupureum lumen" of the latin poet. in others the dominant trees are the plane of the west, the maple, the round-crested tulip, the large-leaved catalpa, the magnolia with white and scented blossoms. to their trunks clings a whole world of climbing, creeping, and parasitic plants; as the virgin vine, the sumach, and the virginian jasmine. mexico, as far as relates to its climate and productions, has been divided into three distinctly marked regions, defined not by latitude, but by the elevation of various portions of its territory. the upper region, or cold lands, is that of the lofty mountains; the mean region, or temperate lands, that of the intermediate plateaus; the inferior region, or hot lands, is that of the low plains, sometimes arid, sometimes marshy or wooded. the arborescent flora of the first two regions very nearly approximates to that of our northern countries; it principally consists of pines, firs, oaks, and arbute trees. but in the hot lands the vegetation generally assumes, as we descend towards the south, all the characteristics of the tropical flora. the feathery and graceful palm trees re-appear, mingled with coryphas, oreodoxas, malpighiaceæ, and bignoniaceæ. there also grows the _crescentia cujete_, or calabash-tree, which is likewise found in the antilles; it has a tortuous trunk, long branches extended horizontally, and ovoid fruits, clothed with a hard woody bark, which the indians fabricate into vessels of divers forms, painting them in the liveliest colours. mexico is the country of the _morus tinctoria_ and the _hæmatoxylon campechianum_. these two trees furnish the dye-wood which forms so important an article of commerce: the first, under the name of the "yellow wood of tampico" or "tuspan;" the second, under that of "campeachy wood." it is in the hottest and most humid parts of the southern provinces of this republic that we meet, for the first time, with one of the most precious trees of the equinoctial zone, the cacao-tree (_theobroma cacao_), whose bruised and roasted seeds, mixed with variable amounts of sugar and starch, form the different kinds of cocoa; or, sweetened and flavoured with vanilla or other substances, the article known as chocolate. it is but a small tree, with large entire leaves, and clustered flowers growing from the sides of the old stems and branches. its large pentagonal fruits vary from six to ten inches in length and three to five in breadth, and contain between fifty and a hundred seeds. the _vanilla planifolia_, another mexican native, famous for its succulent fruit, is a plant of the orchidaceous order, which climbs about other trees in the manner of ivy. it is the only genus of the family which possesses any economical value. the delicate perfume of its fruit is due to the presence of benzoic acid, which forms in crystals upon the pod, if left undisturbed. * * * * * already, in central america, we encounter the first ranks, the vanguard, as it were, of those vast impenetrable forests which spread over the whole northern region of south america to the banks of the amazon, and cover with dense foliage immense areas in guiana and brazil. if we would pause again to wonder at the giants of the vegetable kingdom, we shall find many well worthy of our consideration. such, for example, is the _bertholletia excelsa_, a colossal lecythidacean on the borders of the orinoco, whose large fruits are known in europe as "brazil nuts," the seeds being enclosed in large woody vessels. the sapucaya (_lecythis ollaria_) is scarcely less abundant, and of immense height. its fruit, popularly called "monkey's drinking-cups" (cuyas de macaco), consists of a cup-like vessel, with a circular hole at the top, in which a natural lid fits neatly. when the nuts are ripe this lid becomes loosened, and the heavy cup falls with a crash, scattering the nuts over the ground. "what attracted us chiefly," says a traveller in the virgin forests,[ ] "were the colossal trees. the general run had not remarkably thick stems; the great and uniform height to which they grow without emitting a branch, was a much more noticeable feature than their thickness; but at intervals of a furlong or so a veritable giant towered up. only one of these monstrous trees can grow within a given space; it monopolises the domain, and none but individuals of much inferior size can find a footing near it. the cylindrical trunks of these larger trees were generally to feet in circumference. von martius mentions having measured trees in the parà district belonging to various species (symphonia coccinea, lecythis spirula, and cratæva tagia), which were to feet in girth at the point where they become cylindrical. the height of the vast column-like stems could not be less than feet from the ground to their lowest branch. mr. leavens, at the saw-mills, told me they frequently squared logs for sawing feet long, of the pas d'arco and the massaranduba. the total height of these trees, stem and crown together, may be estimated at from to feet: where one of them stands, the vast dome of foliage rises above the other forest trees as a domed cathedral does above the other buildings in a city. "a very remarkable feature in these trees," says mr. bates, "is the growth of buttressed-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems. the spaces between these buttresses, which are generally thin walls of wood, form spacious chambers, and may be compared to stalls in a stable: some of them are large enough to hold half-a-dozen persons. the purpose of these structures is as obvious, at the first glance, as that of the similar props of brickwork which support a high wall. they are not peculiar to one species, but are common to most of the larger forest trees. their nature and manner of growth are explained when a series of young trees of different ages is examined. it is then seen that they are the roots which have raised themselves ridge-like out of the earth; growing gradually upwards as the increasing height of the tree required augmented support. thus they are plainly intended to sustain the massive crown and trunk in these crowded forests, whose lateral growth of the roots in the earth is rendered difficult by the multitude of competitors." scarcely less remarkable, and certainly not less useful, than the traveller's tree of madagascar is the massaranduba, or cow tree, of these grand brazilian wildernesses. it is one of the largest of the forest monarchs, but rather reminds you of monarchy in its decay than of regal pomp, owing to its deeply-scored reddish and ragged back. a decoction of this bark is used as a red dye for cloth. the copious milk-like fluid which the tree supplies, and which may even be drawn from dry logs that have stood for days in the sun, is wholesome and nutritious, if taken in moderate quantities. on exposure to the air it soon thickens into an excessively tenacious glue. but, apart from these monstrous trees, the virgin forest possesses an abundance of interest for even the least observant traveller, while in its various phases it is adapted to astonish, to impress, and to awe a thoughtful mind. it is true that it does not boast of that profusion of floral ornament, of those gay and exquisite buds and blossoms, which make the charm of our english woods; but in its infinite variety of foliage the grace of colour and beauty of form are ever present. what most seizes upon the soul, however, is its intense silence--which the occasional scream of some wild animal, or the infrequent song of some pensive bird, or the sudden crash of some over-toppling tree, does but render the more significant and appalling. the hush is like that which prevails on a battle-field before the dread voices of the cannon speak of death and carnage, but, unlike that hush, it is never interrupted. morning comes with its cold gray lights, noon with its warmth and radiance and splendour, night with its orbed moon and pearly dews, but the hush still reigns undisturbed, and it seems to the traveller as if it would never be broken but by the sounds which shall proclaim the end of all things! [illustration: . blechnum brasiliense. . alsophila horrida. . panicum plicatum. . marauta. . caladium violaceum.] it is rather by the varied characteristics of the species which compose it, by their fantastic structures and useful properties, than by its gigantic outcomes, that the wild flora of these forest-regions appeals to our admiration. we are struck at first by the infinite variety, richness, and elegance of the vegetable forms. especially do we pause in wonder before those glorious tree-ferns which i take to be the finest growth of the tropical wilderness. these ferns, from to feet in height, are not unlike palms in their physiognomy; their stem is only less upright, shorter, and more scaly; their foliage, slightly dentated on the edges, is more delicate, of a looser and more transparent texture. to this family belong the _blechnum brasiliense_ and the _alsophila horrida_. not less attractive in appearance are the _clusia rosea_ or the _carolinea insignis_. the former of these trees belong to a family (that of the clusiaceæ) nearly all whose representatives throw off from every point of their branches long aerial roots. the traveller reposes with a feeling of sybaritic delight under its thick and evergreen foliage, enriched with brilliant flowers. the second, with its shrunken leaves, owes the specific epithet (_insignis_, "remarkable") which botanists have imposed upon it, to the peculiar structure of its flowers. the latter bear in the centre of their chalice a great number of stamens, which form a silken tuft of the most graceful design. the gramineæ, like the ferns,--to use an expression of humboldt's,--"ennoble themselves" under the tropics: witness the bamboo, the sugar-cane, the sorgho, and the great panicums. of the latter genus we have already seen in africa numerous species. america in its turn offers to our attention the _panicum maximum_ and _plicatum_, wood-inhabiting gramineæ, which without attaining to the dimensions of the bamboo, or even to that of the cane, far surpass that of their european congener, the millet. the graceful palms abound in south america. the greatest of all, the cocoa-tree, seems there to have discovered its true home, for it nowhere else acquires a greater development. there, too, the banana flourishes marvellously, no less than the cocoa-tree, in a wild state, and, like the latter, is carefully cultivated on account of its nourishing and savoury fruits. a multitude of lianas and epiphytous plants twine round the trunks and branches of the trees, and frequently choke up their failing life. some are indigenous to all tropical countries: the _calamus rotang_, for example; others are more particularly, or even exclusively, proper to the new world. [illustration: . banana. . carolinea insignis. . clusia rosea.] the family of aroideæ is there represented by the _pothos_, whose fleshy and herbaceous stems are surmounted by leaves sometimes arrow-headed, sometimes digitate or elongated, and always divided by thick cord-like nerves. we know that the aroideæ alone possess, in the vegetable kingdom, the property of disengaging, while flowering, a heat appreciable by the thermometer. to this family belong the _caladiums_, a genus closely allied to the pothos. with these lianas mingle the branching stems of the passifloræ, or passion-flowers, so named because pierre de ceza, in his "histoire du pérou," asserted that he had recognized in the fantastic flowers of this genus of plants all the instruments of our saviour's passion--an idea which could only have been conceived by an imaginative and credulous spaniard. elsewhere the bignonias open by hundreds their large and richly-coloured flowers; the bauhinias stretch along the trees their long leafless branches, often to feet in length, which sometimes hang vertically from the lofty summits of the swietenias, or mahogany trees, and sometimes extend obliquely from one huge trunk to another, like the ropes of a ship. the tiger-cats, says humboldt, display a wonderful agility in mounting or descending these graceful vegetable shrouds. upon the umbrageous banks of the rio magdalena grows a creeping _aristolochus_, whose flowers in their extraordinary development surpass those of the _rafflesia arnoldi_, measuring often three feet and a half in circumference. the forests of which we are now speaking also nourish numerous species of convolvulus; i may particularize the _convolvulus batatas_, a climbing plant, whose roots produce the feculent and saccharine tubercules known over the wide world by the name of "patates," and frequently but erroneously confounded with that most useful vegetable, the potato. the root of another convolvulus, a native of mexico, constitutes the _jalap officinalis_, which figures in the veterinary pharmacopoeia as an important purgative. certain lianas, common enough in the south american forests, belong to the family of _sapindaceæ_, which, like the orders loganiceæ and euphorbiaceæ, owe their reputation chiefly to the medicinal or poisonous substances extracted from them. among the sapindaceæ i shall mention only the genus _paullinia_, which includes several species endowed with narcotic properties. these properties appear especially developed in the _paullinia pinnata_. its bark, leaves, and fruit contain an abundant acrid principle with which the indians of brazil prepare a slow but certain poison. the indians of guiana extract from the _paullinia cururu_ another substance with which they envenom their arrows, and which was long supposed to be the veritable _wourali_. but sir richard schomburgk has shown that the latter formidable poison is really extracted, as i have already recorded, from the _strychnos toxifera_, a shrub of the family _loganiaceæ_, which flourishes in guiana and brazil. to the same family and the same countries belong the _ignatia amara_, whose seeds are known by the name of "st. ignatius' beans." these beans contain two alkaloids, _strychnine_ and _brucine_, which we also extract from the _nux vomica_, and which must be classed among the most violent poisons known to the toxicologist. while speaking of the poisonous plants of south america, a few words in reference to the manchineal (_hippomane mancenilla_) will not be inappropriate. this tree thrives best, it is said, on the sea-shore. it bears a profusion of very pretty fruit, resembling in colour and form the red apple (the spanish _manzanilla_), and exhaling an agreeable, lemon-like odour. they are, therefore, scarcely less beguiling than dead sea fruits; but they are also very poisonous, yet less deadly than the milky juice which flows from the slightest incision made in the tree's thick and grayish bark. this juice, received into the stomach, or introduced into the blood through a wound, slays the victim with awful quickness. if it do but touch the skin, it excites a violent irritation, and raises swellings or boils of the worst description. the very vapour which it emits causes a painful itching in the eyes, the lips, and the nostrils. it was formerly asserted that to sleep under the shade of a manchineal tree was certain death; but the naturalist jacquin, in the interests of science, courageously made the experiment, and proved the falsity of the story. the manchineal is not unfrequently confounded with other poisonous euphorbiaceæ, as the _sapium aucuparium_ and the _excoecaria agallochia_, which flourish in very nearly the same regions. the _excoecaria_, it is said, is not less dangerous than the manchineal. it owes its name (_ex_, and _coecus_, "blind") to the circumstance (or the fable) that some european sailors, while felling wood in the forest, having accidentally struck with their axe a tree of this species, were blinded by the milky juice which sprang into their eyes. by a kind of compensation, the tropical forests, which contain so many poisonous plants, produce also a great number of the highest utility to man. some offer him efficient remedies against the diseases which beset his frame; others nourish him with the fecula of their roots or the delicious substance of their fruits; others again supply him with textile fibres, dyeing or resinous materials, and woods which the artist and the artisan convert to numerous uses. this vegetable wealth has been widely distributed over south america. it will suffice to indicate a few of its more notable sources. if we direct our attention to medicinal plants, we shall probably find none more precious than the quinquina, whose bark is the most effective of all febrifuges, and which is endowed, moreover, with very valuable tonic and depuratory properties. sir samuel baker, in his recent address to the british association at dundee, pronounced it the traveller's best friend, the powerful weapon with which he could securely enter the african wilderness, and successfully contend against its demon-host of fevers and agues. the quinquinas (genus, _cinchona_; family, _rubiaceæ_) are trees or evergreen shrubs with large and handsome leaves, and flowers whose form and fragrance remind one of the lilac. they are diffused over the two slopes, but chiefly along the eastern slope, of the andean cordilleras, in the republics of venezuela, new granada, ecuador, peru, and bolivia. the traveller meets them occasionally in picturesque groups or thickets which the peruvians call _manchas_ (spots); but they are more frequently scattered in immense forests. what of the lactiferous and resinous plants? south america is the native land of the trees whence we extract the resinous gums called "animé d'amérique," "white amber," and "soft brazilian copal," and the "hevea guyanensis," which furnishes the greater portion of the caoutchouc imported into europe. caoutchouc was described for the first time in , by the scientific travellers bouguer and la condamine, members of a commission despatched to peru by the parisian "académie des sciences," to measure an arc of the meridian. a few years later, the engineer fresneau, who resided for a long time in guiana, collected, with the assistance of a native, ample information in reference to caoutchouc and the tree which produced it. finally, in , was found in a work by the traveller aublet on the flora of guiana, the description and figure of the _hevea_. this tree attains a height of to feet. the almond enclosed in the kernels of its fruits is white, of a very agreeable taste, and much esteemed by the indians, who also extract from it an oil for seasoning their food. the banana, the american agave, the bamboo, and divers palm-trees supply the inhabitants of south america with suitable materials for the fabrication of various tissues, from the finest and most brilliant linen cloth to the rude mats which ornament the cabin of the savage. trees bearing fruits or edible roots are innumerable. to the bananas and cocoa-trees which i have already mentioned, we may add, as the most useful, the maranteas or canneas, especially the _maranta arundinacea_, _m. alloya_, and _m. nobilis_, whose roots, rasped and washed, constitute the popular and valuable farina so widely known as _arrow-root_; the guavas (_psidium pyriferum_, and _p. pomiferum_), whose gilded fruits contain a succulent and perfumed pulp; the papaw tree (_carica papaya_), resembling the palm in its port and aspect, and also loaded with large yellowish fruit, whose flesh is exceedingly savoury and aromatic. the papaw, moreover, enjoys some extremely remarkable properties; thus, its milky juice exhales, when burnt, an ammoniacal odour, and chemical analysis has recognized therein the presence of _fibrine_. mix some of this juice in water, plunge into the mixture fresh hard meat, and in a few moments it will become exquisitely tender. the very exhalations of the tree operate in the same manner, and the inhabitants of the regions where it flourishes suspend to its branches such meat and poultry as they wish to soften. * * * * * [illustration: flora of the new world. . papaw tree (_papaya sativa_) . great american cocoa-nut tree. . mangrove (_rhizophora mangle_).] the immense forests of brazil and guiana are for the whole world an inexhaustible storehouse of woods for dyeing and cabinet work. they spread their dense masses of foliage along the borders of the sea, where the mangroves (_rhizophora mangle_) plunge their adventitious roots into the mud inundated by the surging tides of those regions, and form a kind of impenetrable palisade, behind which grow in infinite variety trees of the costliest timber. such are the _swieteniæ_, or mahogany trees; the _ferolia guyanensis_, which supplies the well-known rose or satin wood; the _jacaranda brasiliensis_, and the _dalbergia_, which yield the violet ebony; the _sterculia acuminata_, whose flowers exhale a foetid odour, and whose timber, called "stinkwood," is nevertheless held in high esteem on account of its durability, the fineness of its texture, and the excellent polish of which it is susceptible. nor must we forget the _cæsalpineæ_, whose woods are impregnated with a red colouring matter which varies in tint according to the species, and which are largely employed by the dyer under the names of "brazil wood" and "pernambuco wood." a great number of other woods which we procure from these countries, and which are in daily use in cabinet work, toys, marquetry, and dyeing, belong to vegetable species as yet undetermined. we might, however, almost venture to assert that whatever tree you accidentally and at haphazard struck down in these forests, either its timber, bark, or roots would be found capable of being utilized. * * * * * i have not mentioned, among the species proper to the forests of the new world, those which are common with our own, and which abound upon elevated lands. the extraordinary height to which not only isolated mountains, but whole districts rise, in the vicinity of the equator, and the low temperature which is the consequence of this elevation, provide the inhabitant of the torrid zone with a remarkable spectacle. for while, as humboldt remarks, he may look around him upon groves of palms and bananas, he also sees those vegetable forms which are regarded as more particularly belonging to the countries of the north. cypresses, firs, and oaks, barberries and alders, closely resembling our own, cover the table-lands of southern mexico and that part of the andes which the equator traverses. thus nature allows the denizen of the torrid zone to see, without quitting his native land, all the vegetable forms of the earth, at the same time that from one pole to the other the entire vault of heaven reveals to his gaze its luminous worlds. i conclude my account of the south american forests with a picture taken from the interesting volume of mr. bates, and drawn on the bank of a forest stream flowing into the murncupé. "a glorious vegetation," he says, "piled up to an immense height, clothes the banks of the creek, which traverses a broad tract of semi-cultivated ground, and the varied masses of greenery are lighted up with the sunny glow. open palm-thatched huts peep forth at intervals from amidst groves of banana, mango, cotton, and papaw trees and palms. both banks are masked by lofty walls of green drapery, here and there a break occurring. the projecting boughs of the trees are hung with natural garlands and festoons, and an endless variety of creeping plants clothe the water frontage, some of which, especially the bignonias, are ornamented with large, gaily-coloured flowers. art could not have assorted together beautiful vegetable forms so harmoniously as is here done by nature. palms, as usual, form a large proportion of the lower trees; some of them, however, shoot up their slim stems to a height of sixty feet or more, and wave their branches of nodding plumes between you and the sky. one kind of palm, the pashiúba (_iriartea exorhiza_), which grows here in greater abundance than elsewhere, is especially attractive. it is not one of the tallest kinds, for when full-grown its height is not more, perhaps, than forty feet; the leaves are somewhat less drooping, and the leaflets much broader than in other species, so that they have not that feathery appearance which those of some palms have, but still they possess their own peculiar beauty." probably there is no richer field on earth for the naturalist, the poet, or the artist than the virgin forest;-- "to mark the structure of a plant or tree, and all fair things of earth, how fair they be!" chapter v. animal life in the tropical forests:--the elephant--the rhinoceros. some thousands of years ago--no long period in the history of creation, though so far outstripping the written records of man--gigantic animals, with huge trunks and ivory tusks, forming the family of proboscideæ, were distributed throughout all the northern regions of europe, asia, and america. of this family the most ancient and colossal representative is the _dinotherium_, which appears to have flourished in the miocene period of the tertiary epoch, and a skull of which was disinterred at eppelsheim, in hesse darmstadt, in , measuring about four feet in length and three in breadth; whence cuvier inferred that the total length of the animal was probably eighteen feet. this pachyderm, which far surpassed in size the largest living elephant, had a comparatively short trunk, and tusks inserted in front of the lower jaw. such a lower jaw could hardly have been otherwise than cumbrous and inconvenient to the quadruped if he lived on land. no such disadvantage, as dr. buckland remarks,[ ] would have attended this structure in a large animal destined to live in water; and the aquatic habits of the family of tapirs, to which the dinotherium was most nearly allied, render it probable that, like them, it was an inhabitant of fresh-water lakes and rivers. two other kinds of proboscidians, the _mastodon_ and the _mammoth_, belong to the pleiocene period, the last of the tertiary epoch, and to the intermediate or glacial deposits, which immediately preceded the modern epoch. the mastodon only differed essentially from the elephant in his dental apparatus. his molar teeth were covered with conical projections, whence his name; he had two small tusks, planted in the lower jaw like those of the dinotherium, but bent forward, and two others in the upper jaw, having the same direction, but being of a prodigious length. buffon named it the "animal of the ohio," because its fossil remains were discovered on the banks of that great river. they have also been found in other parts of north america, and particularly in the saline morass known as big-bone lick, in the northern districts of kentucky. several skeletons, almost perfect, have been excavated at a moderate depth, and some of them in a vertical position, as if the animals had been stricken with death while standing, and suddenly engulfed in the mud. many curious fables are told by the indians in reference to this extinct quadruped. the shawnee indians believe that contemporary with them lived a race of men of proportionate dimensions, and that the great being destroyed both the one and the other with thunderbolts. those of virginia state that the "great man on high" slew this colossal genus, because it was exterminating the animals created for the use of man, and that none escaped but the hugest bull, who, having been wounded by the celestial bolts, fled towards the great lakes, in whose solitudes he wanders to this very day. the indians of canada and louisiana designate the mastodon by the name of "father of the bulls," probably on account of the bones of cattle disinterred with his own. the mammoth (_elephas primigenius_) is known to us only by the fossil remains which have been discovered embedded in the glacial deposits of the intermediate epoch. the first discovery took place in , under circumstances which are thus recorded in the _zoologist_. in , a tungusian fisherman observed, in a bank on the shore of the frozen ocean, at the mouth of the river lena, a shapeless mass almost enveloped in ice, and he was quite unable to determine what it might be. in the following year a larger portion of this mass became visible, but the fisherman was still unable to discover its nature. towards the end of the following summer, however, one of the tusks and an entire side of a fossilized animal were exposed. but it was not until the fifth year from its discovery, when the ice had melted sooner than usual, that the enormous animal became entirely detached from the bank or cliff in which it was first observed, and came thundering down upon a sand-bank below. in the month of march , the fisherman extracted the tusks, which were nine feet six inches long, and together weighed pounds, and sold them at yakoutsk for fifty roubles. two years afterwards, mr. adams, a traveller, visited the animal, and found it much mutilated. the yakoutes residing in the neighbourhood had cut away the flesh to feed their dogs; wild beasts had also eaten a great quantity of it. nevertheless, with the exception of a fore-leg, the skeleton was entire; the other bones being still held together by ligaments and portions of skin. the head was covered with dried skin; one of the ears was entire, and furnished with a tuft of hairs; the pupil of the eye was still to be distinguished; the brain was in the skull, but somewhat dried; the lower lip had been gnawed by animals, the upper one was entirely gone, and the teeth were consequently exposed; the neck was furnished with a long mane; the skin was covered with long hair and a reddish wool; the portion of skin still remaining was so heavy that two men could scarcely carry it; according to mr. adams, more than thirty pounds' weight of hair and wool was collected from the wet sand into which it had been trodden by the white bears while devouring the flesh. this skeleton is now preserved in the museum of the academy of st. petersburg. the height of the creature is about nine feet, and its extreme length to the tip of the tail about sixteen feet. a second carcass was afterwards discovered on the bank of the asaleïa, which empties its waters into the frozen sea, by the traveller sarytcheff. it was standing upright, and wholly covered with its skin and fur. finally, a third has been recently found in the same region, and the museum at paris possesses a portion of its skin, with a tuft of wool, and some relics of the mane. the mammoth, therefore, would seem to be a link connecting the past and the present worlds, a being whose body has outlived its destination. evidently it was adapted to brave the winters of a boreal clime; its long, warm, and woolly coat forming an admirable defence against the severest cold. it probably inhabited the icy plains, and the banks of the lakes and rivers; its food consisting of lichens, reeds, and the young shoots of the willows and other trees which thrive in moist situations. the mammoth naturally leads us to an examination of his descendant and congener, the elephant; the largest and strongest, the most sagacious and docile of all living animals. elephants, of which only two species at present exist, the asiatic and african, are natives of tropical regions, where they prefer to inhabit the depths of the forests, quitting their umbrageous recesses only at night, in search of food, or to quench their thirst in the nearest stream. the whole form of the animal suggests the idea of unwieldy strength. his head is large, with extremely small eyes, and very large and pendulous ears; he has an arched back, and a huge thick body, which rests upon clumsy and shapeless legs; his feet are slightly divided into five rounded heaps; the upper jaw is armed with two enormous projecting tusks, which measure in many instances six or seven feet; and he is endowed with an extraordinary proboscis or trunk, of such strength that it can uproot trees, and of such delicacy that it can gather grass. this organ, nearly eight feet in length, conveys the food to the mouth, and pumps up the enormous draughts of water, which by its recurvature are turned into and driven down the capacious throat, or showered over the body. its length supplies the place of a long neck, which would have been incompatible with the support of the large head and weighty tusks. a glance at the head will show the thickness and strength of the trunk at its insertion; and the massy arched bones of the face and thick masculine neck, are wonderfully adapted for supporting and working this powerful and marvellous instrument. the asiatic elephant (_elephas maximus_ of linné, _elephas indicus_ of cuvier) has small ears and tusks. a head elongated in height, and terminating in a kind of double pyramid. his hide is a clear brown colour. this species includes several varieties; that of indo-china is remarkable for its prodigious height, which sometimes attains fifteen feet, and for a skin marked with brown spots upon a clear gray ground. the islands of the indian archipelago likewise contain several varieties of elephants, which experts can easily distinguish from one another. in every species are found the _albinos_, or white elephants, which receive the marked veneration of every indian race, and particularly of those of siam and pegu. the african elephant (_elephas africanus_) differs from the preceding in the structure of his grinder teeth, in the length of his tusks, which are enormous, and in his ears, whose trumpet is also of great dimensions. he was formerly met with throughout all the african continent, and was much employed in war by the carthaginians and egyptians. from the northern regions of africa he has now disappeared, but large herds still haunt the whole southern division, from the senegal to the cape, and the eastern districts, as far north as abyssinia. he is also found in all the african interior, whose inhabitants deal in ivory as the staple of their commerce. his height is equal to that of the asiatic elephant, and the habits of the two species are identical. elephants live in the forests, gathering in troops of from thirty to about one hundred individuals, and as they require a very extensive area of pasturage, it is said that they pitilessly expel from their domains all other animals which trespass therein to share the product. each herd marches under the guidance of an acknowledged chief. when they sally forth from their retreats to devastate a field, or to wander in quest of fresh pastures, they observe a very regular order of march; the young and the females occupying the centre, the males assemble round them in a circle. if danger threatens, the little ones take refuge under the breast of their mothers, who fold their trunks about them. the young elephant is suckled for two years, and during that period attains the stature of four feet and a half. at the end of the third year he is nearly six feet high. he continues to grow, but less rapidly, until twenty-two or twenty-four years old. the female adults measure generally from seven to nine feet in height, and the males from ten feet and a half to twelve. as may be inferred from the tardiness of his growth, the elephant enjoys the privilege of longevity. he has been known to live in captivity to the age of or years; but cuvier was of opinion that in his free and wild condition he might well number nearly a couple of centuries. the africans hunt the elephant for the sake of his ivory and flesh; in india, and the isles of the indian ocean, to reduce them to subjection. in africa, for many negro populations, ivory and "ebony wood" (an euphuism by which the slave-dealers designate their black slaves) are the sole articles of commerce, and the majority of the english, dutch, and french colonists carry on a considerable traffic in elephants' teeth. the negroes excavate wide pits which they cover over with branches; and the elephants falling into them are precipitated headlong upon sharpened stakes; or they kill them either with arrows, assegays, or musketry. hunting them with spears is truly a ferocious pastime. the poor elephant only succumbs after receiving so great a number of projectiles that his body resembles an enormous porcupine. he rarely turns upon his aggressors; he seeks to fly; he fills the air with plaintive wailings; the female throws her huge bulk between her young ones and the enemy; the male sometimes rushes furiously upon his assailants, and woe to the latter if he overtake them; he crushes them under his hoofs, he pierces them with his tusks, or seizes them with his trunk, and dashes them upon the earth a shapeless and bleeding mass. but nimble and experienced hunters easily elude his charge, whose onset he is prevented from moderating by his weight, or from rapidly changing its direction. [illustration: hunting the elephant in africa.] but firearms, and especially the recently perfected rifles, are assuredly the best weapons to employ against the leviathan. with a westley-richards, for instance, a good marksman, aiming at the shoulder-joint or the ear, is certain to bring down his game; he may post himself at a distance, and avoid exposure, while the victim is saved from a cruel agony. ivory is not the only valuable product which the elephant yields; his hide, very thick and very tenacious, can be utilized for many purposes. the bucklers made of it by the negroes are scarcely less precious than the shield of ajax, which was formed of a bull's hide sevenfold. the animal's flesh is also eaten, although too tough and too strongly flavoured for an european palate. in india and the indian islands the chase is carried on to make prisoners, and not victims. its most remarkable feature is the important and almost indispensable assistance which the tame elephants render man against their wild brethren, zealously aiding to reduce them into slavery; now serving as baits to beguile and attract, and now as gendarmes, or rather as convict-warders, to compel their obedience. in ceylon, elephant-hunting is almost an affair of state; it is like a national war, in which the government appeals to the goodwill of the population generally, both europeans and natives. as soon as it is known that a troop or _horde_ of elephants has assembled in a forest, the natives set to work, and with trunks of trees fixed in the ground and supported by transversal bars and buttresses, construct a vast palisaded enclosure, or _corral_, whose entrance forms a kind of gullet so narrow that the animals can only enter one by one, and once drawn into it are unable to return. this being accomplished, a thousand men, europeans or cingalese, surround the forest; they enclose the herd in a circle which incessantly contracts, and drive them before them by waving their torches, and keeping up a grand _tintamarre_ of tamtams, trumpets, and musket-shots. the frightened animals can find no other avenue of escape than the entrance to the corral, where are placed, moreover, as an attraction, some females trained to act as decoys. when all, or nearly all the herd, has been driven into the enclosure, the entrance is strongly and firmly closed with ropes and beams. the elephants, perceiving themselves caught in a trap, naturally endeavour to effect their escape by the way they entered. a sufficient number of hunters then place themselves along each side of the avenue, and a few, mounted on the decoys, are stationed at its extremity. the moment that one of the captives has got entangled in it, his retreat is cut off by means of thick planks piled across the palisade, and he is allowed to make his way towards the entrance, which is also blocked up. there he encounters the decoys, which force him, by striking him with their trunks, to fall back against a neighbouring tree, to which he is speedily bound with ropes. this first operation accomplished, the females are led back to the corral, and the game is renewed, until all the animals have undergone the same fate, and each of them is thralled to a tree in the forest. nothing now remains but to accustom them to a life of servitude; and this is done by depriving them of food for a short time, then administering it in small quantities, and proceeding from the articles they like the least to those they prize the most. the privation at first enfeebles them, and consequently calms their irritation, while they feel the greater gratitude afterwards for the alleviation which is so readily afforded them. this gratitude, and, still more, the dependance in which they find themselves upon man, who at his supreme pleasure grants or refuses their food, renders them in a few days docile and tractable. thus their docility, and the important services which they render, mainly arise in the overmastering fear which man inspires in them. "it is remarkable," says boitard, "that the elephant is not and never has been a domestic animal, but a captive who only obeys through terror. however tame he may be, he never fails to escape into the woods to resume his savage life if an opportunity arises. the need, therefore, arises that on a long march he shall have his driver, or _mahoud_, on his back, to guide him, threaten him, and prevent him from taking to flight. his love of liberty is as great as that of the wildest animals, and in the female elephants it even overpowers maternal love; therefore, when suckling their young, they are never released from their chains, for experience has proved that they will abandon them without regret if circumstances should enable them to effect their escape." [illustration: a corral in ceylon.] the moral and intellectual qualities of the elephant have been greatly exaggerated. as far as his morality is concerned, we must pronounce him a cowardly, pettish, and rancorous animal, which retains a much livelier recollection of every injury done him than of the benefits he may have received. in an intellectual point of view he is certainly inferior to the ape and the dog, but he is superior to the carnaria, as well as to most of the herbivora. his faculties, perhaps, may be most justly compared to those of the horse, which would certainly have exhibited as much intelligence if nature had gifted him with a trunk; for we must never forget that the development of an animal's faculties greatly depends upon the perfection of his organs. again, the horse is susceptible of a complete domestication, while the elephant, as boitard has remarked, is a captive, ever dreading, never loving his master, and eagerly awaiting a favourable moment to escape from him. * * * * * after the elephant, the chief of the animals inhabiting the forests is the rhinoceros, ranged with him by linné in the order of _belluæ_ (or enormous beasts), by cuvier in that of pachyderms, and by de blainville in that of gravigrades. the name _rhinoceros_ ([greek: rhin], nose, and [greek: keras], horn) indicates at once the peculiarity which at the first glance distinguishes him from the other pachyderms. he carries, in fact, upon the arch formed by his nasal bones one or two solid, curved, and sharp-pointed horns, which serve him as very formidable weapons. his ears are upright, pointed, and moderately large; the eyes small and half closed. the coarse thick skin, knotty or granulated on its surface, is of such tenacity and impenetrability about the short thick legs and ungainly body, that it resists the claws of the lion or the tiger, the sword or the shot of the hunter. it hangs about the neck in several large plaits or folds; another fold passes from the shoulders to the fore-legs, and another from the hind part of the back to the thighs. he has a moderately large and long head, a protruding upper lip, and a depressed skull. his manners are fierce, but not aggressive; he leads a lethargic life, and wallows on the marshy banks of lakes and rivers, where grows the vegetable food on which he exclusively feeds. he usually measures about twelve feet in length from the tip of the nose to the insertion of the tail; his height is about seven feet; and the girth of his body is nearly equal to its length! the appearance of the rhinoceros upon the globe was probably contemporaneous with that of the proboscideæ. fossil remains of the animal have been discovered in the temperate, and even the cold countries of asia and europe. in an entire rhinoceros, admirably preserved, was found embedded on the banks of a siberian river, in the ancient frozen soil. now-a-days he is exclusively confined to the tropical regions of the old world. he lives a solitary life in the dense jungles of india, the sunda islands, central and austral africa. naturalists distinguish six varieties--the rhinoceros of india, the one-horned rhinoceros of java, the two-horned rhinoceros of sumatra, the unarmed rhinoceros, the two-horned rhinoceros of africa, and the rhinoceros of bruce. the indian rhinoceros attains the height of five to six feet, and the length of seven to nine feet. he confines his wanderings in the main to the trans-gangetic peninsula. he has but one horn, and some dim tradition of this animal may probably have suggested the long popular fable of the mysterious unicorn. his skin, of a dusky brown, is so singularly thick that it would have rendered all movement impossible on the part of the quadruped, if nature had not disposed it in deep folds corresponding to the principal articulations. thus he seems to the eye caparisoned in a body-armour of thick leather, formed in several pieces; and in truth his impervious hide constitutes a cuirass against which even musket-balls strike innocuously. hence he dreads not the attacks of any of the carnivora. the rhinoceros of java is undoubtedly but a variety of the indian species. that of sumatra differs from the preceding in the possession of two horns--one, the anterior, of great length; the other, much shorter. his skin is moderately thick, very much wrinkled, in deep folds, and garnished with a quantity of long hair. the unarmed rhinoceros, who inhabits the islands of the ganges, has but one rudimentary horn. [illustration: kaffir hunter carried off by a rhinoceros.] the african rhinoceros is the king of his race. he wears a naked, smooth, and tenacious skin. two horns are mounted on his upper jaw; the front one measures more than eighteen inches in length. in all southern and western africa this huge ungainly quadruped is found. the rhinoceros of bruce inhabits abyssinia. his supreme idea of happiness, of the _summum bonum_, as viewed from a _proboscidean_ point of view, is to wallow luxuriously in the mud and slime, and while abandoning himself to this anti-sybaritic indulgence, he heaves a hoarse groan of satisfaction, which conducts the hunter to his retreat. the abyssinians pursue him on horseback. some attack him with arrows or with musketry; others, and these are the boldest, leap from their steeds at the moment the rhinoceros leaps upon him, and hamstring him with their sabres. the huge quadruped falls immediately, and becomes an easy prey to his aggressors.[ ] in south africa the kaffirs and the hottentots display an equal audacity in attacking this formidable foe. they dare to confront him with their sharp knives alone, and generally with success, though a weak thrust or a wrong aim would entail upon them a sudden, swift, and terrible death. mr. cooper rose, in his "sketch of south africa," celebrates an aged chief who had won a well-deserved renown by the most extraordinary instance of courage and presence of mind. he was out a-hunting. a rhinoceros broke abruptly from the covert of a dense thicket, and so near to him, that the kaffir easily leaped upon his back. the furious animal immediately dashed through the jungle, beat the earth with his horn, roared with rage, and used his utmost exertions to dismount his unwelcome rider. in this he would have undoubtedly succeeded, and the negro must have perished, if happily the kross, or sheepskin mantle of the latter, had not been caught in the bushes. mad with fury, the rhinoceros threw himself upon it, and while he was busy rending it in fragments the kaffir leaped lightly to the ground, and saved himself in the deep recesses of the forest. chapter vi. animal life in the virgin forests:--the great apes. it is of their own free choice, to shelter themselves from the burning arrows of the sun, to enjoy the dense shadows and delicious coolness of the great trees, and, without doubt, to avoid the attacks of men, that the elephant and the rhinoceros are denizens of the forest. but a certain number of mammals nature seems to have specially designed to people the forests, and for whom their general organization, and, above all, the structure of their locomotive organs, appear to have left the selection of no other abode. such are, in the first place, the genera, so numerous and so diverse, which compose the great order of quadrumana ("four-handed"), indistinctly comprehended, in popular phraseology, under the denomination of apes; such, too, are the curious arboreal animals called sloths; and such, finally, in the order rodentia, are the squirrels. in occupying ourselves, primarily, with the _apes_, we do but conform to the scientific classifications, all of which place these mammals immediately next to man in the zoological series. linné originally proposed to designate, under the name of _primates_--that is, the first, or chief of animals--man, in the first place; next, the apes; then the galeopitheci (or lemurs); and, finally, the cheiroptera (or bats). this order of primates, established by the great swedish naturalist, has been admitted by the majority of contemporary authors, who, however, have separated the cheiroptera from it. many have also separated man, and, as i think, have more correctly placed him as a distinct genus in the order bimana (or two-handed). * * * * * the apes, or quadrumana, are divided into two families--that of apes, properly so called, and that of the lemuridæ, or lemurs. both belong exclusively to the hottest regions of the globe. the latter are found only in india, africa, and madagascar. the apes, on the other hand, are also spread through south america; but it is in the old world we encounter the most numerous, the most varied, and the most remarkable species. those writers who are so much addicted to tracing analogies between man and the ape, should explain how and why it is the latter attains his greatest development precisely in those regions where man's intellect is dwarfed, "cribbed, cabined, and confined." to the ancient continent especially belong the great apes without tail, or with very short and rudimentary tail--anthropomorphes, baboons, macaucos, and the cynocephali. apes, as well as the other primates, are all inhabitants of tropical countries. they do not exist in europe, in upper asia, or in north america. a single genus seems able to adapt itself to the climate and conditions of the temperate zone, and still reigns in the mediterranean region--in africa, to the north of the atlas; in spain, on the rock and in the neighbourhood of gibraltar--this is the genus baboon (the _pithecus_ of the classical writers), included in the family macaucos. it differs from other genera of the same family in being tailless. this organ is rudimentary in some species of macaucos, properly so called--as in the red-faced macauco of japan; in others, its length never exceeds that of the animal's body. it is the same with the genus mangabey. among the cynocephali, the tail is usually short. these apes are remarkable, as their name indicates, for their prominent muzzle, which resembles that of a dog; and, moreover, for the naked callosities, more or less extensive and of a bluish or vivid red colour, which exist on the upper part of their thighs, immediately beneath the tail. the macaucos and the cynocephali are, in general, of tall stature. when standing upright, they will be about two and a half to three feet in height, but this posture is not natural to them, and they rarely adopt it unless constrained. for their hinder limbs being of nearly the same length as the fore, the quadrupedal mode of progression is easy and habitual, either when they move on the ground or traverse the horizontal branches of the trees among which they live. these apes are endowed with surprising strength, and several, especially among the cynocephali, render themselves formidable by their ferocity and their aggressive audacity. in captivity they show, while young, a mildness of disposition which, joined to their keen intelligence, would seem to render them capable of being greatly improved by careful training. but these good inclinations do not long endure: arrived at the adult age, the macaucos and cynocephali soon allow all their malignity, mischievousness, brutality, and vicious instincts to peep out, and as they grow older become completely intractable. in the time of desfontaines baboons were so common in the forests of the atlas, that in the environs of stora the trees were frequently covered with them. "they feed," says that author, "on pine apples, sweet nuts, indian figs, melons, water-melons, and the vegetables which they pilfer from the gardens of the arabs, whatever cares the latter may exercise to keep these ill-doing animals at a distance. while engaged in their thieving operations, two or three mount to the top of the tallest trees and loftiest rocks to keep watch, and when they perceive any person approaching, or hear any noise, they give a cry of alarm; whereupon the whole troop immediately take flight, carrying with them all they have been able to seize." despite of these predatory habits, the baboons at gibraltar have been fortunate enough to find powerful protectors in the officers of the british garrison, without whom they would have been destroyed. a prohibition against hunting them exists throughout the territory under british rule. at the cape of good hope, and at other points of southern africa, europeans are far from displaying the same amount of goodwill towards the cynocephali. it is true that they are formidable enemies to man through their malignity, their strength, and the dangers incurred from their bite. their mouth is armed, in fact, with canine teeth comparable to those of the most powerful carnivora. the wounds, therefore, says m. paul gervais, which they inflict, either in defence, or, as is more customary with them, in attack, are deep, and consequently very dangerous. these apes are fiercer in disposition than the macaucos, and inspire so much fear when grown up that one of their species is popularly known by the expressive name of the "man-tiger." [illustration: baboons plundering a garden.] we must not confound the cynocephali with the cynopitheci, an intermediate genus between the apes and the macaucos, which connects both the former and the latter with the anthropomorphes. the cynopitheci have no tail; their face is moderately elongated; their ears are round and rimmed. the type-species of this genus is the negro cynopithecus, who is wholly black, and a little smaller than the baboon. his head is crowned with a kind of head-dress raised to a point on the forehead; and his face surrounded with a fringe of long hair. his habitat is the celebes, and some other islands situated between borneo and mindanaos. he possesses a mild and lively disposition. quoy and gaymard, naturalists on board the french exploring-ship _l'astrolabe_, obtained an individual who was readily tamed, and played in the gayest and best-tempered manner possible with the first person he encountered. [illustration: the black cynopithecus.] i may here pause to indicate a few of the more remarkable varieties of the baboon and the monkey: premising that by a recent classification the apes, or simiæ, are divided into four sections--viz.: apes, or such as are tailless; baboons, with elongated muzzles and short tails; monkeys, generally with long tails; and sapajous, or monkeys with prehensile tails. for the present, i limit my remarks to members of the second and third sections. among the monkeys of the old continent a prominent place should be given to the proboscis monkey (_nasalis larvatus_), who is endowed--i may not say, ornamented--with a nose of the most grotesque character and formidable dimensions. this species measures two feet from the tip of the nose to the tail, which is longer than the body. his colour is a dark chestnut, but the face is marked with blue and red. he belongs to borneo and cochin-china, where he assembles in large troops, and feeds wholly on fruit. to cochin-china also belongs the _douc_, a very large species, remarkable for their coat of many colours. back, belly, and sides are of a yellowish-gray; feet black; lower part of the arms and tail, white; a collar of brownish-purple encircles the neck; long yellowish hairs fringe the sides of the face, which is rather flat and of a yellowish bay hue. he measures, when standing upright, three feet and a half to four feet. in south america are found the _howling monkeys_. mr. bates describes one species, the _mycetes strumineus_, which measures sixteen inches in length, exclusive of the tail; the whole body is covered with rather long and shining dingy-white hair, the whiskers and beard only being of a tawny hue. "the one of which i am speaking," says mr. bates,[ ] "was not quite full grown. when it first arrived, it occasionally made a gruff subdued howling noise early in the morning. the deep volume of sound in the voice of the howling monkeys, as is well known, is produced by a drum-shaped expansion of the larynx. it was curious to watch the animal whilst venting its hollow cavernous roar, and observe how small was the muscular exertion employed. when howlers are seen in the forest, there are generally three or four of them mounted on the topmost branches of a tree. it does not appear that their harrowing roar is emitted from sudden alarm; at least, it was not so in captive individuals. it is probable, however, that the noise serves to intimidate their enemies." another species of howlers is the preacher monkey (_mycetes beelzebub_), an animal about the size of a fox, with long black glossy hair, a round beard beneath the chin and throat, black glistening eyes, short round ears, and a long tail. a native of brazil and guiana, he derives his name from the following circumstance: one of these creatures will climb to the summit of a lofty tree, while numbers gather about the lower branches. the monkey perched above the rest then raises a loud howl--a howl so shrill and keen that it is audible at a very great distance; after a while he pauses, and gives a signal with his hand, whereupon the entire assembly join in chorus; another signal, and the discord ceases, while the preacher or singer concludes his inharmonious exercitation.[ ] it is said that this howling faculty is due to the peculiar conformation of the _os hyoides_, or throat-bone, which, communicating with the larynx, increases the resonance of the voice. the paters, or red monkey (_cercopithecus ruber_), so called from the bright bay colour of his upper parts, is a native of senegal. in congo and guinea is found the frolicsome spotted or diana monkey (_cercopithecus diana_), the upper parts of whose body are of a reddish colour, besprinkled with white spots. the mandrill, or variegated baboon (_cynocephalus maimon_), is, undoubtedly, the most notable of his genus, for various and brilliant colours. when standing upright he measures fully five feet. his body is thick and robust, his limbs are firm and muscular; scarcely any forehead relieves the flatness of his long face; the eyes are small and deeply sunken in the large head; the projecting cheek-bones are marked with several deep furrows of purple, scarlet, and violet blue; both the abrupt muzzle and the lips are large and protuberant. the hair of the forehead and temples rises in a kind of pyramid, which gives to the head a triangular appearance; and from the chin hangs a small pointed orange-yellow beard. his strength, moroseness, and ferocity, render him a formidable opponent; and as he prowls about in large bands, it is dangerous for the natives to penetrate into the woods, unless well-armed, and in numerous companies. the derrias (_cynocephalus hamadryas_), a native of the mountains of arabia and abyssinia, measures upwards of four feet when standing erect, and about two feet and a half in a sitting posture. the hair of the head and neck gathers in a long mane, which falls back over the shoulders; the broad whiskers incline backwards so as to cover the ears. the long face is of a dirty flesh-colour; long, shaggy, brownish hair covers the head, neck, shoulders, and all the fore-part of the body. the tail terminates in a long tuft of brown hair. equal in size to, but much stronger than, an english mastiff is the chacma, or pig-faced baboon (_cynocephalus porcarius_), of the cape of good hope, where he inhabits the mountains, and makes frequent forays in the gardens and plantations around cape town. his yells and screams make night hideous. he wears a sober livery of an uniform dark brown colour, with long shaggy mane-like hair about his neck and shoulders. his skull is contracted and flattened, his muzzle extremely prolonged, and the cheeks of both sexes are ornamented with small grayish whiskers. * * * * * we must now direct our attention to the anthropomorphes, or apes with a semi-human form, which, of all the quadrumana, approach nearest to man in form, stature, internal and external conformation, manners, instinct, and development of intelligence. they have no tail, and the gibbons (_pithecus lar_), which occupy the lowest rank among them, possess only the rudiments of ischiatic callosities. nor are they provided with those dilatable pouches worn by a great number of other primates on each side of the mouth, and named by french naturalists _abajoues_. their position, when they move along the ground, is bent rather than erect, and they assist themselves by their extraordinarily long anterior arms. these arms, in fact, are much longer than their legs; their thumbs, at the four extremities, are opposed to the other fingers; the palm of their hands and the sole of their feet are naked, as well as their face. the sternum is large and flat; the clavicles are short and well articulated. the analogies between the apes and man are so striking and so numerous, and their intelligence, at least in the largest genera, is so superior to that of other animals, that, without admitting the opinion of the ancient naturalists who considered them to be degraded or degenerate men, nor that of certain modern writers, who look upon man as an improved ape, one cannot fail to recognize between them and us a species of kinship--though it may be very difficult to distinguish the character and the degree--which imposes itself upon the understanding and the sentiment of every impartial and attentive observer. the most impassive hunters who have killed orangs, gibbons, chimpanzees, and gorillas, acknowledge that they have never been able to conquer a painful impression--almost, as it were, a feeling of remorse--when contemplating the semi-human agony of their victims. this impression, though they may have succeeded in persuading themselves to the contrary, is not the effect of an empty or ridiculous sensibility. everything in nature has its _raison d'être_--its motive of existence; the relations between the organism and the faculties are constant and undeniable; and i find it difficult to believe that the creator can have formed without object or purpose beings so extraordinarily similar to man, unless this physical resemblance corresponds to a more or less definite moral analogy. the illustrious and devout linné, whom no one will suspect either of materialism, or of forgetfulness of the dignity of man, has ranked the anthropomorphes in his genus _homo_, with man, whom he specifically distinguishes by his wholly exceptional faculties, and whom he denominates _homo sapiens_, that is, "the wise," or more correctly speaking, the "thinking man." i must add that linné at a later period renounced this quasi-assimilation, and that modern zoologists have unanimously rejected it.[ ] in the age of linné, the apes of which we speak were but imperfectly known. even now-a-days our information upon the subjects of their intelligence, manners, and habits, is defective and fragmentary. the individuals whom we have retained in captivity have died while very young, and it is impossible to say whether their early mildness and intelligence would have proved as transitory in them as in the macaucos and the cynocephali, who, as they advance in years, display the most brutal instincts. in their adult state, the anthropomorphic apes have not been really studied. travellers have penetrated into their forests only to attack them with rifle-balls, and have told us but little of the manner in which they comport themselves. as for the details collected from natives inhabiting their vicinity, they are so contradictory, and mixed up with so much which is fabulous, that it is impossible to draw any conclusions from them in reference to the habits of these animals. four distinct genera of the anthropomorphic apes are now recognized by naturalists: two belonging to southern asia, or rather the great indian archipelago--viz., the orang and the gibbon; two to tropical africa--viz., the chimpanzee and the gorilla. i shall describe their peculiarities in my next chapter. chapter vii. the anthropomorphic apes:--orangs, gibbons, chimpanzees, and gorillas. the genus orang-outang (_simia satyrus_), or "wild man of the woods," is a native of the islands of borneo, sumatra, and java, and of a limited portion of the malayan peninsula. we must dismiss as travellers' fables the exaggerated recitals which attribute to this ape a gigantic stature (six to seven feet). the tallest specimens which have reached europe have not exceeded four feet in height. the orang has short and feeble lower limbs; but his arms, on the contrary, are very robust, and of such a length that he can touch the ground while standing upright--a posture, however, which is neither natural nor convenient for him. his ordinary mode of locomotion consists in passing from one tree to another by swinging himself from branch to branch, his progress being as rapid as that of a swift horse, and his agility not less wonderful than that of our leotards and blondins. his body is covered with coarse reddish hair, whose shade varies according to his age. it is thick on the head, shoulders, and body, but thin about the fore-parts. the face has a bluish cast, and is partly naked; but the eyes sink under bushy, prominent eye-brows, and the upper lip, chin, and cheeks are garnished with a sort of longish beard. naked are the exterior face and palm of the hands. where the skin is deprived of hair, its colour is of a hodden gray. the orang-outang has a large protuberant belly, a flat nose, small ears, projecting muzzle, long, thin, and very extensible lips. in youth the forehead projects; but as the creature grows older, it becomes depressed at the same time that the face lengthens; the face assumes a more decided bestial type; and the intelligence, lively and quick at first, declines into obtuseness and atrophy. the head inclines forward; the neck is short, thick, and seemingly afflicted with gôitre, which is due to the presence of the pouch called thyroïdian. this pouch, placed above the sternum, extends beneath the arm-holes, and communicates with the larynx. when expanded, it is capable of receiving a great quantity of air, which, being afterwards expelled very slowly, and passing anew through the vocal organ, produces a dull and prolonged murmur. the orangs have now disappeared from continental india, and even, we are assured, from java, so that their chief habitats at present are borneo and sumatra; and here too they are few in number. the genus is rapidly dying out. those which remain seek in the dense and marshy forests an asylum from the attacks of man, and a shelter against the climate. during the day, they traverse the summits of the trees in quest of food, for they subsist exclusively upon leaves, young shoots, tender bark, and fruits. at nightfall they conceal themselves amid the foliage of some moderately tall tree, or in the great tufts of orchids which flourish about the arboreal giants. there they make for themselves a couch like an even floor or platform, garnish it with leaves and interwoven branches, and stretch themselves upon it, or sit crouching, to enjoy their slumbers. it is said that when the necessity arises they spread over themselves a similarly-fashioned canopy as a shelter from the rain. the orang-outang is timid and inoffensive; he rarely engages in a combat with his enemies. at times, however, when driven to extremities, he resorts to his great muscular strength in self-defence, and if he can succeed in grappling with his antagonist, he rends him to pieces with his tenacious hands; never using his teeth, although his jaws are very powerful, and armed with canine teeth capable of inflicting dangerous wounds. in general, when he feels himself sorely stricken, he hurriedly climbs to the summit of the loftiest tree within his reach, and if he finds himself still pursued, he passes on to another. meanwhile he utters the most dolorous cries, and vents his impotent rage upon the tree which serves him for a refuge. one after another he breaks the greatest branches; but they immediately escape from his grasp, and fall to the ground. it is this circumstance which has originated the assertions of many travellers, that the orang defends himself by hurling boughs at his aggressors, and even by striking them heavy blows with a stick. the truth is, that far from protracting his defence by the expedient his fury prompts him to adopt, he does but expose himself the more fully to the projectiles directed at him. the stripped tree is no longer available as a shelter. the malay hunters, therefore, take no heed of all this fracas, but patiently wait until the orang has exposed himself, to aim their arrows or rifle-balls with the greater certainty. [illustration: death of an orang-outang.] several tribes of borneo manifest a strange partiality for the flesh of the orangs, and eat it as a great dainty, either roasting it over a fire, or cutting it into steaks and drying it in the sun. the indians make use of his skin for helmets and caps of fantastic device, which they don upon festival days, or to give themselves, when necessary, a formidable air. the habitat of the gibbons (_hylobates_) is more extensive in range than that of the orangs. they are found not only in sumatra, in borneo, in the celebes and philippine islands, but in considerable portions of the two peninsulas within and beyond the ganges. in size they are inferior to the anthropomorphes, their stature not exceeding three feet. their head is small and rounded, their muzzle does but slightly project, and their face wears a pleasanter expression than that of the great apes of the same group. a sort of thick black or very dark fur, with occasionally patches of white, enwraps their entire body. they have arms and hands of extraordinary length, but a slightly developed belly. they live upon the forest-trees, which they traverse without ever descending to the ground, exhibiting a marvellous agility and suppleness. they are completely frugivorous; their manners are gentle; their intelligence they retain, and even develop, after they have attained maturity. although they should be captured after they have passed their youth, they easily become domesticated, and display a loyal affection towards their masters. unfortunately the climate of europe, and perhaps, in particular, the atmosphere of menageries, proves fatal to them, and those individuals placed in the zoological gardens of london and paris succumb, after a brief residence, to dysentery or pulmonary disease. the genus gibbon comprises several species: the _gibbon-siamang_ (_hylobates syndactylus_) is the greatest of which we have any knowledge. black is he as ebony, both in face and hair. his thyroïdian pouch is very large, and of great expansive powers. by means of this ungainly organ he utters the most horrible, deafening, and prolonged cries, which, it is said, can be heard for several leagues around. he is common enough in sumatra, inhabiting the dense wild woods which lie to the north of bencoolen. he owes his characteristic epithet of _syndactylus_ to the fact that the index and middle finger of his hind-feet (or shall i say, hands?) are united ([greek: syn]) by a narrow membrane, which extends even to the base of the ungueal phalange. the gibbon-lar (_hylobates_ or _pythecus lar_) is smaller than the preceding. his skin is of a blackish-brown, with the four extremities and the framing of the face white. he ranges over the peninsula of malacca, and, according to some travellers, the kingdom of siam. [illustration: gibbon-siamang and mourning gibbon.] the wou-wou, or silvery gibbon (_hylobates leuciscus_), another malayan species, commends himself to our notice by the silvery gray of his skin on the upper parts of the body and the outer sides of the anus and legs. his name of "wou-wou" is intended to describe his peculiar utterance--a kind of clucking totally unlike the howlings of the other gibbons. ashen-gray is the colour of the skin of the mourning gibbon (_hylobates funereus_) on the external sides of his limbs, while the belly and contour of the face, and the inner parts, are of a blackish hue. the _hylobates cinereus_ is of an uniform cindery-gray. he inhabits the sunda islands, and principally java, and numerous individuals of his species have been imported into europe. his disposition is gentle and affectionate; he quickly familiarizes himself with the persons who approach him. * * * * * the genus chimpanzee (_pithecus troglodytes_) is by some later naturalists preferred to that foremost place among the quadrumana in which cuvier had installed the orang-outang. he certainly approaches the nearest--though _longo intervallo_--to man, of all his race. he was long confounded with other anthropomorphous genera, under the vague name of "man of the woods" (_homo sylvestris_). it would appear to have been the chimpanzee that buffon had in his "mind's eye" when describing his jocko; although that ideal variety of shaggy men, with flat, oval visage, long legs, tall and erect figure, which stands before us in the great naturalist's pages, bears but little resemblance to the animal we have seen in the zoological gardens, or the more faithful and judicious portrait drawn by modern travellers. but the name of jocko is evidently a corruption of that of _enge-eko_, which the negroes of the gaboon bestow upon the chimpanzee, just as the latter appellation is an imperfect reproduction of that of _quimpezé_, in use among the negroes of angola. putting aside these speculations, we see that the only well-defined species of this genus is the black chimpanzee (_troglodytes niger_ of the present nomenclature, _pygmea_ of tyson). his home is the forests of the gaboon, the coast of angola, and guinea. his face is larger and flatter than that of the orang. he has large ears, but shaped like those of men. on the head, shoulders, and back, he wears a coat of long black hair; his legs are short, and his arms very long; yet he is better able to walk like a biped than the macaucos, or even the orangs and the gibbons. of all the simidæ, he alone has calves to his legs. he has neither tail, ischiatic callosities, _abajoues_, nor thyroïdian pouch. the hair of his head is parted on the summit, and falls down on either side, surrounding the ear and jaws, and mingling with that of the neck. his bare, wrinkled face is of a light copper colour; so are the palms of his hands, and his fingers, but his nails are generally black. the highest stature to which the chimpanzee can attain is about four and a half feet; but as he never stands absolutely erect, he appears much shorter. his small eyes, deep sunken in their orbits, are of a dark hazel colour. the cranium, even in young specimens, is depressed, and presents, in advance of a low receding forehead, a projecting superciliary ridge. as the animal advances in years, his muzzle lengthens, his jaws develop, his skull grows more depressed; at the same time his intelligence gradually disappears, his manners become fiercer, and his disposition less tractable; in a word, the instincts of the brute regain their supremacy. such, at least, is the statement of the best accredited authorities; as for the individuals imported into europe, they invariably die at too early an age for any one to study their habits and character in maturity. the chimpanzees live, it is said, in troops in the forests, or at least they congregate for the purpose of repelling the attacks made upon them by the carnaria, and to drive from their domains such other animals as may attempt to install themselves therein to their disadvantage. their weapons are ready to their hand--stones and the branches of trees. their diet is essentially a frugivorous one; yet they will occasionally indulge in a lizard or two, or any other reptile. like the orangs, they construct rude beds or couches, of interwoven boughs stripped of their greenery. the negroes of guinea, scarcely much higher in the scale of intelligence than themselves, look upon them as a _nation_, and believe that if these men of the woods do not speak, it is because they fear to be condemned to work or carried off into slavery, and not from incapacity. a recent traveller, whose adventures have been the subject of much discussion, and who for a considerable period enjoyed the reputation of a mendez pinto or a munchausen, asserts that he discovered at the gaboon two new species of chimpanzees. one, called by the natives _nshiégo-mbouvé_, and to which he gave the scientific name of _troglodytes calvus_, builds for himself some leafy screens of quite artistic construction upon isolated trees. he is smaller than the ordinary chimpanzee, and _bald_. the other species distinguished by m. du chaillu[ ] is the _kooloo-kamba_. he is distinguished from all his congeners by a very peculiar cry. while offering a general resemblance to man, he approaches him more nearly in certain respects than all the other known apes. his head is very remarkable, and presents a curious analogy to that of an esquimaux or a chinese. his face is hairless, and wholly black. the forehead is loftier than that of any of his congeners, and the capacity of his skull is also greater in proportion to his height. a wider space occurs between his eyes than is customary with the great simiadæ. he has a flattened nose, high projecting cheek-bones, hollow cheeks, and a well-marked orbitary arch. the muzzle is less prominent, and larger in proportion than that of other apes. both sides of his face are ornamented with straight tufts of hair, which, joining below the chin like whiskers, communicate a strange human character to the whole countenance. his arms descend below his knees. all the body is hairy. the shoulders are broad, the hands long and narrow, and well adapted for climbing trees. both arm and hand are exceedingly muscular; the abdomen is very prominent. the ample ears rather resemble those of a man than the ears of any other ape. * * * * * our peregrinations now bring us to the giant of the quadrumana, the true king of the forests of equatorial africa; in a word, to the _gorilla_, whom buffon has described under the name of _pongo_, almost as exactly as he pictured the chimpanzee under that of _jacko_. we cannot be said to have known the gorilla for more than a quarter of a century. it was in that dr. savage, an american missionary, recognized the pongo as a species of the genus troglodytes, distinct from the chimpanzee, and named him _troglodytes gorilla_, in allusion to the celebrated narrative of the carthaginian hanno relative to the pretended female gorillas which that navigator professed to have seen in an island of the gulf of guinea. since that period the gorilla has been carefully studied by the eminent naturalist professor owen. messieurs gautier and franquet, french naval surgeons, collected some important information upon the habits and physiology of this great ape, and m. franquet procured for the paris museum the skeleton of an adult gorilla. other dead and preserved specimens have since been imported into england and france, and the anatomy of this african troglodytes is accurately known. and, finally, m. du chaillu, in the work already quoted, has supplied numerous strange and interesting details, which, if at first discredited and contested, are now very generally accepted as strictly accurate. the name of "pongo," applied to the gorilla by battel and buffon, is clearly a modification or corruption of that of the tribe of mpongwéss, who dwell on the banks of the gaboon, not far from the forests tenanted by this mysterious quadrumane. the mpongwéss negroes call the chimpanzee _enge-eko_, and the gorilla _enge-ena_; whence the surname of "gina," linked to the zoological appellation of "gorilla"--_gorilla-gina_. the gorilla appears to be confined in the dense wooded regions of lower guinea, where he shuns, and, if needs be, repels the approach of man and that of the carnivorous animals, as well as of all those who attempt to penetrate into his retreats. fierce and savage is he in his every custom; but it has never been satisfactorily demonstrated that he acts on the aggressive. he is not the less an object of extreme terror to his negro neighbours, on account of his extraordinary strength; and much more, perhaps, owing to the fantastic legends that have grown up about his name. his stature exceeds four, and sometimes attains, it is said, to upwards of six feet. the most salient characteristics of his head are the great width and elongation of the face, the development of the lower jaw, and the smallness of the osseous framework, which surrounded by a very elevated orbitary arch, whence proceeds a second ridge dominating over all the upper part of the skull. the nose is flat, the eye deep-sunken in its orbit, the ear small, the mouth very large. the lips, especially the lower one, are long and very extensible. the expression of the face is terrible, reminding one of coleridge's painful picture of a man-monster; and especially terrible when the animal raises the shaggy skin, and reveals the enormous fangs which bristle in his jaws. his neck is thick, and so short, that the head seems grafted directly upon the shoulders. the latter are of formidable breadth, and his vast chest resounds like a drum when he beats it with his powerful fists, raising himself upright on his feet--an action which is with him a sign of mistrust, hatred, and indignation. he has a large expanded belly, like that of the orang and chimpanzee. his skin is of a deep black, naked on the face and on the palm of the hands, but elsewhere clothed with a rough iron-gray or brown-black hair. the breast of the male adult is hairless, like that of the female. with the former the hair of the back is worn off, owing to his habit of sleeping on the ground supported against a tree. this peculiarity, according to m. du chaillu, is only seen in the female when she has attained an advanced age, in which case it would seem to be owing to the fact that, having no longer her infants to shelter among the branches, she sleeps in the same fashion as the male. the natural walk of the gorilla is not upon two feet, but upon four paws. in this posture, owing to the length of his arms, his head and chest are much elevated. when he runs, his hind-legs are brought up under the body. the arm and the leg on the same side move simultaneously, which gives the animal a curious and awkward gait. he runs, however, with extreme swiftness. despite the strength of his jaws, despite his enormous canine teeth, the gorilla is exclusively frugivorous; but as he stands in need of abundant nourishment, he is compelled to change his quarters incessantly. his habits, therefore, are essentially nomadic. he is not gregarious. m. du chaillu affirms that he has never seen but a couple of adults together, the male and the female; sometimes an aged male wanders about alone. of the young, as many as five will occasionally be found in company. it is a difficult matter to approach them, for their hearing is very keen, and when alarmed they immediately take to flight, while the nature of the ground embarrasses the hunter in his pursuit. every hunter who understands his _métier_ will reserve his fire, when chasing the gorilla, until the last moment. whether the furious beast takes the report for a threatening defiance, or from some other unknown cause, if the hunter fires and misses, the gorilla immediately pounces upon him, and no one can withstand the force of his attack. a single blow of his enormous foot, armed as it is with most formidable claws, eviscerates a man, smashes in his chest, or batters his skull. negroes in a like situation have been seen, reduced to despair by terror, to turn upon the gorilla and aim at him their discharged musket; but they have not even the time to level an inoffensive blow; the arm of their antagonist falls upon them with all its weight, shattering at once both arm and gun. i know of no animal whose attack is so fatal to man, for the reason that he dares to confront him face to face, with his arms for weapons of offence, exactly like a boxer, with the exception that he has the advantage of longer arms, and a vigour far surpassing that of any athlete who has ever claimed the suffrages of the ring. fortunately, the gorilla dies as easily as a man. a blow in the chest, if well-directed, immediately lays him low. he falls forward on his face, his arms widely extended, and heaving with his last breath a frightful dying cry, half roar, half wail, which though a signal of safety for the hunter, nevertheless resounds painfully in his ear, like the supreme utterance of human agony.[ ] [illustration: a gorilla killing a negro.] the negroes of the gaboon are generally very partial to the flesh of the gorilla, as well as to that of the other great apes, although it is, in sooth, of a leathery character. this partiality need not surprise us on the part of a race which too frequently indulge in a horrible banquet off their own kind. it has been observed that those tribes which are not cannibal do not share the liking of their neighbours for the flesh of the gorilla or the chimpanzee; many even shrink from it with peculiar horror, on account of the kinship existing, as they believe, between these apes and man,--and the superstitious creed which represent these animals as supernatural beings, whose bodies are the refuge of the souls of their relatives, or of their friends, labouring for their crimes under an eternal curse! chapter viii. animal life in the forests:--the cebidÆ, or monkeys of america--the lemurs--the sloths--the squirrels. the ancient continent possesses, in addition to the great apes of which i have already spoken, the macaucos, the cynocephali, and the anthropomorphes, other apes of more erect, and one might even say more elegant figures, essentially climbers, and provided with a long, but not prehensile tail. such are the semnopitheci and the monkeys of the african forests, of india and indo-china, of japan and the indian archipelago. these two latter groups approximate, by their external forms, to the apes of the new world; divided by buffon into sagouins and sapajous, but re-united in the new classification of naturalists under one single family, named _cebidæ_. these--one genus, the brachiura, excepted--have all a very long, and, generally, a prehensile tail. they differ, moreover, from the simidæ of the old world in the disposition of their nostrils, which are always open laterally, and separated by a thick depressed membrane; in such wise, that it might also be affirmed they were gifted with two noses! by nature they are of a gentle and placable disposition, readily domesticate themselves with man, and do not become in their old age more impracticable or malicious than in youth. the cebidæ are divided into several genera, such as the _howlers_, the _atelæ_, the _sajous_, the _saïmris_, the _nyctipitheci_, or nocturnal apes; to which we may add, perhaps, the tribe of the _hapalidæ_ (ouistitis and tamarins). [illustration: howling monkeys.] to the _howling monkeys_ we have found it convenient to refer in a preceding chapter, and it is almost needless to remind the reader that they owe their distinctive name to their habit of assembling in the woods, and startling the echoes with a chorus of unearthly noises. they chiefly inhabit new grenada, guiana, brazil, and paraguay, where, night and morning, their discordant orchestra strikes terror to the soul of the unaccustomed traveller. i have already said that the tail of nearly all the american cebidæ is long and prehensile; that is, endowed with a peculiar faculty of winding or clinging round any object. [illustration: ateles crossing a river.] in the genus _ateles_, or "spider monkey," for example, it virtually forms a fifth limb, by whose agency the animal suspends himself in the air, and darts from one tree to another with more than the agility of a leotard. it amply compensates for the imperfection with which nature has afflicted him by leaving his fore-paws deprived of thumbs. he owes his popular designation of the spider monkey to his long slender limbs and sprawling gestures. in the colour of his skin, his methodical slowness, and the suppleness of his movements, he resembles the gibbons. of all animals he alone has the biceps of the thigh resembling that of man. he is fond of the society of his kind, and mainly subsists on insects, small fish, and molluscs, which he catches with all the address of a practised angler. travellers affirm that he frequently crosses the wide american rivers without descending to the ground. he and his comrades form a living chain, which hangs suspended from a lofty branch, and, by a series of more or less nimble movements, succeeds in _hooking itself on_ to a tree on the other side. this chain serves at first as a flying bridge for the whole troop; then it accomplishes its own passage, by detaching itself from its point of suspension to fall back on the opposite bank. the tale, however, has an improbable air about it, which makes a large demand on the reader's belief. it is from south america, and notably from brazil and guiana, that we import into europe the apes most valued by our itinerant mountebanks and by zoological amateurs, on account of their gentleness, their domesticity, their intelligence, and their singular instinct of imitation--almost amounting to genius--which renders them wonderfully apt in the performance of all kinds of tricks and amusing exercises. nearly all these apes belong to the very numerous genus of _sajous_, or _sapajous_. thus we have the squirrel monkey (_callithrix sciurus_), not much larger than the animal whose name he bears, and infinitely more nimble and diverting. he is of a bright golden yellow colour, with feet and hands of a deeper yellow. his head is round, with a blackish nose, and hairy ears. his tail is very long, and tipped with black. the nails of his hands are flat, while those of his feet resemble claws. the ouistitis, which are frequently imported into europe, are very pretty animals, clad in a soft kind of fur, and with their ears ornamented by long brush-like tufts of black or white hairs. they are very easily tamed, are mild and intelligent, and, owing to their small size, conveniently kept in apartments; but they do not acclimatize in europe, and, even if they survive the voyage, die very shortly after their arrival. linné has given the name of _lemurs_, which modern naturalists have also adopted, to a race of quadrumanous animals approximating in many particulars to the monkey tribe, but forming, nevertheless, a perfectly distinct zoological family. it comprises five genera: one, that of the galagos, belongs to africa; two inhabit india and the neighbouring islands--namely, the loris and the tarsii; and, finally, two others, the makis and the indris, are exclusively confined to madagascar, where they occupy the same position as the apes properly so called on the continent. the galagos are distinguished by their great eyes, their large membranous ears, which double down when the animal is at rest, their extraordinary long hind limbs, and their long and tufted tail. in size they vary from that of a rat to that of a rabbit. the _senegal galagos_, or gum animals of senegal (_galago senegalensis_), have, at night, all the activity of birds, hopping from bough to bough on their hind limbs only. they watch the insects flitting among the leaves, listen to the fluttering moth as it darts through the air, and leap upon it with arrow-like rapidity, seldom missing their prize, which is caught by the hands. their nests are made in the branches of the trees, and they cover a bed for their young with grass and leaves. what shall i say of the _loris_? two species only are known, and both are natives of the east indian world: the short-limbed loris (_lemur tardigradus_), and the slender loris (_lemur gracilis_), the latter being readily recognized by the disproportionate length of his limbs, and, especially, of his fore-arms. they live in the trees; feeding on insects, or, as a relish, on small birds and quadrupeds; and going forth at night in search of their prey. they have a short muzzle, slender body, no tail, rough tongue, and large staring eyes, placed very near each other. their ears are short, scarcely rising through the hair in which they are embedded; the nostrils project beyond the mouth, and are surrounded by a naked muzzle; and the thumbs are widely separated from the fingers, both on the fore and hinder hands. of the _tarsii_ it is enough to say that they are insectivorous, like the loris, and that their hind limbs are similarly disproportionate. the tail is long and tufted; the large, fixed, glaring eyes mark them out as addicted to nocturnal habits. they leap about two feet at a spring, and by day conceal themselves under the roots of trees. two species are distinguished: the _tarsius fuscomanus_ of fischer, and the _tarsius bancanus_ of horsfield. the _makis_ approach the nearest of all the lemuridæ to the superior quadrumana. they have, however, like their congeners, opposite fingers on the hind feet. the short-tailed indri bears even some slight resemblance to man, in the shortness of his tail, the length of his legs, and his altitude. the malagasy call him the "man of the woods," although he has a pointed muzzle and trumpet-shaped ears on the summit of the head. he is the largest of the lemuridæ, attaining, when erect, the height of three feet. his skin is soft, and clothed in long fine hair; whence naturalists have named him _indris laniger_. very gentle in disposition, he is easily tamed, although endowed with only moderate intelligence. it is said that he can be trained to the chase. the maki, like the short-tailed indri, has a thin elongated muzzle; otherwise, in form, he approximates more closely to the ratans or the coatis than to the apes. their ears are small and round, lateral, and almost entirely hidden in the hair; they carry a tail of notable length; their fur is thick and soft. the thumb of their anterior paws is nearly as "opposable" as that of the posterior. to sum up: they are graceful little animals, precisely because we do not find in them those grotesque features and that eccentric conformation which render the apes, even the most favoured by nature, offensive caricatures of man. they are lively and agile; they climb, run, and leap with as much grace as nimbleness. their habits are nocturnal, as the development of their eyes sufficiently indicates. they subsist on fruits and insects. their manners are gentle; they accustom themselves to captivity with great readiness, and soon grow familiar; but they do not equal the apes in intelligence. this genus comprehends several species. i shall specify the _maki-mocoas_, which is of a cindery-gray, with the cheeks and throat white, and the tail marked with regular black rings; the _white-mantled maki_, whose muzzle, shoulders, and tail are black, and the rest of the body of a pure white; the _red maki_, very remarkable for the brightness of his colours, for his body is of a lively red, the upper part of his neck and head white, as well as the extremities of his legs; and, finally, his belly and tail are black. other species have been distinguished, as the red-bellied maki, the yellow-bellied, the maki with the white forehead, and the like. [illustration: . maki-mocoas. . white-mantled maki.] * * * * * to the fauna of the madagascar forests also belongs an extremely rare animal, few specimens of which have been brought into europe. after some hesitation our naturalists have agreed to refer it to the order of primates, although its general appearance and its system of dentition caused it at first to be taken for a kind of large squirrel; while, on the other hand, the form and disposition of its thin fingers, and the development of its nails, liken it to the sloths. this animal is the aye-aye, or _cheiromys madagascariensis_. the characters which have determined its annexations to the order of primates are, principally, the presence of opposable thumbs on the hind-paws; the terminal position of the nostrils; the oblique direction of the eyes, and the absence of a vertical fissure on the upper lip. its habits are not well known; but it is a burrowing animal, very slothful, and goes abroad at night. it has large flat ears, like a bat's, and a tail like a squirrel's; but its peculiarity is the middle toe or finger of the fore-foot, whose two last joints are very long, slender, and destitute of hair. from nose to tail it measures about eighteen inches, and its general colour is a pale ferruginous brown, mixed with gray. sonnerat, who discovered the aye-aye in his expedition to madagascar, at the close of the last century, succeeded in obtaining a couple of specimens, which he kept alive for two months. "i nourished them," he says, "upon cooked rice, and they make use, in eating, of the thin fingers of their fore-feet, just as the chinese do of their chopsticks. they seemed always drowsy, resting with the head placed between the fore-paws, and it was only by shaking them several times we could get them to move." this torpid condition, however, was it the effect of confinement or of natural apathy? if due to the latter, it would be another point of approximation between the aye-aye and the sloths, which some naturalists have also inclined to rank among the primates. other authors have placed those latter quadrupeds in an order apart, under the name of "tardigrades;" but most scientific zoologists now classify them with the edentata, and form them into the family of bradypes or bradypidæ. undoubtedly the sloth, or aï, is an animal of curious and uncouth appearance; in general conformation not unlike the bear, to which he also approaches in the form of his head, and in deficiency of tail, while his long rough hair, coarse and shaggy, like dry withered grass, recalls the fur of the ant-eater. the most singular peculiarity of his organization is the structure of the feet, whose strong crooked claws, to the number of three or more in each limb, are so linked together that they cannot be moved separately. [illustration: cheiromys, or aye-aye of madagascar.] the name of "sloth" popularly bestowed on this animal is not so well-deserved as some writers of zoology made easy have represented. it is true that his progress on the ground is made with difficulty and slowness; but in the trees, his customary sojourn, he displays considerable address, and transports himself easily from tree to tree. "he moves suspended from the branch," says waterton, "he rests suspended from the branch, and he sleeps suspended from the branch. hence his seemingly bungled composition is at once accounted for; and in lieu of the sloth leading a painful life, and entailing a miserable existence upon his progeny, it is but fair to conclude that he just enjoys life as much as any other animal, and that his extraordinary formation and singular habits are but further proofs to engage us to admire the wonderful works of omnipotence." dr. lund says of the three-toed sloth (_bradypus torquatus_) that he climbs with remarkable sureness and aptitude. the manner in which he moves is thus:--lying on his belly, with all his four extremities stretched out from his body, he first presses one of his hind-feet with all its might against the ground, whereby the corresponding side of the body is slightly raised. the fore-leg on the same side thus becomes sufficiently free for the animal to move it a little in advance. he then hooks his powerful claws fast in the earth, and so drags his body a little onwards. the same manoeuvre is next repeated on the opposite side; and thus the poor animal progresses in the slowest and most laborious manner. but though his organization unfits him for terrestrial locomotion, it is wonderfully adapted, as i have said, to climbing trees. with his long arms he reaches high up, and clings fast to the bough with crooked claws. the _inverted_ position of the soles of his hind-feet gives him a power of _clutching_ the trunk of the tree which no other mammal possesses; so that truly when we see him climbing a tree, we can scarcely believe it to be the same animal that lies so helpless on the ground. hence we see that the sloth's organization is wholly adapted for living in trees. compared with the slowness of his motions, he is the best climber among mammals, while he is the worst walker; or rather, he is the only mammal that can neither walk nor stand. the bradypes family is peculiar to south america. it includes but two genera, whose types are the _chalypus-unau_ and the _bradypus-ai_. the unau, or two-toed sloth, is found in the forests of peru, guiana, and columbia. his length is from twenty to thirty inches. he has a large head; long and dry hair, of a grayish-brown. during the day he sees very imperfectly, and therefore passes most of his time asleep upon a tree, where he may be seen clinging by three of his feet to a bough, and making use of the fourth to reach and convey to his mouth the food on which he lives. the aï is more indolent in his habits than the unau, from which he differs rather in his anatomical and osteological characteristics than in his aspect and conformation. he may, however, be recognized by his rudimentary tail, his flattened visage, and the long frizzled hair which covers certain parts of the body. [illustration: . aï (two-toed sloth). . unau (three-toed sloth).] we have seen that the aye-aye may be considered as connecting the quadrumana with the bradypes, on the one hand, and the squirrels on the other. these two groups, however, exhibit a very striking contrast between their habits and disposition; and since to animals of the former the name has been given of "sloths," the latter might justly be designated "the active." if there exist, indeed, any animals for whom _movement_ is a vital necessity, these, assuredly, are the squirrels. they climb trees with great agility, and leap from one branch to another with a marvellous vigour and precision. on the ground, they trot rather than run. they are essentially graminivorous and frugivorous; nuts, fruits, seeds, the young stems of trees, forming their chief nourishment, though at times they plunder birds' nests, and regale themselves with the eggs or even the "callow brood." [illustration: common european squirrels.] the squirrel (_sciurus_) belongs to the family _sciuridæ_, in the order rodentia. their special characteristics may be enumerated as a long bushy tail, generally carried curved over the body, whence the greek name skiouros ([greek: skia], a shade, and [greek: oura], a tail), fore-paws furnished with four toes, which have curved claws, and a tubercular thumb; long hind-legs, the feet provided with five toes; two incisors in each jaw; and four molar teeth on each side of each jaw, simple, with tuberculous crowns, and a fifth in front of the upper jaw, which soon falls out. the squirrel's fur, thick and soft, is of a bright reddish-brown colour, more or less varied with gray; with a snow-white belly and breast, and a tail brown, or almost black. the ears are ornamented with long tufts of hair. the eyes, directed laterally, are black and lively, shining with subdued mischief; the legs are short and muscular; and when on the ground the animal moves by a succession of leaps, the tail being undulating and extended. he lives constantly in the forest, selecting a particular tree, where he builds his nest, either in a hollow of the trunk or among the branches. in the latter case he builds himself a sort of cabin, with twigs and stems, artfully concealed beneath a covering of moss and fragments of bark. there he lives "by his ain fireside," in the company of his mate and their young ones, collecting an abundant magazine of nuts and acorns for their winter provision. in the spring and summer he loves to gambol among the leafy boughs, climbing up and down the forest trees, and uttering a short quick stuccato cry, like the sound which we produce by clacking the tongue against the palate. if you attempt to seize him, he bites sharply, and scratches like a cat. he is nevertheless easily tamed, and his engaging manners, his amusing gambols, and constant liveliness, make him a great favourite among our "domestic pets." he soon grows accustomed to his cage, and after a brief interval of liberty returns to it of his own accord. the common squirrel (_sciurus vulgaris_) is found all over europe, north america, and the northern and temperate regions of asia. he is about eight inches and a-half in length, without the tail, which measures fully six inches long. in lapland and sweden his colour changes to gray in the winter season; in the snowy wastes of siberia, he is frequently seen of a pure white. the only other european species is the alpine squirrel (_sciurus alpinus_), a native of the alps and pyrenees, of a deep brown colour, speckled with yellowish-white. to north america belongs the gray squirrel (_sciurus carolinensis_), where he enjoys his free and sportive life in the great forests of hickory, oak, maple, and chestnut. his whole length, including the tail, is about two feet. as he forays plentifully among the corn-fields, the inhabitants regard him as a scourge, and wage deadly war against him. like the lemming, he migrates about autumn, in immense hosts; advancing in a straight course, which no obstacle is permitted to interrupt, and spreading desolation, like the course of an invading army. the large species of the fox squirrel (_sciurus vulpinus_) belongs exclusively to the "murmurous pine-woods" of south america. the cat squirrel (_sciurus cinereus_) is remarkable for the exquisite fineness of his fur. in the neighbourhood of hudson's bay dwells the red or hudson's bay squirrel (_sciurus hudsonius_), marked along the middle of the back by a ferruginous line from head to tail, with the belly of a pale ash-colour, mottled with black. in the northern districts of africa we meet with the barbary squirrel (_sciurus getulus_), which dwells among the palm-trees, and is of a grayish-brown colour, lightly shaded with red, with two white longitudinal bands separated by a brown streak. cross to the eastern coast, and there we find the abyssinian squirrel, which has a greenish-gray back, white belly, and tail ringed with black and white; on the western side, the ivory-eating squirrel, which nibbles the tusks of elephants killed by hunters; and the kendo squirrel, one of the smallest known. the two latter species were discovered and specified by m. du chaillu, who has named the former _sciurus eborivorus_, and the latter _sciurus minutus_. among the indian squirrels i may name the great malabar squirrel (_sciurus maximus_), less remarkable for his size, which is more than double that of the european squirrel, than for the variety and vivacity of his colours. on the upper part of the head, the flanks, and thighs are of a chestnut purple; the shoulders, hind-quarters, and tail of a glossy black; the belly and inner sides of the limbs, a pale yellow. zoologists have classified in two genera, distinct from the true squirrels, under the names of _pteromys_ and _sciuroptera_, the animals popularly called "flying squirrels." the first of these genera is proper to southern asia; the second comprehends the species common to asia and eastern europe, others which are exclusively asiatic, and others which are only met with in north america. these sciuridæ have no wings and no capacity of flight; but their anterior and posterior limbs are connected on either side by a membrane, which is really nothing but a fold of skin, and which they extend by spreading out their paws so as to present to the air a considerable surface. by means of this kind of parachute, they can cross, by leaping from one tree to another, an extensive area. my space only permits me to allude to the virginian flying squirrel (_pteromys volucella_), and the common flying squirrel (_pteromys volans_). the former is about five inches long, with a tail four inches; of a subferruginous brown colour above, and a yellowish-white beneath; the edges of the flying membrane are of a deeper tint than the rest of the fur, contrasting with the white border of the under part. he is naturally of a gregarious disposition, and ten or twelve may be seen in company, flying from tree to tree. in case of need he can swim like other quadrupeds, and yet, on quitting the water, can resume his aërial motion. he feeds on fruits, nuts, and young leaves and twigs; is of an affectionate nature, and easily domesticated. the common flying squirrel (_pteromys volans_) belongs to the northernmost regions, and his favourite haunt is the pine and birch woods of siberia. on the upper parts his colour is a pale gray, on the under a milky white. measured from the nose to the tail, his length is six inches; and the tail, which is thickly furred and slightly flattened, is somewhat shorter than the body. he flies, or rather springs, through the agency of an expansile furry membrane, reaching, as i have stated, from the fore-feet to the hind. he builds his nest of the finest mosses in the hollows of the old forest trees; is a solitary animal emerging from his retreat only at the approach of the gloaming; feeds on young buds and catkins; and springs from one tree to another with astonishing velocity. the _pteromys splendens_ belongs to java and borneo: his body is clothed in fur of a warm red hue. the _sciuroptera polatouche_, which inhabits the north of europe and asia, is of an ashen gray on the upper, and of a snowy white on the inferior parts. some species of _sciuridæ_ seldom ascend trees, but burrow on the ground, and are further distinguished by their possession of cheek-pouches. they form the genus _tamias_. the best known is the chipping squirrel, hacker, or chipmuck (_tamias lysteri_), which abounds in the united states as far north as the fiftieth parallel, and derives his name from his peculiar _chipping_ or _cheeping_ cry, like that of a young chicken. he burrows near the roots of trees, and several squirrels frequently tenant one burrow, where they lay up stores of nuts and grain for winter supply. his length is fully ten inches; the general colour gray, longitudinally striped with yellowish-white and black. chapter ix. man in the savannahs and the forests.--anthropophagy. in the steppes and deserts of sand we have seen men ignorant and wild, semi-brutalized in manner and tastes, and miserable in condition: some sedentary and peaceful, cultivating with laborious care an ungrateful soil; others, and by far the greater number, nomadic and pastoral in their habits; and others, again, living partly on the product of their herds, partly on the plunder obtained by a life of piracy. but between these races and civilized nations there still exist some analogies of belief, of polity, of social economy. in the sacred codes which fill, for them, the place of our elaborate legal and political systems, lofty precepts of justice and charity, salutary rules of morality and hygiène, mingle with barbarous customs and absurd or superstitious practices. their religions, founded, like christianity itself, on the idea of a divine unity, a god of mercy and punishment, they hold in common with peoples who have left their mark on the history of the world, and to whom, moreover, they are attached by close ties of consanguinity. widely different is the man of the prairies and the forests, the _savage_, who even to our own days has remained plunged in the lowest depths of social, intellectual, and moral development. differing the one from the other, according to the country which they inhabit, the colour of the skin, the features of the countenance, and sometimes the forms and outlines of the body, savages everywhere approximate very closely in the general character of their instincts, sentiments, and ideas, and represent to us that early condition of humanity from which it has only been elevated by the divine impulse and for the divine purposes. assuredly it is not these whom bonald has in view when he defines man as "an intelligence served by organs;" for with them the respective parts of the mind and the body are inverted, and the first is the very humble servant of the second; its sphere of activity, accordingly, is very much restricted. war, the chase, the coarse pleasures of the banquet, the dance--and what a wild, barbarous, sensual dance it is!--the recital and glorification of the deeds of their ancestors, their nation, and themselves, mingled with marvellous improbabilities which he readily accepts for authentic histories, and finally, gambling--these are the only pleasures of the savage. the chase is almost his sole means of existence; for he is no shepherd, and still less is he a tiller of the ground. he contents himself with gathering those alimentary substances which nature spontaneously pours out at his feet; and as, among these, the flesh of animals is that which he prefers, he exerts all his physical faculties, and all the resources of his intelligence, to procure it. he fashions for himself arms; he learns to handle them skilfully, as well as to follow up the scent of the game, to contend with the wild beast in agility or cunning; and he displays in this exercise a courage, a patience, and an ardour augmented by the stimulus of vanity, which prompts every tribe and every individual to claim the crown of superior bravery and the prize of surpassing skill. from emulation to rivalry, from the chase to the campaign, there is but one step. war, for the savage, is but a more dangerous and a more glorious chase; a chase more productive and more fertile in pleasures than the ordinary chase. therein his self-love, as well as his fierce sanguinary instincts, can be amply gratified; and he feels a keener delight than in the pursuit of the lion or the tiger. he also derives from it far greater advantages, realizes far more considerable profits; the likeness is moreover all the closer, since he looks upon his vanquished enemy sometimes as a prey, sometimes as a slave or a thing for sale or barter. he may either kill him and eat him, or constrain him to labour for him; or finally sell him for money, or exchange him against other "goods and chattels." if he does not cut him down on the battle-field, and it should not suit him to let his captive live, he may enjoy the pleasure of varying and multiplying his tortures before he deals the death-blow. among all savage races no banquet is more eagerly enjoyed than the torture of their prisoners. it is generally round the stake to which the shuddering victims are confined, or their throbbing and bleeding remains, just about to be devoured, that the conquerors execute fantastic dances, and surrender themselves to noisy manifestations of joy, making the air re-echo with their discordant songs and the not less discordant sounds of their rude musical instruments; then after the hideous banquet--accursed as that which pelops offered to the gods--seated around the glowing embers, and in the midst of the frightful fragments of the feast, they love to recall their achievements in the battle and the chase, or beguile the time with some rude game of chance. gambling, like war and the chase, seems to be an innate passion with savages; and, sooth to say, it is a vice worthy of them and of their brutalized nature. rightly does the poet exclaim,-- "what meaner vice crawls there than that which no affections urge, and no delights refine; which from the soul steals mounting impulses which might inspire its noblest ventures, for the arid quest of wealth 'mid ruin; changes enterprise to squalid greediness, makes heaven-born hope a shivering fever, and in vile collapse leaves the exhausted heart, without one fibre impelled by generous passion?"[ ] the "shivering fever" consumes the savage's very life-blood; he gives himself up to it with unrestrained frenzy, and stakes, upon a throw of the dice, his weapons, his possessions, his women, and even his liberty. scarcely less violent is the passion which plunges him into drunkenness. with the fermented juices of various plants he is skilful in compounding intoxicating liquors, though he greatly prefers to these raw preparations the subtle mixtures introduced by europeans. there is nothing which you cannot obtain from him for a few bottles of rum, of whisky, or brandy. and it is to the shame of our merchants that they do not scruple to stimulate, for their own sordid benefit, this vile passion to the utmost, against which the efforts of all our missionaries have proved almost powerless; so that, in truth, the commerce of the savage with civilized men, far from contributing to raise the former out of their abject, slothful, and degraded condition, has, on the contrary, proved for the majority of them a new source of embrutization and depravity. savages have no other literature than the traditions, myths, and marvels to which i have already alluded. they have no written language; and here we are at once provided with a means of distinguishing the wholly savage from the partly civilized races. the reduction of speech to a definite system, the acknowledgment of certain laws and principles as affecting the formation of a language, is the first great step out of barbarism which a barbarous people accomplishes. their science is limited to some acquaintance with the properties of the plants which they make use of, either as food, medicine, or poison. medicine, indeed, as practised by "medicine-men," priests, or "sorcerers," consists practically of superstitious formulas, whose object is to expel the "evil spirit" which the savage supposes to be the cause of all his maladies. the logical faculties are invariably those which in man are developed the most slowly and with the greatest difficulty. but they are also those which constitute the intellectual power of great nations. without aristotle, plato, and socrates, what had been ancient hellas? without bacon, locke, newton, and stuart mill, what were modern england? or italy, without galileo? and france, without pascal, descartes, diderot, and montesquieu? and germany, without fichte, hegel, kant, and schlegel? the savage, however, possesses these faculties in a purely rudimentary condition. analysis, synthesis, abstraction, generalization, are mental achievements which they cannot accomplish. they show themselves incapable, in fact, of the simplest calculations, of resolving easy arithmetical problems which are no mystery to the infants in our european infant-schools. their numeration never goes beyond the safe and certain limit of their ten fingers; often they cannot compute above five, three, and even two. the guarinis employ the expression "one hand" and "two hands" to designate _five_ and _ten_; other american tribes say "two men" instead of _forty_, because each man has twenty toes and fingers. among most of the african negroes, numeration is quinary; it is ternary, or even binary, among the australian aborigines. the savage knows nothing of art, nor of that feeling for beauty which is the essence of art. if he cultivates music, it is of so discordant a character, and so incongruous a medley of sounds, that no european can listen to it with patience. the gods which they fashion out of wood or clay, and to which they frequently offer human sacrifices, are of the utmost hideousness; and it is with difficulty the spectator can recognize in their rude outlines any likeness, however imperfect, to the models in man or beast which the sculptor has pretended to imitate. the want, or rather the depravation of taste, is shown in the choice of the ornaments with which they decorate their persons; in the tatooings with which they bespatter their bodies; in the unbecoming ornaments of every kind which they suspend to the nose, the lips, the ears, and which render monstrous the visage already ugly enough by nature. the savage has no "industries" in the sense which we attach to that comprehensive word; the terms "trade," "business," "profession," possess no equivalents in his language. he builds himself a hut, a cabin, or a wigwam; and he fabricates for his use a few indispensable implements, weapons, and utensils. the only profession recognized among savage peoples is that of the priesthood. priests, indeed, are everywhere found as the teachers and ministers of a religion--if we are willing to bestow that sacred word on an incongruous mass of superstitious practices and beliefs, founded upon some dim idea of the existence of a supreme being. and this idea exists, though very faintly and rudely, and mingled with many atrocious or absurd aberrations, among most of the red-skins of north america and the islanders of polynesia. these races believe in the power of a superior god, whom the former denominate the "great spirit," _kitchi manitou_, and the latter _taoroa_ or _tangara_; as well as in another life, a coarse and sensual immortality, wherein they hope to enjoy the full measure of those animal delights which constitute their ideal of perfect happiness. the conception which the savage forms of his god is, nevertheless, a very poor and imperfect one. he never connects him with his thoughts, his emotions, his moral or intellectual nature; but only with the material world--with the thunder and the lightning, the sunshine and the cloud. "who is it," says the indian, "that causes the rain to rise in the high mountains, and to empty itself into the ocean? who is it that causes to blow the loud winds of winter, and that calms them again in the summer? who is it that rears up the shade of those lofty forests, and blasts them with the quick lightning at his pleasure?" and so the polynesian employs his priest to propitiate his god with sacrifices when the storm rages; and the african, after a prolonged drought, engages the intercession of his "rain-maker" to obtain the desired showers. it is not a moral and a spiritual, but a _material_ god, of whom the savage conceives, and before whose anger he trembles. in some regions of south america, and principally in peru, man worships the sun as his supreme divinity, and it is easy to understand the awe and wonder with which the uncultivated mind would necessarily look upon the orb of day, the master and ruler of the year. with southey, i find myself ready to exclaim:-- "i marvel not, o sun, that unto thee in adoration man should bow the knee, and pour the prayer of mingled awe and love; for like a god thou art, and on thy way of glory sheddest, with benignant ray, beauty, and life, and joyaunce from above." we know, too, that sun-worship has prevailed among the most highly civilized races, and that it was the basis of greek, egyptian, celtic, and oriental mythologies. "our northern natures," says mr. helps,[ ] referring to the influence of this religion of the outer world, "can hardly comprehend how the sun and the moon and the stars were imaged in the heart of a peruvian, and dwelt there; how the changes in these luminaries were combined with all his feelings and his fortunes; how the dawn was hope to him; how the fierce mid-day brightness was power to him; how the declining sun was death to him; and how the new morning was a resurrection to him: nay, more, how the sun and the moon and the stars were his personal friends, as well as his deities; how he held communion with them, and thought that they regarded every act and word; how, in his solitude, he fondly imagined that they sympathized with him; and how, with outstretched arms, he appealed to them against their own unkindness, or against the injustice of his fellow-man." but such a creed as this is indicative of some degree of advancement, of some modicum of civilization, and may not be compared with the monstrous fetichism prevailing in melanesia, australia, africa, and the polar deserts. in these regions the savage takes for the objects of his veneration beasts and inanimate objects; or is without any definite belief, and shows himself refractory to all religious teaching. such is the case, according to sir john ross, among the eskimos; while the australians, according to latham, have not even succeeded in formulating the rudest elements of a mythology; and the negroes of equatorial africa indulge in horrible superstitions which are a hundredfold worse than the absence of all belief. the individuals, therefore, who act as priests among these ignorant and stupid savages are, in reality, only miserable sorcerers, to whom they attribute the power of predicting the future, of controlling wind and rain, the sun and the moon, of curing disease, either by magic potions, incantations, or amulets; but they fear without respecting them, and never hesitate to put them to death when the effect of their juggleries or their prophecies does not respond to the hopes cherished by the worshippers. among these credulous and cruel peoples we find the realization of all those terrible dreams embodied by the poet in his picture of the influences and consequences of superstition. for a vivid commentary on the following lines of pope, the reader should turn to the pages of livingstone, burton, speke, du chaillu, william ellis, john williams, or admiral wilkes. of superstition, the poet says:[ ]-- "she taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray to powers unseen, and mightier far than they: she, from the rending earth and bursting skies, saw gods descend, and fiends infernal rise; here fixed the dreadful, there the blessed abodes: fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods: gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; such as the souls of cowards might conceive, and, formed like tyrants, tyrants would believe. zeal, then, not charity, became the guide; and hell was built on spite, and heaven on pride. then sacred seemed the ethereal vault no more; altars grew marble then, and reeked with gore; then first the flamen tasted living food; next his grim idol smeared with human blood; with heaven's own thunders shook the world below, and played the god an engine on his foe." the savage has only rudimentary notions of the justice, the respect, and the good-will which man owes to his fellows. nevertheless, if in some parts of the world he appears an intractable, cruel, and perfidious being, in others his manners are gentle, inoffensive, and hospitable. and nearly everywhere he seems capable of gratitude, devotion, and even of veritable heroism. but, in general, the law of the strongest is the only law which he recognizes; the fear of an immediate and corporeal chastisement is the sole restraint upon his passions; and the material instincts are the most powerful impulses of his actions. the want or narrowness of the moral sense induces as its natural consequences among the unfortunate savages every form of debauchery--the absolute and brutal tyranny of the chief over his tribe, of man over woman, of the father over his children, of the conqueror over the conquered; murder on the slightest occasion, and with incredible refinements of cruelty; and, finally, anthropophagy--that hideous custom which lowers man below the most ferocious beasts, and which, nevertheless is not always, as might be supposed, the sign of the lowest abasement. anthropophagy springs from different causes, and clothes itself in various forms. sometimes it is but the expression of a sanguinary instinct, of an atrocious sentiment of vengeance; sometimes it is the consequence of a state of misery and of famine almost permanent; often, also, it is closely connected with the usage of human sacrifices, and those who practise it consider it as a sacred duty, as an act of piety, agreeable to their divinities or to the _manes_ of the victims whose very flesh they devour. unknown to the stupid eskimos, and in general to all hyperborean races, anthropophagy rages with intensity among peoples comparatively civilized. the ghonds of hindostan, peaceful and laborious cultivators, are not exactly cannibals, but every year they immolate to their divinities a multitude of children, whom they flay and cut to pieces while alive, and whose flesh they distribute in fragments over the fields they are about to sow. [illustration: a cannibal feast among the battas of sumatra.] in sumatra there exists a tribe, that of the battas, which has not only a religion and a worship, but a kind of constitution, a literature, and a penal code. this code condemns certain classes of criminals to be _eaten alive_. after the sentence has been pronounced by the competent tribunal, two or three days are suffered to elapse in order to give the people time to assemble. on the appointed day the criminal is led to the place of execution, and bound to a stake. the offended party, or his nearest relation, if he has been murdered, advances and chooses the choicest morsel; the others follow in their turn, and with their own hands cut off such pieces as please their fancy. finally, the unfortunate wretch is relieved from his sufferings by the chief, who strikes off his head. the flesh is eaten on the spot, raw or cooked, according to each man's taste. the natives of some of the polynesian islands consider that they render a service to their aged parents by slaying them, and that, by eating them, they provide the most honourable mode of sepulture. others believe that a man, by devouring his enemy, infiltrates into his blood all the virtues with which the latter was endowed. a similar prejudice exists among certain tribes on the amazon. it is beyond doubt that, in a majority of cases, anthropophagy originates in scarcity of food, in the lack of cattle and game, while, in others, many cannibals are attracted by the delicious savour of human flesh, which they prefer to every other. among the _cobens_ of the uanpès, says maury, man is considered as veritable game, and these savages declare war against the neighbouring tribes only with the object of procuring a supply of human flesh. when they have more than they require for present needs, they dry it, smoke it, and store it away as provision. in the viti islands, whose natives are eulogized by dumont-d'urville as the most intelligent in melanesia, great festivals are celebrated at different epochs of the year, which require a certain number of victims. prisoners of war are the first to be immolated; then all those unfortunates who are without an asylum are hunted and collected; and if this inhuman chase should not be sufficiently productive, the purveyors eke out the supplies by adding some wretched women, who are eaten by their own relatives. dumont-d'urville speaks of a chief, named tanoa, who, for a public banquet, caused thirty women to be slain, and their kin, far from murmuring or lamenting, took part in the hideous feast. in africa, captain burton saw, on the shores of lake tanganyika, a cannibal people, named the vouabembés, who feed upon carrion, vermin, larvæ, and insects, and carry their sluggishness and brutality to such an extreme as to eat raw and putrid human flesh. although you may see on every countenance, says this adventurous traveller,[ ] the expression of chronic hunger, the poor wretches, timid, fuliginous, stunted, degraded, seem far more dangerous enemies to the dead than to the living. owing to the exertions of our missionaries, this horrible practice, against which our better nature instinctively rebels, is rapidly dying out in every region where their beneficial influence extends. in polynesia and new zealand, for instance, cannibalism is almost extinct. and if we owed no other service to the self-denying exertions of the soldiers of the cross, this alone would entitle them to our gratitude, for the extermination of anthropophagy is the first step towards teaching man to reverence man. chapter x. man in the savannahs and the forests--the savage races--the negroes. "when wild in woods the untutored savage ran." savagery is evidently the primitive condition of man. but while for certain races it has only been the first period of a more or less rapid progressive evolution, a movement in advance more or less complete, for others it seems to be a perpetual infancy, an incurable atrophy of the noble faculties which are the privilege of our species. it is not the province of the present writer to determine the causes, undoubtedly very complex, which have operated in the formation of the various races composing the human genus, to allot to each the physiological and psychological characteristics which distinguish them, and to explain their distribution in the different regions of the globe. these are problems, indeed, which science has only begun to investigate, and in whose discussion scientific men exhibit the widest discrepancies of opinion. while one authority contends for man's unity of origin, another believes that he has sprung from several independent sources. all at present is hypothesis and conjecture; nor do there apparently exist any well-approved facts on which a satisfactory theory can be erected apart from the brief and succinct details recorded in holy writ. why one race has emerged from barbarism while another remains sunk in its lowest depths, we can only explain by admitting the exercise of a superhuman power. no evidence can be given that any people has achieved civilization by its own unassisted efforts. but in these pages i am not called upon to enter into any philosophical speculations. i have only to deal with facts; and with one incontestable fact, the superiority of those races which have acquired civilization over those which are incapable of so grand a work, and which show little, if any, aptitude to profit by the examples and the lessons brought within their reach. whether it is due to wholly external circumstances, such as climate, geographical situation, geological constitution of the soil, its nature and that of its productions, that such differences should exist between different races, that some should reign as sovereigns over the earth, while others, in their pretended liberty, are given up to all the horrors of slavery, ignorance, misery, and cannibalism, i am not called upon to determine. it seems both probable and possible. "to understand any people thoroughly," says mr. helps, "we must know something of the country in which they live, or at least of that part inhabited by the dominant race. the insects partake the colour of the trees they dwell upon, and man is not less affected by the place of his habitation on the earth." we cannot pretend to undervalue the importance of race. we cannot deny that one is the ruler, the other the ruled. as emerson says,[ ] "it is race, is it not? that puts the hundred millions of india under the dominion of a remote island in the north of europe. race is a controlling influence in the jew, who, for two millenniums, under every climate, has preserved the same character and employments." it is race that has planted the anglo-saxon on every shore, and that for ages has subjected the negro to the yoke of bondage. at all events, it is certain that, even in the present day, savagery is the exclusive portion of certain races, perfectly distinct in a physiological point of view from the white and yellow races (the caucasian and mongolian), which, either in antiquity or the modern age, have arrived at more or less advanced degrees of civilization. the savage races may be divided into four great groups:-- the _negro_, in africa and north america; the _malayo-polynesian_, in polynesia and the indian islands. the _american_, or red indians; and the _hyperborean_, chiefly represented by the eskimos. * * * * * the _negro_ or _black_ races are distributed over the whole of africa, from the cape of good hope to the frontiers of the saharan region. the name of negro is also given to the natives of australia and papouasia. but most anthropologists agree in considering the australian branch wholly distinct from, and independent of, the african branch; which, nevertheless, it resembles in several organic peculiarities, and especially in the deep colour of the skin. this characteristic, which is the most conspicuous at the first glance, is, however of secondary importance: it is extremely marked on the east african coast, among the nubians and the abyssinians; on the banks of the cuzamance, not far from the sierra leone coast, among the feloupas, and on the guinea coast, among the aminas. all these peoples are black as ebony; but their oval countenances, their regular features, the elegance of their forms and the development of their faculties, evidently connect them, some with the semites, others with the aryan-hindus. on the other hand, several varieties of negroes properly so-called wear but a fuliginous or reddish-brown tint. it is, therefore, by less superficial peculiarities that we distinguish the true negro. his skull is elongated, and laterally compressed. sometimes his jaw projects, a characteristic scientifically designated by the name of prognathism; sometimes it is more vertically disposed, but then the cheek-bones (or "zygomathic arches") are extremely prominent. his teeth project; that is, they are inclined outward, and always long and white. the skeleton, whiter than our own, is also heavier and more massive. the abdomen is exceedingly narrow, and with a conical cavity; the legs are bowed. short the neck, broad the thorax, and convex, and generally well made. the muscles, but slightly developed in proportion to the dimensions of the osseous framework, have not the vivid red colour which distinguishes the flesh of the european; the blood is black, thick, and circulates slowly. the body is always deprived of hair; there is little or no beard; the hair of the head is black, woolly, and frizzled. the eyes are of the deepest black, but inexpressive. the forehead is low, the chin short, the mouth large, the lips are long and thick. finally, and this is the most remarkable sign of the negro's inferiority, the type of the face, in the same race, is so uniform that it is difficult to distinguish one individual from another. to this physical uniformity corresponds a moral and intellectual uniformity, which effaces, so to speak, all individuality. in africa we meet with numerous tribes more or less intelligent and capable of being educated, many sanguinary and fierce, others benevolent and inoffensive; but the character and dispositions of a tribe are reproduced among all the individuals who compose it with scarcely perceptible differences. the negroes of africa may be divided into three principal varieties: the pure negroes, the kaffirs, and the hottentots. the former comprehends all the populations of the east, centre, and west of africa. its primitive stock is supposed to be the people called mandinké or malinké (mandingue), formerly established at mendé, in the delta of the nile, but who emigrated towards the western coast, and now inhabit the mountainous countries bordering on the upper senegal. between this river and the niger are grouped some tribes in whom the berber or semitic blood appears mingled with the negro blood; such are the yolofs, the foulahs, and the peulas, or fellatahs. the latter are of a sooty black, with a well-shaped head, a square frontal development, thick and woolly hair. they have founded powerful states, and are considered as the true civilizers of the soudan, where they have introduced islamism. further south, at the gaboon, we meet with the wholly savage nations of the mpongwes, the shekianis, and the fans. the mpongwes inhabit the right bank of the gaboon, spreading over an extent of seventy to eighty miles. they are of a medium height, and comparatively agreeable physiognomy. the men are clothed in a calico shirt, and wrap themselves in an ample piece of stuff as a mantle. their head-dress is a simple straw-hat; but the king, as a sign of his dignity, wears a hat of silk. the women have no other garment than close-fitting drawers descending to the knee; but they decorate their arms and legs with copper rings. great amateurs are both sexes of tinsel and perfumery, and they besprinkle themselves with all kinds of essences. according to du chaillu, their characteristic trait is their passionate ardour for trade. their principal wares are ivory, precious woods, and slaves. they display in their commercial manoeuvres great ability jointed to the most signal bad faith. the shekianis occupy, between the banks of the muni and la mondah, and those of the ogobay, a territory which stretches to within some two hundred miles of the sea. their appearance is less prepossessing than that of the mpongwes. perfidious warriors, artful traders, bold and astute hunters; such are the salient traits of their character. as for the fans, they are cannibals of the worst species, whose appetite for human flesh leads them even to eat individuals who have died of disease, and to disinter the dead in order to roast or smoke them. when human flesh fails amongst them, they buy or steal it from their neighbours. they are, however, according to m. du chaillu, the handsomest and most gallant-looking negroes of the interior, and their horrible diet seems to fatten and strengthen them. living in the mountains, they have that bold free air which distinguishes all mountaineers. [illustration: negroes--natives of kidi, africa] the negro type is seen in all its purity among the populations of congo, nigritia, the soudan, dahomey, and timbuctu, as well as among those of the eastern coast, below the tenth parallel of north latitude. in the region of the great lakes, between the coast of zanguebar and the lakes victoria-nyanza and tanganyika, lie the kingdoms of ugogo, unyamezi, unyoro, kidi, and others, visited by grant and speke in their celebrated journey to the sources of the nile. the inhabitants of these countries are "darkly, deeply, beautifully" black, with prominent jaws, thick lips, and oblique eyes. some of them, as, for instance, those of unyoro, show a certain amount of taste in their accoutrements, and drape themselves in the romanesque manner with folds of cotton or calico. those of kidi wear no other clothing than an apron round the loins; they carry large rings on the arms, legs, and neck; and arrange their hair in sufficiently complicated tresses. [illustration: kaffir warriors.] the kaffir and hottentot races are spread over all southern africa, below the fourteenth degree of south latitude; the former on the east, the latter on the west coast. in the hierarchy of races, the kaffirs occupy a rank superior to that of the negroes of equatorial africa. they have neither the pronounced tint nor the broad flat nose of the blacks of guinea and the soudan. they form great nations, build towns, cultivate the land, and work in metals. their stock throws off four branches: the handsomest and most cultured is that of the zulus, whose hue is not darker than that of the arabs, and of whom the wanikas offer the most conspicuous type. then follow the south kaffir branch, including the amacondas and the ama-hupubas; the sofaloa branch, whose type most nearly approaches the pure negro race; finally, the kaffir-hottentot branch, which comprehends the makololos, the bakonis, the basoutos, the batouas, the damaras, people of a clear brown hue, who have migrated from the north to the south, driving before them or subjugating the hottentots, with whom they have intermixed. [illustration: hottentots--a man and woman.] the hottentot race, or quaiqua, is characteristic of southern africa. its origin appears of remote antiquity; but it formerly dwelt further to the north, and has been driven back towards the south by the progress of the more warlike kaffirs. the hottentots are of low stature; their skin is a yellowish-brown. their head is long, with projecting forehead and cheek-bones; flat nose, thick lips. their women are hideous in face and deformed in body; as they grow old they grow stout, and a truly monstrous _embonpoint_ invades the posterior part of their person. morally, they are in an abject condition, which must be attributed rather to their sloth and wretchedness than to any lack of intelligence. their sole garment is the _carross_, a kind of sheepskin mantle. they live in such low huts that they can only enter them by crawling. some hottentot tribes cultivate the soil, or depasture herds of cattle; such are the bayéyés, established on the banks of lake ngami; the namaquas, who are distinguished into "the great" and "the little;" and the koranas, who roam along the orange river. the most miserable members of this family are the _bosjesmans_, or _bushmen_, who inhabit the kalahari deserts, between the cape colony and kaffraria. the total number of the hottentot race probably does not exceed , . i have said that the negroes of australia and papouasia were wholly distinct from those of africa. and, in fact, i can hardly admit that it could ever have been possible for the latter to colonize the australian continent and the adjacent islands. what, then, is the origin of the australians and the papuans? according to some anthropologists, they are descended from that strange race of savages which still exists in hindostan, in the nielgherries, and the téraï, between palmoco, sumbhulpoor, and the sources of the nerbudda. but whence came the latter? on this subject all historical tradition is dumb, and science knows not what to think of those black-skinned savages, with the face of an ape, a body covered with red hair, disproportionably long arms, a protuberant belly, and who live in the trees like the orangs and the gibbons. [illustration: australians.] whatever may be its origin, the pelagian negro race now-a-days occupies new holland, tasmania, new caledonia, new britain, new guinea, the fiji islands, and the andaman. it comprehends the australians, the papuans, the andamanese, the alfourous, and some other secondary branches. we often, but erroneously, confound the australians and papuans. while both are black, they differ markedly from one another, and the latter are superior to the former. the australians are puny and wretched in appearance. they have a protuberant belly, feeble limbs, a long but not projecting face, a depressed skull, long black frizzled hair. their attire is remarkable for its simplicity: a kangaroo skin flung over the right shoulder! the custom of painting and tatooing the body is generally adopted among them, as well as among all savages, to whatever race they belong, and whatever part of the world they inhabit. the tribes are distinguished by the colours they make use of, and by the number and arrangement of the incisions which the warriors make on their limbs, their chest, and their shoulders. their arms are spears pointed with heads of jagged flint, and hatchets of the same material. the indigenous population of australia is rapidly decreasing; it does not exceed a total of souls. in tasmania the aborigines are reduced to four, three aged women, and a young man, who has recently visited england.[ ] [illustration: papuans.] the papuans have not woolly hair, like the australians. their hair grows in separate plaits, which twine one in another, and form, when of some length, a voluminous and characteristic _coiffure_. the papuans of new guinea, according to dumont d'urville, are men of medium stature, with elegant forms, oval countenance, and tolerably regular features. their skin is of a dark brown colour. they appear to be of a timid and unenterprising character. their residence they have planted on the shores of the sea, where they dwell in long wooden huts, raised upon piles which are plunged deep in the very waters of ocean. it does not seem that they acknowledge the authority of any chiefs. they know only a few words of the malayan language, and speak the _papoua_, which differs from it essentially. the andamanese, or andamans, are of a jet-black colour. their stature rarely exceeds four and a half to five feet. their head is large, and sunken between the shoulders; their hair woolly; most of them are disfigured by protuberant stomach and meagre lower limbs. they go about in an absolute nudeness, for we cannot regard as any species of clothing the coat of clay or yellow ochre which they plaster over their bodies to protect them against the stings of insects; the red ochre which the earth supplies them they make use of to powder their hair and paint their face. according to the latest estimates, the total population of the andaman islands does not exceed individuals. the alfourous, or harfourous, inhabit borneo, the celebes, the moluccas, mindanao, and some other isles. their type has no very definite peculiarity, and ethnologists seem agreed to consider them a mixed race, resulting from a cross between the papuans and the malays, and forming the transition between the two races. chapter xi. man in the savannahs and the forests:--the malayo-polynesians--the north american indians. the malayo-polynesian race has also been designated, and much more felicitously, the neptunian or pelagian, because it peoples exclusively the peninsulas and islands of the great southern ocean. it is, to speak the truth, an ill-defined, heterogeneous, and composite race, presenting very diverse types. ethnologists, however, divide it into two original branches--the malayan and the polynesian. the malays have the skull flattened in the inferior portion, the malar bones very wide apart, a flat nose, an exceedingly wide mouth, thick lips, and eyes raised in the direction of the temples; their yellow skin embrowns by exposure to the sun, but if sheltered from its rays, grows almost white, especially with the females. generally speaking, they are corrupt, sanguinary, and perfidious, as our seamen wrecked upon their shores have too frequently experienced; but they are intelligent, and capable of a certain degree of civilization. the best marked types of this race are found in sumatra, among the anthropophagous battas already spoken of, the orang-lobous, and the pagais. the latter tatoo the body, says maury,[ ] and like the nagas of assam, make new marks every time they have killed a foe; thus bearing about on their own persons the evidences and glorification of their prowess. like the michmis of assam, they expose their dead on rudely-constructed scaffolds or platforms, where they leave them to decay; a custom which prevails amongst nearly all the polynesian populations, as well as among the redskins of north america. we must therefore conclude that the malayan race was, at the outset, extremely barbarous. it owes its civilization to the influence of the hindus, and especially to that of the inhabitants of the malabar coast. this civilization, in all its conditions, the malays appear to have transported to madagascar, where they have formed, by intermixture with the negroes of africa, two new races--the hovas, who still preserve distinctly visible affinities with the negroes properly so called, and the sakalaves, who approximate towards the kaffirs. [illustration: malays--male and two females.] these two mixed races comprise in themselves several varieties, but all bear the common denomination of malagasy or madecassy.[ ] [illustration: hovas of madagascar--men, woman, and child.] according to m. maury, the populations of polynesia depart the more completely from the malayan type as we advance in an eastward direction; so that, from the caroline islands to the marquesas, and from the sandwich islands to new zealand, they constitute a sufficiently homogeneous race, the polynesians or _kanaks_.[ ] this race is represented in the sandwich islands by an almost white variety, whose type very closely approaches the caucasian race; in new zealand, on the other hand, by tribes of a dark brown. in the island of ombaï, situated at the extremity of that vast archipelago which seems in some remote age to have formed an isthmus connecting the australian with the asiatic continent, the natives are of a more or less decided olive-brown. their eyes are deep-set and brilliant, their lips thick, the mouth is large, and the nose generally flat, yet sometimes tolerably well made. they are of medium height, robust, and good figures. they wear a scanty beard, if any; but their hair is long and thick; sometimes they suffer it to flow freely about their shoulders, sometimes they gather it on the top of the head with pieces of vari-coloured stuffs. these savages have a fierce and martial air, are abrupt in their manners, and rapid in their movements. they display extraordinary skill in the management of the bow, and also make use of the malayan _kris_ or crease, which they carry in their girdle. in battle they protect their persons with a breast-plate and a buckler of buffalo hide; these two pieces of armour are ornamented with shells in regular and pleasing designs. the people of ombaï are anthropophagic. [illustration: warriors of the island of ombai.] if now we transport ourselves to the eastern extremity of polynesia, the marquesas islands, occupied by france in , we shall find there the pelagian race under one of its handsomest and most amiable types. the kanaks of this group are not exempt from cannibalism. nevertheless, before the commerce, civilization, and vices of europe intruded upon their savage eden, they lived in a condition of comparative innocence; and the corruption which has since invaded them preserves that open and simple character proper to people in whom the capacity of discerning good from evil is but imperfectly developed. a traveller, who possesses the threefold merit of being an elegant writer, a judicious observer, and an accurate narrator, m. max radiguet, has embodied in an agreeable volume, entitled "the last savages," some lively impressions of a sojourn of several years in the marquesas, and principally at noukahiva. it is from his pages that i borrow the following sketch of the islanders of this group. * * * * * "if you would wish," he says, "to see the noukahivian in all his purity, in all his native elegance, it is not among the teës, it is among the taïpis, and in the other less frequented islands of the group, that you must seek him. "of lofty stature, well-spread shoulders, swelling chest, a shapely figure, the body lightly set upon the haunches, the noukahivian advances with proud and sometimes arrogant bearing, but always with a confident mien, a free and hardy manner. he seems fitted for the race and the escalade rather than for the struggle. he has more the character of the gymnast than of the athlete. his features are regular and handsome, his nose straight or aquiline, sometimes short or slightly flattened, never ill-sloped. the mouth is neither large nor thick-lipped; the forehead, rather low and somewhat receding, is shaved on the upper portion, whence arises the common saying that the kanaks have a high forehead. "we may easily portray the physical form of an inhabitant of the marquesas; but it is more difficult to define the eccentricities of his fantastic nature. there is much of the child in his disposition; he is as insensible, or nearly so, to the emotions of gratitude, and has the same irascible caprice. he is nervous, restless, impatient. superstition is one of his prominent failings. he is hospitable; his first advances are warm, earnest, playful; then, at the least chill, and from motives which a stranger cannot always appreciate, an abrupt revolution takes place, and he becomes wayward and moody. [illustration: islanders of noukahiva.] "the women are of medium stature, their contours frequently modelled with a purity which the sculptor has revealed to us almost alone in france.... few women of fashion are more graceful, if not in their movements, at least in their attitudes; and the women of the neighbouring archipelagoes, the so much eulogized tahitians,[ ] appear awkward, unwieldy, and sunburnt peasants compared with the exquisitely elegant daughters of noukahiva. "the kanaks talk but little. frequently they convey their thoughts to one another by a play of the physiognomy which europeans find it difficult to seize. seated face to face, the back supported against a stone, the arms crossed beneath the head, they regard each other for whole hours without exchanging a single word. in direct contrast to the negro, they are very sparing both in words and gestures, when even their dearest interests are involved. slow, indolent, averse to labour, not knowing how to submit themselves to any regular work, they pass the greatest part of their time stretched in the shadow of the trees on their mats, sleeping, singing, or weaving garlands. and yet, though they are sensual, gluttonous, and careless of the morrow, they are gifted with a quick wit, a sound judgment, and a very accurate conception of right and justice." * * * * * we do not remark among the numerous tribes scattered over the immense territory of the two american continents, and vaguely comprehended under the denomination of the red or american race, differences less profound or characteristic than among the different fractions of the negro or malayo-polynesian race. just as, in speaking of the new world, we formerly made use of the expression "the west indies," or the "great indies," we also call by the term "indians" all the aboriginal peoples of this portion of the globe, and the use of this term, incorrect as it is, writers as well as readers seem indisposed to surrender. in fact, it possesses the twofold advantage of being short, and of not attributing to the peoples which it designates an unity of origin which is doubtful, or a similitude of colour which does not exist. [illustration: indians of north america--the red skins.] "from the north pole even to tierra del fuego," says maury, "there is scarcely a shade of human colouring which is not manifested, from the black to the yellow. the aborigines, according to their nation, are of a brown-olive, a dark brown, bronze, pale yellow, copper yellow, red, white, brown, &c. their stature does not vary less. between the stature, not gigantic but very tall, of the patagonians and the dwarf-like proportions of the changos, we meet with a host of intermediary 'sizes.' the proportions of the body present the same diversity; some peoples have the bust very long, like the tribes of the pampas; others, short and broad, like the inhabitants of the peruvian andes; the same is the case with the shape and size of the head. yet we recognize between the various american populations an air of kinship, certain general features which distinguish them from the races of the old world. among these features must be placed, in the front rank, the pyramidal form of the head and the narrowness of the forehead--characteristics of great antiquity among the american populations, since they belong to skulls discovered by mr. lund in the caves of brazil associated with the bones of extinct animals." spite of this diversity of type, we may divide the indians of america into two races, of which one at least, the red skins, is remarkable for its complete homogeneity. the red skins were formerly distributed over all the upper portion of the american continent--that is, over the territory of canada and the united states, and the northern districts of mexico. in the sixteenth century they numbered a million and a half of souls. they are now reduced to a few thousand families. a few years more, and american rifles, brandy, and poverty, will have completed the extermination of this indomitable race, which has deserved at least the respect and the recognition due to honourable courage of those who have dispossessed them from the immense territories they formerly enjoyed. it is true, however, that we must not take our estimate of the red skins from the romantic pages of chateaubriand or fenimore cooper. we must not delude ourselves into a belief that the north american tribes are or were composed of deerskins, hawkeyes, and leatherstockings. yet we cannot refuse to them a character of real grandeur and true nobility. their contempt of death and suffering, their stoical composure under the severest tortures, their disdain of civilization, their horror of foreign supremacy, their haughtiness, and even their cold and reflective ferocity, are so many traits which place them, in a moral sense, far above the majority of the other savage races. a hundred times in romance, song, and drama have been described the manners of the red skins, their stratagems in war and the chase, the perseverance with which they hunt down their enemy or their prey, their cunning, their impassiveness, their vengeance. who among us has not eagerly followed them in their long journeys across the rolling savannahs and through the primeval forests? who has not listened eagerly, when, seated round the watch-fire, with the calumet to their lips, they have deliberated gravely on peace and war? who has not seen them with alarm dashing to the combat on their nimble chargers, brandishing the tomahawk and scalping their conquered victims, whose scalps they hung up in their wigwams as trophies to their prowess? who has not followed them breathlessly when on the trail of a flying foe, or winding serpent-like through the thick brush-wood in escape from some persistent pursuer? assuredly these men were well worthy of study; and it is impossible to peruse their history or the narrative of their adventures without a breathless interest. there was poetry in their faith, in their customs, in their language at once laconic and picturesque, and even in the names which they bestowed on each tribe, each chief, each warrior. one can hardly suppress a feeling of regret that so much wild romance should have been swept from the face of the earth, unless we call to mind the shadows of the picture--the indian's cruelty, perfidiousness, and savage lust. even then our humanity revolts from the treatment to which he has been subjected by the "white man." tracked and hunted like wild beasts, driven back from one hunting-ground to another, embruted by misery or drunkenness, incapable of labour, the poor indians have vainly struggled against the all-devouring influence of a civilization without bowels, ill adapted to attract and persuade them, and far less solicitous to assimilate than to destroy them. the great nations which were formerly the valued allies or dreaded enemies of the european settlers, the hurons, algonquins, the iroquois, the natchez, the leni-lenapes, have entirely disappeared. the wrecks of other but less important nations still exist on the shores of the great northern lakes, in the far west, at the base of the rocky mountains, in california, in texas, in arkansas, and in the northern provinces and deserts of mexico. such are the sioux, the dacotahs, the flatheads, the big-bellies, the blackfoot, the apaches, the comanches. the two latter people have, above all, preserved a certain vitality. their characteristics, it is said, are very diverse. the comanches are of a mild, gentle nature, and eager to live on peaceable terms with the whites. the apaches, on the contrary, have vowed a relentless hatred against the pale faces; they are the terror of the _hacienderos_[ ] and gold-seekers of upper mexico, and the american journals frequently contain accounts of their incursions, their acts of brigandage, and cruelty. [illustration: indian women of north america.] the most characteristic features of the red skin type are, in addition to the colour of the skin and the pyramidal form of the head, the prominency and arched outline of the nose, the greatness of the nasal openings, corresponding to a singular development of the olfactory nerve, and the absence of beard. several tribes subject the head of the new-born to a systematic mis-shapement by compressing it. hence has arisen the nickname of flat-heads, popularly bestowed on the choctaws. the same custom existed among the atacapas, the creeks, the muskogis, and the catawhas, and is found among most tribes of the californian stock. [illustration: the apaches attacking an emigrant train.] the peoples who have alternately dominated in mexico and central america, and who are now in great part destroyed--the chichinequas, the toltequas, and the aztecs--are allied to the red man by their physical peculiarities as well as by their moral characteristics. the comparatively advanced civilization which the spanish conquerors found established in mexico had not effaced among the indians the sanguinary instincts and vindictive propensities of their savage ancestors. the race, or rather races which people south america are very far from offering the same homogeneity as the populations of north america. these races are four in number, each of which may be subdivided into several distinct branches. the guarani, or carib race, formerly occupied the antilles, and on the mainland extended as far as paraguay. it is principally distinguished by the yellow colour of its skin, by the rounded contour of its visage, by the flatness of the nose, and the oblique disposition of the eyes. it comprises three branches: that of the caribs properly so called, that of the guaranis, and that of the botocoudos. [illustration: guarani indians (south america).] the caribs, whose name has become in our common parlance a synonyme with cannibal, formed at the epoch of the discovery of the new world the anthropophagic population of the islands of the mexican gulf. to-day, however, it is completely annihilated; but a few scattered offshoots of the same race inhabit the banks of the orinoco. the caribs are tall and robust, and are included among the most ferocious tribes of south america. the guaranis, in their physiognomy, the colour of their skin, and their manners, approximate closely to the red skins. they show the same love of independence and the same antipathy to the trammels of civilization. they are dispersed in the brazilian forests, and principally in the province of maranhao or maragnan. [illustration: patagonians.] the botocoudos are the least intelligent scions of the brazilo-guarani branch. so great is the resemblance between their features and those of the chinese, that auguste st. hilaire relates that the botocoudos, having encountered some natives of "the celestial empire" in a part of brazil, joyously saluted them with all kinds of amicable demonstrations, and christened them "their _uncles_." the pampas indians form a mass of tribes dwelling east of the great cordillera range, from the river paraguay to the extreme south of the continent. most of these tribes are nomades; but, thanks to the persevering efforts of the roman catholic missionaries, they have attained a certain degree of civilization. their type varies according to the climate of the country which they inhabit, and according to their mode of life. in general they have a large head, flat on the top, with small eyes, a big nose, large mouth, and thick lips. they are tall in stature, and robust-limbed. to this group belong the patagonians, who wander, almost constantly on horseback, over the grassy pampas of the southern extremity of the continent, where they depasture immense herds of cattle. former travellers represented the patagonians as giants upwards of six and seven feet high, and wonderful accounts of them figure in the pages of drake, cavendish, and the early navigators. but these are violent exaggerations. the patagonians are certainly tall and athletic, but their stature does not exceed that of most europeans, and assuredly not that of the _corps d'élite_ of the armies of england, france, prussia, and austria. their arms and legs are very long. their forehead is exceedingly low; the eyes are sunken; the nose, very thin at the root, widens greatly at the base; the lips are very thick; the complexion is of a reddish-brown tint. they suffer their long black rough hair to grow unchecked, and to fall over the face in "admired disorder." their manners are fierce, brutal, and intractable. the chiquitos, who inhabit a wooded and well-watered country, lead a more sedentary and social life; they have embraced christianity, and dwell on friendly terms with the whites. the tohas, nomades like the patagonians, form a still numerous nation. their skin is copper-hued, but they have straight eyes, an aquiline nose, a free and haughty physiognomy. the ando-peruvian race inhabits the forests which clothe the plateau on the eastern slope of the andes. it is characterized by an olive tint, a medium height, a receding forehead, and horizontal eyes. the aymaras and the quichuas are its principal representatives. the latter, according to orbigny, do not the least resemble the caribs or the pampas indians, and approximate much nearer to the mexicans. their head is large, oblong from front to back; the forehead low and receding, the face broad, the nose prominent and aquiline, the mouth large, the chin small, but not retreating. they had attained, at the time of the spanish invasion, an elevated degree of civilization. they support with difficulty the yoke of the stranger, and the melancholy with which the remembrance of their past greatness inspires them--the recollection of their vanished independence--is reflected in their grave physiognomy and the sombre and mistrustful expression of their gaze. * * * * * the fourth south american race may be considered as a more southernly expansion of the preceding. ethnologists designate it the araucanian. the region which it occupies stretches from the th parallel of south latitude to the vicinity of tierra del fuego. the araucanians properly so called form three tribes--that of the ranquels, the huilliches, and the aucas. they are warriors and nomades. it was in araucania that a french adventurer, some few years ago, was declared king under the title of orélie antoine i. overthrown and captured by the chilian government, with whom he had embroiled himself in hostilities, he succeeded in effecting his escape and returning to europe, where his adventures became a "nine days' wonder." to the araucanian branch belong the pécherais, an ichthyophagous tribe of tierra del fuego. the natives of these islands, says admiral wilkes,[ ] are not more than five feet high, of a light copper colour, which is much concealed by smut and dirt, particularly on their faces, which they mark vertically with charcoal. they have short faces, narrow foreheads, and high cheek-bones. their eyes are small and usually black, the upper lids in the inner corner overlapping the under one, and bear a strong resemblance to those of the chinese. the nose is broad and flat, with wide-spread nostrils, mouth large, teeth white, large, and regular. the hair is long, lank, and black, hanging over the face, and is covered with white ashes, which give them a hideous appearance. the whole face is compressed. their bodies are remarkable from the great development of the chest, shoulders, and vertebral column; their arms are long, and out of proportion; their legs small, and ill-made. there is, in fact, little difference between the size of the ankle and the leg; and, when standing, the skin at the knee hangs in a large loose fold. in some individuals the muscles of the leg appear almost wanting, and possess very little strength. this want of muscular development is owing to their constant sitting posture, both in their huts and canoes. their skin is sensibly colder than ours. it is impossible to fancy anything in human nature more filthy. they are an ill-shapen and ugly race. the pecherais build their huts on the shore of boughs or small trees planted in the earth, their tops woven together, and roofed with grass or bark. circular in form, they have generally a diameter of seven to eight feet, and measure four or five feet in height, with an oval aperture to serve for an entrance. the fire is built up in a central excavation in the clay floor. the sole, or at all events the principal, food of this people is shell-fish. they strike the fish, or defend themselves, with rudely-fashioned spears and slings. the women generally paddle the canoes. we also encounter, in the southern provinces of america, in the midst of the copper-coloured races of whom i have already spoken, a group of indians, almost black, whom prichard, the illustrious ethnologist, has designated the _mediterranean_, and whose features recall in a striking manner those of some of the californian tribes. is this resemblance a sign of the close relationship existing between two peoples placed, as it were, at the two extremities of the world? we can hardly admit the supposition. it seems more probable that it results from the analogy of the climates, and perhaps still more surely from that of the soils, which appear to exercise a mysterious but a powerful influence upon the modification of species and races. [illustration] book v. _the polar deserts--the mountains._ chapter i. the polar deserts. in countries which enjoy an always elevated temperature, the excess of their fertility is not much more favourable than extreme dryness to the material and moral development of man. there can be no doubt that the exuberant vegetation is a potent cause of the insalubrity of the atmosphere. and thus it comes that civilization, commerce, industry, labour, have only been able to establish themselves and to make any considerable progress in temperate or even cold countries, where man has found a climate more healthy, but at the same time sufficiently unequal, and often sufficiently inclement, to compel him to defend himself by various means against the rigour of the atmosphere, and a soil capable of furnishing him abundantly with the products necessary for his wants, but on the condition that he gains them by intelligent and persistent toil--by the "sweat of his brow." when we arrive under a latitude or a thermometrical mean which exceeds by some degrees that of england or france, we find the inhabitants giving way to sloth and indolence; their manners are at once softer and yet fiercer, their passions more violent and their tastes more fertile; arts and poesy occupy them to the neglect of the exact sciences; industry and commerce languish, agriculture is despised. but if, on the contrary, we proceed towards the north, we discover a greater degree of civilization, a warmer devotion to labour. the most industrious peoples of the world, the english and the dutch, inherit a cold, humid, and even foggy atmosphere. in canada and the northernmost states of the american union, the anglo-saxon race has lost nothing of its laborious habits and its enterprising audacity. in sweden and in norway, in russia, even in siberia, the traveller meets with towns and villages in a flourishing condition up to the th parallel of north latitude and beyond, under a climate whose mean _annual_ temperature is inferior to the mean _winter_ temperature of france, and where the thermometer frequently descends in winter below-- ° r. thus, then, we see that the warm bland tropical air enervates the mind as well as the body, while the cold of the north seems to increase their energy. it is also true that cold climates, all things considered, are healthier than hot countries, where disease is more rapid and fatal in its inroads; and that, finally, civilization furnishes man with the means of protecting himself against the injurious effects of a very low temperature, while it leaves him without defence against those of excessive heat. we shall see hereafter that the human organism modifies itself, in the polar regions, in such a manner as to support, without too great suffering, a degree of cold which at the outset it appears to us must be absolutely intolerable. we may place between the isothermal lines of + ° and of ° the limit where commences the territory which, in the northern hemisphere, merits the name of the region of the polar deserts. already, in effect, under this glacial latitude, the landscape assumes a sombre and desolate aspect, which seems to indicate the propinquity of the "funereal glaciers" of the pole. the daring traveller who beards the winter-king in his own realms meets no more with massive and lofty mountain-crests; a few only of the great chains of europe and asia--here the scandinavian alps, there the oural mountains; still further, at the easternmost extremity of asia, some scattered summits, which we may consider as belonging to the elevation of the altai, prolong even to the arctic shores their cantled and snow-shrouded peaks. everywhere, also, immense steppes, intersected by swamps and relieved with woods of fir and birch, spread for leagues upon leagues in the dull light of a wintry sky, until they merge into those rent and rocky plains, bare of all vegetation except a few lichens and mosses, which are almost always encrusted in glittering snow and ice, and mingle in the distance with the frost-bound waters of the arctic sea. it is in america that these icy deserts are most extensive; not only because that continent stretches much nearer the pole than does the old world, but because, owing to its geographical disposition and geological structure, it is much more exposed, even towards the south, to that combined action of the atmosphere, land, and water, whose effects constitute the arctic climate.[ ] this climate, then, prevails over nearly the whole of danish america, the recently-acquired possessions of the united states, the hudson's bay territory, and labrador, down to that inconsiderable watershed which separates from the tributaries of hudson's bay, the three basins of the st. lawrence, the five great lakes, and the mississippi. this line of watershed undulates between the nd and th parallel of latitude, from belle-isle strait to the sources of the saskatchewan, in the rocky mountains, where it inflects towards the pacific ocean, skirting on the north the basin of the columbia. "thus circumscribed on the side of the south," say messieurs hervé and f. de lanoye,[ ] "the arctic lands of america, including the archipelagoes of the north and north-east, cannot measure less than , square leagues. they therefore greatly exceed in superficies the mass of the european lands, estimated at about , square leagues." the same authors divide the arctic lands into three regions, of which one--they name it "the province of the north-west"--belongs rather to those undulating prairies described in book iii. than to the polar deserts. the two others are the "middle or wooded region," and the "barren landes." the wooded region comprehends the basins of the upper mackenzie, the churchill, the nelson, and the severn. hudson's bay cuts into it on the east with its deep anfractuosities. the navigation of this mediterranean of the north, open to the currents and to the drift of the polar ices, begins only in the month of june, to close in that of september; yet in this interval the obstruction of the ices is so great that it occupies a stout vessel two months to traverse the diameter of the bay. along the littoral of this sea the soil never thaws below the surface, and it often freezes on the very surface in the middle of summer. like a fierce and despotic tyrant does winter reign on these shores for from eight to nine months. from the end of september the earth, the rivers which flow into the bay, their affluents, and the chaplet of lakes which connect them with one another, all disappear under a layer of hoar-frost. "the provinces of new wales and of maine do not enjoy for a longer period than three months the temperature of + ° (centigrades), necessary for the development of vegetation. the southern shores of the great bear and slave lakes possess that temperature for only two months at the most." it is not until the month of may that the thermometer rises ever so little above zero in the wooded region, and that a breath of life passes into the plants. then only the reddish shoots of the willows, the poplar trees, and the birches attire themselves in their long cottony pods; the thickets grow green; the dandelion, the burdock, and the saxifrages flourish at the foot of the rocks; then the sweet-brier, the gooseberry, and the strawberry put forth their fruity burden; and above these dwarf shrubs the pines, the larches, the thuyas display all the luxury of their sombre verdure. but at the same time the melted snows have transformed the soil, recently so hard and polished like marble, into peaty bogs, where myriads of mosquitoes swarm--an intolerable scourge, which the traveller can only escape by surrounding himself with clouds of smoke. [illustration: the desert of ice (arctic pole).] the commencement of the region of "barren landes" is marked by a line drawn from the mouth of the churchill in hudson's bay to mount st. elias on the pacific coast, and passing by the southern shores of the bear and the slave lakes. to the north of this region it loses itself in the eternal ices, with the last shores of the parry archipelago; to the east and to the north-east, the conformity of the soil and the identity of the climate include within it the greatest part of labrador and all greenland, from which it is only separated accidentally by the breaking up of the ices which constantly solidify baffin's bay, and renders so difficult, in those districts, the distinction between land and water. "in these vast countries," say the writers already quoted, "the primitive crust of the globe preserves still the chaotic character which it assumed at the moment that its fluid elements congealed. except at the bottom of the ravines and hollows, where each winter's thaw has accumulated long tracts of moss and the wrecks of dwarf willows--the embryo vegetation of the polar clime--the slow action of the ages has nowhere oxidized this rough rude surface to the extent of clothing with a layer of mould its abrupt nakedness. there no transitionary stratum extends between the primeval granite and the erupted rocks. there, prolonged chains of trachyte, and gigantic causeways of basalt, display again their strata as regular, their ridges as keen, their rents as deep, as on the morrow of that day when they emerged from the original chaos. at a great number of points, as at the bottom of repulse bay and in the interior of melville island, whole skeletons of whales elevated from the depths of ocean, with the submarine layer wherein death had ensepulchred them, have not received in all the ages that have passed by since their exposure to the day any other shroud than the snows of successive winters, which, melting before the suns of successive summers, annually uncovers their whitened bones, irrefragable proofs of a great geological law." in asia, the isothermal line of ° descends even towards the th parallel of latitude--that is to say, a little lower than in america; but beyond this line we meet again, as i have already said, with towns of some importance, such as tobolsk, the capital of siberia, in lat. ° ' north; irkutsk, in lat. ° ' north; and iakutsk, in lat. °. all this northern part of siberia is only distinguished by the greater rigour of its climate, and by a more and more scanty vegetation from the great steppes, of which it is the continuation. however, the north-eastern extremity, comprising the peninsula of kamtschatka, bristles with volcanic mountains which still exhibit some craters in activity, notably those of avatcha and klioutchevskoï, or klutschew. the latter belches forth its fires from one of the loftiest summits of the globe. in continental europe, the only polar lands, properly so called, are russian lapland and the deeply-indented coast of northern russia. to the north of the most advanced point of that coast, and separated from the continent by a narrow arm of the sea, lie three almost contiguous islands, which form nova zembla (lat. ° ' to ° north); desert islands, inhabited by a few fishermen, and containing a few vegetables and animals. the western side of the group is traversed by a mountain-range feet in height. finally, almost in the centre of the frozen sea, and at nearly equal distances from the old and the new world, rises the gloomy archipelago of spitzbergen (that is, the peaked mountains), first visited by barentz in , and lying between the parallels of ° and °, and the meridians of ° and ° east of greenwich. their summits, i need hardly tell you, are shrouded in eternal ice and snow, and separated by narrow valleys, or rather ravines, mostly occupied with those slowly-moving ice-rivers called glaciers. the surrounding seas swarm with fish, and the frozen wastes of the islands are haunted by the arctic fox, the reindeer, and the white bear. the walrus and the seal live upon their shores, which bristle everywhere with lofty granitic rocks, and glaciers that plunge down into the very waters. their extremities are constantly throwing off huge masses of ice, which float out to sea, and in the shape of icebergs appal and threaten the mariner. except during a brief interval of summer, the access to spitzbergen is barred by a formidable barrier of ice, and the channels between the different islands are so blocked up by the same material, that it was long doubted whether spitzbergen was not one large island deeply fissured and intersected by creek and gulf. it is wholly uninhabited, but the voyager landing at certain points of the coast--in madeleine bay, for example--treads at every step upon human bones thickly scattered over the snow, pell-mell with the bones of bears and seals, and upon the ghastly memorials of empty or half-open coffins. these are the remains, the last relics, of unfortunate seamen slain by cold and hunger in these desolate regions. for want of strength to dig decent graves, on account of the thickness of the ice, the survivors load the coffins with pieces of rock to act as a rampart against the wild beasts. but "the great man in a pelisse," as the norwegian hunters denominate the white bear, has stout arms, and, impelled by famine, he frequently succeeds in displacing the stones, and making a hideous banquet off the frozen bodies. * * * * * the very ocean which washes this gloomy coast shows us the arctic desert under a form which is at once more imposing, more majestic, and more terrible. on its surface float vast fields, mountains, and banks of ice, far more formidable to the mariner than the typhoons and cyclones of the torrid zone. these floating ice-mountains proceed, as i have said, from the terrestrial glaciers which, in these latitudes, descend to the margin of the sea, frequently project a considerable distance beyond the coast, and, loosened by their own weight or by the incessant clash and collision of the waves, splinter into enormous fragments. hence it is that their ice, when liquefied, supplies a fresh, sweet, and wholesome water for drinking purposes. their outlines are of the most fantastic, and often of the most beautiful character; old ruined keeps of norman castles, long lines of frowning battlements, minarets and domes of moorish mosques, and the tapering spires, arched roofs, and flying buttresses of mediæval cathedrals. lit up by the radiance of an arctic sun, they wear a most singular and weird beauty, and probably the time may come when the artist will gain that inspiration from their sublime or graceful shapes which he now seeks in the forest, on the sea-shore, or in the pine-clad mountain-glen. masses of ice rise every year from the bosom, so to speak, of the polar sea, and accumulating together, and with the ruins of half-dissolved icebergs, gradually develop into immense _ice-fields_, which have often an area of several thousand square yards. their thickness varies, but is always considerably inferior to that of the icebergs. it is not uncommon, however, for them to attain an elevation of feet, and you can form an idea of their gigantic dimensions by recollecting that the submerged portion will be from four to eight times the height of that which rises above the waves. during the winter, mountains and fields of ice congeal together in such wise as to spread over the ocean a compact and impenetrable crust, an immense desert of snow, broken up by walls and columns--i should rather say, by monuments--of fantastic design, whose radiant glittering surfaces reflect in changing lights of amethyst, azure, vermilion, gold, and emerald, the wondrous fires of the northern auroras. when, after a long absence, the sun returns to dart obliquely his rays upon the pole, all this crust splits up and becomes dislocated; the confusion spreads; the ocean-currents carry off to sea the blocks and floes of ice which roll, and glide, and chase, and cross each other, hurtling together in an indescribable mêlée, and with a fearful tempest of sounds! this is not the place to speak of the dangers which beset the seaman who dares to penetrate into the silent recesses of the polar seas. and, indeed, a tale so often told would have little interest for the english reader, who cannot fail to be familiar with the adventures of the arctic explorers, from hudson to m'clure, through the long list of honoured and immortal names--parry, ross, franklin, scoresby, davis, m'clintock, and sir humphrey gilbert. too many, alas! have fallen victims to their heroic courage, and the most fortunate have not returned in safety without accomplishing prodigies of valour and energy, without undergoing the severest privations and most terrible sufferings. their efforts and their sacrifices, let us add, have not been barren. not only has the great north-west passage from the atlantic to the pacific been finally explored, but the discovery of an open and comparatively warm sea around the geographical pole of our globe--the discovery, too, of the magnetic pole, and of the double pole of cold--ought to be ranked with the most brilliant scientific achievements on which our age can pride itself. thanks to those heroes of science, the arctic polar region is now extensively known and very generally surveyed. it is not possible to say so much of the antarctic polar region. there the approach is not facilitated by any continent, or, indeed, any fraction of a continent. the "land of fire" (_tierra del fuego_), which is the nearest point, is not calculated to brighten the hopes of the explorer, and the difficulties and perils which oppose themselves to his southward progress seem insurmountable. three illustrious travellers--sons of england, france, and america respectively--sir james ross, dumont d'urville, and rear-admiral charles wilkes, attempted, however, in the first half of the present century, to penetrate the mystery which enshrouds this extremity of our globe. after sailing for many days amongst prodigious icebergs, which sometimes threatened to crush his ships, and sometimes to immure them in a gloomy prison, dumont d'urville considered himself fortunate in sighting, on the very line of the antarctic circle, a range of black rocky cliffs which he named clarie coast and adelie land. about the same time rear-admiral wilkes discovered, in ° ' south latitude, and ° ' east longitude, a bay which he called the bay of disappointment, because he found himself there stopped short by impassable ice, and deceived in his hope of reaching the austral continent. the same navigator, in ° ' south latitude, and ° ' east longitude, saw, or thought he saw, an extent of coast which he computed at miles in length, and feet in elevation above the sea-level. this coast appeared to him entirely covered with snow. disembarking at the point mentioned, he ascertained the presence, under the snow, of clay, red granite, and basalt, but no sign of stratification. on the beach, frequented by the cachalot whale, the seal, and legions of sea-birds, were found numerous zoophytes and some small crustaceans. [illustration: adelie land (antarctic ocean).] the accuracy of the american navigator's observations has been, however, disputed by geographers, and in sir james ross demonstrated that the threshold of this problematical continent was, at least in certain places, much more distant than wilkes had supposed. sir james himself discovered, between ° and ° south latitude, an extensive tract of land which he named _south victoria_, and which extends nearer the south pole than any other yet known. its shores are rendered imposing by a line of lofty and snow-crowned mountains, some of which are volcanic. to two of the more majestic of these the english voyager gave the names of his two ships--mount _erebus_ and mount _terror_. the former is , feet in height.[ ] sir james ross traced the continents of this desolate icy coast for seven hundred miles, until his progress was arrested by a solid impenetrable barrier of lofty ice. he reached, however, on another meridian, the latitude of ° ' south, the nearest approach yet made to the antarctic pole. chapter ii. animal life and vegetable life in the polar deserts. the mantle which flora has spread over the naked body of this earth is, says humboldt, unequally woven. thickest in those places where the sun soars to a great altitude in a cloudless sky, it is of thinner texture towards the poles, where nature seems benumbed and torpid, where the precipitate return of frost leaves no time for the buds to unfold, and surprises the fruits before they have attained maturity. the number of plants capable of withstanding the prolonged and terrible arctic winters, and of contenting themselves with the scanty heat and light which the pale sun of those regions pours upon them during his brief stay above the horizon, is, in effect, very limited. we have seen, in the preceding chapter, how restricted is the flora of that part of the american polar lands which has received the somewhat ambitious appellation of the "wooded region." this flora, so poor and stunted, is nevertheless the flora of a comparatively fortunate zone. we find it, with some variations, to the north of sweden, russia, and siberia. there we encounter those ultimate masses of foliage which have any pretensions to the title of forests--pines, firs, elms, and birches are the only species which compose them. further north these trees form but small woods, alternating with clumps of poplars and dwarf willows. the myrtle of our sub-alpine forests, and a small winding honeysuckle, with rounded leaves, rosy and fragrant flowers, cover in certain places considerable surfaces. still further north the arborescent species are completely wanting; but vivacious plants, belonging to the families of ranunculaceæ, saxifragaceæ, cruciferæ, and gramineæ, spread out their flowers on the surface of the rocks. to the firs and birches, already so stinted, succeed, in the same localities, a few scattered shrubs; among others, the thorny gooseberry bush, the common strawberry, the raspberry-pseudo-mulberry (_rubus chamæmorus_)--exclusively indigenous to these regions--and the oleander of lapland (_rhododendron laponicum_). still advancing northward, we meet, on the extreme confines of the continent, some dravas (_cruciferæ_), potentillas (_rosaceæ_), bur-weeds and rushes (_cyperaceæ_), and, finally, a few mosses and lichens. the commonest mosses are the _splechnum_, which resemble small umbels; and, in moist localities, the _sphagnum_, or _bog-moss_, whose successive accumulation, from a very remote epoch, has formed, with the detritus of some _cyperaceæ_, extensive breadths of peat, which might be utilized as a combustible. the lichens and the mosses are the last plants which, owing to the simplicity of their organization, are able to develop and reproduce themselves on the arctic rocks and under the dense layer of snow which covers them. their abundance in almost all the polar wastes, where every other nutritious plant is wanting, proves an inestimable benefit for the few inhabitants of those deserts. it will suffice to mention, as representatives of the singular family of cryptogams, the iceland moss, which medical science employs in the treatment of pulmonary diseases; and the reindeer moss, whose foliaceous expansions frequently cover vast extents of soil, and form veritable pasture-grounds where the reindeer find almost their only nutriment. but if the polar flora offers few details of interest, it is otherwise with the polar fauna. the most important orders of the animal kingdom, and particularly of the class _mammalia_, are there represented by species not less worthy of attention than those that people the savage countries of the torrid and temperate zones. * * * * * among the _ruminantia_ we may mention the eland and the stag of canada, which range--the former in the old and new continents, the latter in the new world only--to a very high latitude; but, to confine myself to the characteristic species of the hyperborean fauna, i shall here speak only of the musk-ox and the reindeer. the musk-ox, or ovibos (_ovibos moschatus_), is, as its zoological name indicates, an intermediate animal between the ox and the sheep. smaller than the former, larger than the latter, he reminds us equally of both in his form and appearance. he has an obtuse nose; horns broad at the base, covering the forehead and crown of the head, and curving downwards between the eye and ear until about the level of the mouth, where they turn upwards; the tail is short, and almost lost in the thickness of the hair, which is generally of a dark brown, and of two kinds, as with all the animals of polar regions,--a long hair, which on some parts of the body is thick and curled, and, beneath it, a fine kind of soft, ash-coloured wool; the legs are short and thick, and furnished with narrow hoofs, resembling those of the moose. the female is smaller than the male, and has also smaller horns. her general colour is black, except that the legs are whitish; and along the back runs an elevated ridge or mane of dusky hair. the musk-ox, as might be inferred from his name, exhales a strong odour of musk, with which his very flesh is impregnated, and which communicates itself to the knife employed in cutting him up. not the less is he esteemed a precious prey by the indians and eskimos, who hunt him actively. he wanders in small herds over the rocky prairies which stretch to the north of the great lakes of north america. he is an irascible animal, and will fight desperately in defence of the female. * * * * * the reindeer (_cervus turandus_) is about the size of our english stag, but of a squatter and less graceful form. he stands about four feet six inches high. his head is crowned with remarkably long and slender horns; and they have branched, recurved, and round antlers, whose summits are palmated. his colour is brown above and white beneath; but as the animal advances in age, it changes into a grayish-white, and is sometimes almost wholly white. the nether part of the neck droops like a kind of hanging beard. his hoofs are large, long, and black; and so are the secondary hoofs behind. the latter, while the reindeer is running, make by their collision a curious clattering sound, which may be heard at a considerable distance. this species formerly spread over europe and asia to a tolerably low latitude.cæsar particularizes it among the animals of the hercynian forest. even at the present day troops of wild reindeer traverse the wooded summits of the prolongation of the ural mountains. they advance between the don and the volga to the th parallel of latitude; and they extend their wanderings even to the foot of the caucasus, on the banks of the kouma. but their true habitat is that belt of ice and snow bounded by the arctic polar circle, or, more properly, by the isothermal line of ° centigrade. "both the wild and the tame reindeer," says desmoulins, " change their feeding-grounds with the seasons. in winter they descend into the plains and valleys; in summer they take refuge upon the mountains, where the wild herds gain the loftiest terraces, the more easily to escape the attacks of gadflies and other insect enemies. it is very remarkable that each species of animal has, so to speak, his insect parasite. the oestre so terrifies the reindeer that the mere appearance of one in the air will infuriate a herd of a thousand animals. as it is then the moulting season, these insects deposit their eggs in the skin, where the larvæ lodge and multiply _ad infinitum_, incessantly renewing centres of suppuration." [illustration: the reindeer of lapland.] to the natives of north america, says a zoologist, the reindeer is only known as a beast of chase, but he is a most important one. there is hardly a part of the animal which is not made available to some useful purpose. clothing made of the skin is, according to sir j. richardson, so impervious to the cold, that, with the addition of a blanket of the same material, any one so clothed may bivouac on the snow with safety in the most intense cold of an arctic winter's night. the venison, when in high condition, has several inches of fat on the haunches, and said to equal that of the fallow-deer in our best english parks: the tongue and some of the tripe are reckoned most delicious morsels. pemmican is formed by pouring one-third part of melted fat over the pounded meat, and incorporating them well together. the eskimos and greenlanders consider the stomach or paunch, with its contents, a great delicacy; and captain sir james ross says that these contents form the only vegetable food which the natives of boothia ever taste.[ ] * * * * * the order of _rodents_ has no other representatives in the arctic deserts than the arctic hare and the alpine lagomys. the former is a little larger than our european hare. his abundant fur, gray in summer, grows white in winter, and affords him protection, by a merciful provision of nature, against the carnivorous beasts of prey. it becomes impossible to discern him from the snowy mantle which covers all the earth. he is a native of labrador and greenland. the lagomys are small animals, scarcely exceeding the guinea-pig in size, and measuring only nine inches in length. his long head is ornamented with a pair of short, broad, and rounded ears. he inhabits the altaï mountains, but extends even into kamtschatka, seeking an asylum in the wooded tracts among the mossy rocks and flashing waterfalls, lodging in the fissures or burrowing in the most sequestered corners. during the autumn he lays up a store of winter provision by collecting the finest grass and moss and herbs. these he dries in the sun, and disposes in small heaps or hayricks, which vary in size according to the number of animals employed, and frequently furnish the sable-hunter with provender for his horse in the hour of direst emergency. * * * * * the group of arctic carnivora, more numerous than the reader would at the first glance suppose, includes those animals which furnish commerce with the costliest furs. except the fox and the white bear, of which i shall presently speak, all these carnivora belong to the family which has for its type the "long-spined animal"--the common european weasel (_mustela_)--and which borrows from it its zoological appellation of _mustelidæ_. in this family the most remarkable genera are undoubtedly the martens, the polecats, the gluttons, and the otters. * * * * * the martens of the north are cousins-german of the weasels, so justly feared by our farmers and villagers on account of the extensive depredations which they commit in the poultry-yard. the martens are not less ferocious; but in the fir and birch forests which they inhabit, it is upon the small rodents, the birds, and, when necessity prompts, upon the reptiles, that they exercise their sanguinary tyranny. they scale trees as nimbly as cats; and their flexible body enables them to introduce themselves into the smallest openings, where a cat could not pass, and into the burrows and fissures of the trees or rocks which serve as an asylum for their victims. they are, moreover, very pretty animals, with lively manners, a cunning physiognomy, and a rich furry attire. besides the ordinary marten, which is found in all the north of europe, zoologists distinguish in this genus several species exclusively indigenous to the coldest regions of the two continents. the most renowned for the beauty of his coat is the zibelline, or sable, which we must look for in northern russia and siberia. its hairs, whose general shade is a grayish-brown, possess this singular property, which distinguishes them from every other kind of fur--they have no particular inclination, and consequently may be laid down indifferently in any direction whatever. * * * * * [illustration: ermine and sable-marten.] the genus polecat (_mustela putarius_) comprehends the smallest of all known carnivora--the weasel, the ferret, and the ermine. the temperate countries of europe possess one variety of the latter species; but the ermines of the extreme north have a much fuller and softer fur. these animals, like many others, change their garb according to the season. the ermine, which poets have adopted as the emblem of purity, on account of his spotless whiteness, in reality only merits that dangerous honour in the winter; it is then only that he assumes that immaculate robe which the proudest monarchs are content to wear. in summer its colour is a clear maroon. his tail alone remains at all times of a beautiful shining black. * * * * * the glutton (_gulo arcticus_) is a carnivorous quadruped of a very voracious nature, about the size of a large badger, between which and the polecat he appears to form a link. his legs are short and robust; he has a compact body, large head, and unwieldy gait. his ears are small; his tail is short and tufted. his skin is a black brown on the top of the head and back; a white line extends along each flank, from the shoulder to the root of the tail. the muzzle is black; the remainder of the body a deep brown. like most of the mammals of the polar region, he has two kinds of hair--the upper long and coarse, the lower soft, fine, and of an uniform brown colour. the glutton owes his name to his extreme voracity. he does not fear to attack animals of the size of the reindeer; he leaps upon them, fastens his claws in them, rends them to pieces, until at length they fall exhausted. after having gorged himself on their flesh and blood, he hides the remainder for another repast. * * * * * the genus otter (_lutra vulgaris_) comprehends several species, distributed over nearly all the countries of the world. i shall here speak only of the otter of kamtschatka, or sea otter (_enhydra lutris_), so named on account of his essentially aquatic habits. he weighs from seventy to eighty pounds. in full season his colour is perfectly black; at other times, of a dark brown. he attains the length of three feet, including his tail; has hind-feet resembling those of a seal; the upper jaw is armed with six, and the lower with four incisors. the grinders are broad, and well adapted for crunching crustaceous animals. he runs with great rapidity, and swims with astonishing ease and swiftness. of late years, however, he has been the object of so murderous a chase on the part of the russian and american hunters that he has almost disappeared from the polar shores. the skins of the sea otter are much prized by the chinese, who pay for them from seventy to one hundred roubles a-piece. very few ever reach the european market. * * * * * among those carnivora which are able to accommodate themselves to the severest climates, i may mention the foxes. these animals attire themselves, under the polar latitudes, in a fur of sufficient thickness to endure the intense cold they are required to support; and this fur is esteemed among the most precious varieties, under the names of isatis skin, white fox, black, blue, and tricoloured foxskins. the shades vary according to reynard's habitat, his age, and also the season; they correspond in like manner to the differences of race, but not to the differences of species. the most valuable skins are obtained from those foxes which belong to very cold countries; and it seems that as they recede from a certain latitude, they lose their value. "some blue foxes were killed by our hunters," says madame léonie d'aunet, "which were stunted and ugly. the spitzbergen foxes do not in any respect resemble the foxes of iceland or siberia, whose fur is so beautiful and in such high repute. that they may be thoroughly protected from the cold, they do not wear upon their bodies a fur so much as several thick folds or layers of very thick hair, so intermingled and threaded that it is rather a mattress than a coat of fur. moreover, instead of being of a somewhat tawny colour, like the iceland foxes, they are of an ashen-gray. their skin, nevertheless, is excellently adapted for making carpets." i see no intermediaries between the small carnivora we have just passed in review, and the formidable tyrant of the icy deserts, the polar or marine bear (_ursus marinus_), popularly known as the white bear; an improper appellation, as it confounds the bear of the arctic seas with the albino variety of the common bear. the former constitutes a perfectly distinct species, whose characteristics, apart from the yellowish-white colour of his rich soft fur, are a flattened and elongated head, a long neck, high legs, and feet whose conformation is admirably adapted to the habitat and amphibious existence of the animal. in fact, the sole of each foot is garnished with a thick fleece, which permits the arctic bear to walk on the ice as on a carpet, and the toes are connected by a membrane which renders them eminently fit for natatory purposes. the arctic bear seldom visits the land; his favourite sojourn is the floating ice-field, and his diet the corpses of whales and seals, or even living _phocæ_, which he fearlessly attacks at the impulse of hunger. "on seeing his intended prey," says captain lyon, "he gets quietly into the water, and swims until to leeward of him, from whence, by frequent short dives, he silently makes his approaches, and so arranges his distances that at the last dive he comes to the spot where the seal is lying. if the poor animal attempts to escape by rolling into the water, he falls into the bear's clutches; if, on the contrary, he lies still, his destroyer makes a powerful spring, kills him on the ice, and devours him at leisure." in cases of urgency the bear does not scruple to make a prey of man, and he is assuredly a formidable antagonist. his dimensions are enormous; he is endowed with prodigious strength. some individuals have been met with who measured nine to ten feet in length. their average size is about six feet in length, and about three in height, to the top of the shoulder. spite of their ferocity, which with them, as with nearly all the carnivora, is a natural consequence of their appetite, the white bears are sociable in their habits: they frequently wander about in small troops, and those of a family invariably "flock together." the male, the mother, and their young are united by the ties of an affection which is capable of the most intrepid devotion. the female especially watches over her cubs with the most anxious solicitude, and defends them to the last extremity. of this philoprogenitiveness a voyager relates what seems to me a truly pathetic example:-- [illustration: the white bear and her cubs.] a vessel belonging to a small squadron commanded by captain philippe was caught in the polar ice. one morning, the look-out man signalled the approach of three bears, which were advancing rapidly towards the vessel, attracted by the odour of some seal's flesh roasted on the previous evening. the three consisted of a she bear and her two cubs. the seamen at a suitable moment fired at the latter, and killed them. the mother was also wounded, but not mortally. it was a spectacle which drew tears from the least susceptible to see the marks of sorrow and tenderness lavished by this poor beast upon her young. she carried to them a piece of the flesh which she had taken possession of, and divided it into two portions, which she placed before them. seeing that they did not eat, she touched them alternately with her fore-paws, and endeavoured to raise them, uttering at the same time the most lamentable groans. then she withdrew, halted a few paces, and summoned her little ones by a low sad cry. as they remained insensible to her appeal, she returned to them, moved them anew, smelt them on every side, dragged them some distance, again returned, still moaning and bewailing, licked their wounds, called them; and finally, when assured that they had ceased to live, and understanding what had transpired, she stood half erect by a great effort, turned towards the ship, and gave vent to a roar of agony and rage, an unmistakable imprecation against her murderers. the latter replied with a discharge of musketry. the poor bear fell smitten between her two little ones, and died licking their wounds. * * * * * among other mammiferous animals belonging to the polar regions, my space only permits me a brief allusion to the seal and the walrus. the seal (_phoca vitulina_) seems to the eye a compound of the fish and the quadruped; having the tail of the former, the head, spine, and body of the latter. its physiognomy is remarkable for its peculiarly mild and intelligent expression. its elongated, conical body tapers from the shoulders to the tail. its feet are of singular construction. they are covered with a membrane, and so united to the body that they might be mistaken for fins, but for the sharp strong claws that terminate them. seals swim with great rapidity, and can remain under water for a considerable period. the species are very numerous. the greenland or harp seal (_phoca greenlandica_) measures about six feet in length. the bearded seal (_p. barbata_) is from seven to ten feet long. the largest known species is the elephant seal or sea-elephant (_macrorhinus proboscideus_), whose girth at the largest part of the body is from fifteen to eighteen feet, and its length from twenty-five to thirty feet. it is a native of the antarctic seas. the sea-lion (_platyrhynchus leoninus_), so called from its long full mane, inhabits both the northern and southern coasts of the pacific. the sea-bear (_arctocephalus ursinus_) derives its name from the fur and shape of the head. the walrus or morse (_trichecus_) is a genus of the phocidæ, or seal family, distinguished by its widely different cranium and teeth. in the adult lower jaw are neither incisors nor canines, while the upper bristles with two enormous tusks, which are directed downwards, and are sometimes two feet long. it chiefly feeds upon molluscs and marine vegetables, and its flesh in its turn affords a dainty repast to the inhabitants of the polar deserts. chapter iii. the inhabitants of the arctic wildernesses:--the laplanders--samoiedes--ostiaks--kamtschatdales--eskimos, or esquimaux. to the various populations which occupy the arctic regions of both the old and the new world, the general appellation of hyperboreans is sometimes given. do these populations truly form, as some ethnologists assert, a distinct and homogeneous race; or are they not rather independent offshoots of the japhetic race in europe, of the mongolian in asia, of the redskins in america? to this question i can give no satisfactory reply. i will only say that if the different fractions of this great group exhibit among themselves external differences of a very marked character, they are drawn together, on the other hand, by no less striking resemblances. in truth, these resemblances are markedly physiological, and should, i think, be exclusively attributed to the powerful and irresistible action of external agencies. if there be, indeed, one region where the influence of climate on the constitution of man is manifest, that region is assuredly the polar zone. there the conditions of life differ wholly from those which prevail in all other parts of the globe, and it necessarily results that modifications take place in the organism of the men subject to those conditions, which ought to be regarded as wholly independent of the origin of races and of their ethnographic characters properly so called. the hyperboreans are small, squat, ugly, and deformed. their legs are short and sufficiently straight, but so thick, says bory de st. vincent, that to the spectator they seem swollen and diseased. their head is generally of large size. they have long, coarse, straight hair, a thin beard, a broad countenance, a great mouth, high cheek-bones, and half-closed eyes, of a light colour, as gray or yellowish, but never blue. their complexion is sometimes of a yellowish-white, as with the laplanders; sometimes of a deep yellow or reddish-brown, as with the eskimos and the greenlanders. the latter peculiarity may be invoked as a very plausible argument in support of the opinion which gives to the arctic peoples different origins. it shows also, once more, that the more or less intense colouring of the skin among the african races is not an effect of the solar heat, as was commonly supposed. considered from a physiological point of view, the hyperboreans are distinguished by a remarkable uniformity of characteristics, which deserve to be specified. the sanguine temperament predominates among them. their nervous system is but slightly developed, their sensibility blunted, their intelligence slow, their imagination feeble. their external perspiration is almost null, and they are accustomed to suppress it entirely by induing their bodies in oily substances. on the other hand, their organs of nutrition and respiration are endowed with an extraordinary activity; and in this lies the secret of the extreme facility with which they support for several successive months the most rigorous cold. we know, indeed, that man and the warm-blooded animals possess, in their respiratory apparatus, a positive internal furnace, where a notable part of the carbon and the hydrogen contained in their venous blood is consumed in contact with the air. but to maintain this furnace at such a degree of heat as shall always preserve the temperature of the body at its normal standard ( ° c.), the inhabitants of arctic climes need constantly feed it with fuel, that is, with substances rich in carbon and hydrogen. hence the keen appetite of the hyperboreans for oil, fat, and flesh; hence, too, their voracity. the inhabitants of torrid or temperate regions, while sojourning among the icy wastes of the pole, quickly become sensible of the same necessity, and eagerly feed upon aliments which elsewhere would inspire them with insurmountable disgust. it is a remarkable fact that most of the diseases so frequent and so murderous in civilized countries are unknown in the polar lands. but, on the other hand, ophthalmia is endemic, and the cutaneous affections, as well as cerebral and pulmonary congestion, are of common occurrence. to sum up: the already scattered and scanty population of the arctic zone is daily decreasing, and will probably be extinct in a few generations. the manners of all the hyperboreans present the same general features: they are peaceable, inoffensive, and reduced, if i may use the expression, to the utmost possible minimum of physical and intellectual activity. this race, or group of races, is represented on the two continents by several distinct peoples. those most clearly defined are:-- in europe, the laplanders (or lapps), and the samoiedes; in asia, the ostiaks, yakouts, and kamtschatdales; and, in north america, the eskimos (or esquimaux). the laplanders inhabit the northernmost coasts of the scandinavian peninsula. they are ignorant, uncultivated, and _torpid_, rather than savage. in spite of their frequent contact with the russians and the swedes, they have no industrial resources, no art, no other commerce than that which is afforded by the products of the chase, of their fisheries, or their herds of reindeer. christianity, to which they were converted about two centuries ago, has not aroused them as yet from their moral and intellectual lethargy. all religion being reduced, so far as they are concerned, to oral tradition, the devotion of each is in proportion to his memory. education among them has attained to this standard, that a laplander who knows his alphabet corresponds to a young man among us who has graduated at oxford or cambridge. a french traveller, m. de saint-blaize, furnishes some details respecting this people:-- "the race of laplanders is constantly diminishing in numbers. it is of asiatic origin, as may be clearly discerned in their language and the type of their physiognomy. some are fishers, and dwell upon the coast; others are shepherds, who traverse the mountains in every direction, pasturing their reindeer on the white moss. during the three months' summer the laplander leads his herd into the elevated regions, to withdraw them from the excessive heats and the mosquito-plagues: in winter, he brings them near the dwellings of men, principally for the sake of protecting them more effectually from his bitter enemies, the wolves, of whom he never speaks but with a sentiment of profound hatred. the laplander's wealth is his herd, which feeds him, clothes him, and procures him, by way of barter, brandy and tobacco, the only objects of his desire. [illustration: lapland fishers.] "the independent life of this nomadic people is not without its charm. accustomed from his infancy to privations and fatigues of every kind, the laplander suffers little. his body acquires an extraordinary vigour, and most of our maladies are unknown to him. if during a journey a lapland woman gives birth to a child, she places the new-born in a piece of hollow wood, where a hole has been cut out to receive the little one's head; then slings this cradle on her back, and resumes her journey. when she halts, she suspends her wooden chrysalid to a tree, and the wire-work protects it from the teeth of ferocious beasts. the reverse of this simple medal is an old age almost inevitably very unhappy. it is said that when a laplander has no longer the strength to render himself useful, his children abandon him by the roadside, with just provisions enough to support him for a few days. the traveller frequently encounters in the forest the skeletons of old men who have thus perished in gloomy solitude." the cradle to which our authority refers is described by professor forbes as cut out of solid wood and covered with leather, in flaps so arranged as to lace across the top with leathern thongs; the inside and the little pillow are rendered tolerably soft with reindeer moss, and the infant fits the space so exactly, that it can neither stir hand nor foot. the lapp hut, says professor forbes,[ ] is formed interiorly of wood, by means of curved ribs uniting near the centre in a ring, which is open, and allows free escape for the smoke; the fire being lighted in the centre of the floor. the exterior is covered with turf. the door is of wood on one side. the inmates recline on skins on the floor, with their feet towards the fire; and behind them, on a row of stones near the wall of the hut, are their various utensils. their clothing--chiefly of tanned skins and woollen stuffs--looked very dirty. * * * * * [illustration: a samoiede family.] the samoiedes (or samoyedes) are scattered, to the number of about a thousand families, along the coasts of the frozen sea, in the government of archangel, and, in siberia, in the governments of tobolsk and tomsk. ethnologists generally consider them to have a common origin with the finns of europe. in stature they are somewhat taller than the lapps, and their colour is more of a tawny. the marked features of their countenance recall the hindu type. the forehead is high, the hair black, the nose long, the mouth well-formed; but the sunken eye, veiled by a heavy lid, expresses a cruel and perfidious nature. the manners of the samoiedes are brutal. in character they are wily, fierce, and cunning. they are shepherds, hunters, traders, and, when opportunity serves, robbers. they clothe themselves in reindeer-skins, like the other hyperboreans of the old continent. they shave off their hair, except a tolerably large tuft which they allow to flourish on the top of the head, and they pluck out the beard as fast as it grows. the women adorn themselves with a belt of gilded copper, and with a profusion of ornaments in glass beads and metal. they are heathens, worshipping the sun and moon, the water and the trees; in fact, whatever object meets their eyes they convert into a deity; and, above all, they adore the bear, offering prayers and sacrifices to him before venturing on an expedition to hunt him down! * * * * * the ostiaks and the yakouts are established in the northernmost districts of siberia, from the oural mountains to kamtschatka. i borrow from a polish lady, madame felinska, long exiled in siberia, some curious details relative to the ostiaks, whom, during her banishment, she had numerous opportunities of studying. seeking one day a pathway through a wood, she encountered a couple of ostiaks on the point of performing their religious duties. these consist in placing themselves before a tree--a larch in preference--in the wildest and densest part of the forest, and there executing a series of epileptic contortions. such pagan demonstrations are forbidden them, says madame felinska; but, despite the christianity which they have professed to accept, they are and will remain pagans. nearly every ostiak carries about his person a rude image of the divinities which he adores under the name of _schaïtan_; but this does not prevent him from wearing on his breast a small copper crucifix. the schaïtan represents the human figure, carved in wood, or, rather, cut out of a small fragment of wood. it is of different sizes, according to the price and the various uses for which it is intended: if for carrying on the person, it is small; images for decorating the hut are much larger; but in every case the god is clothed in seven pearl-embroidered chemises, and suspended to the neck by a chaplet of silver coins. the wooden deity occupies the place of honour in the huts and cottages, and before commencing a repast, they take care to offer him the daintiest morsel, smearing his lips with fish or raw game; when this sacred duty is performed, they eat in contentment. the priests of the ostiaks are called _scha-mans_; they enjoy immense influence, which they employ in furtherance of the basest superstition and in promotion of their own personal interest. ambition and egotism dispense with knowledge and science in order to corrupt mankind. [illustration: yakout hunter worried by a white bear.] the ostiaks and the samoiedes are great hunters of the white bear. it is the same with the yakouts, a people dwelling near the bouriats, and approaching, like them, to the mongol type. it seems that the object of the chase is not always to kill the animal, but to catch him alive. madame felinska relates that she saw one day a considerable troop of bears conducted to bérézov like a herd of tame cattle, and apparently quite as inoffensive. she neglects to inform us, however, by what means they had been reduced to this state of passive obedience. the ostiaks and the yakouts frequently attack the white bears body to body, without any other weapon than a hatchet or a long cutlass. they need to strike the animal with extreme skill and vigour, to slay him at the first blow, or otherwise they incur extreme peril. if he misses his stroke, the hunter's only resource is to fling himself on the ground and lie motionless, until the bear, while smelling his body and turning him over, incautiously offers himself again to his attack. the yakouts are nearly of average height. they are robust and brave, honest and hospitable, but addicted to idolatry and polygamy. [illustration: kamtschatdales.] the kamtschatdales are smaller and shorter than the yakouts. they have a round flat face, a broad depressed nose, and prominent cheek-bones. they are of a friendly, mild, and peaceable character. they have a strong partiality for the song and the dance, and their amusements frequently degenerate into orgies. small-pox and excessive brandy-drinking have reduced to a few hundred families a population which numbered, a century ago, fully , souls. one sole population inhabits the immense icy plains which extend into america even beyond the polar circle. i refer to the eskimos, who are found--encamped in summer under tents made of reindeer or seal-skin, hidden in winter in their snow-huts--from behring's strait even to cape farewell. this race has the reddish-brown tint of the north american indians. in its small stature and physical forms it does not differ from other hyperboreans; but in physiognomy and the flattened skull it singularly recalls the men of lofty stature who inhabit the other extremity of the american continent, the patagonians. the physiognomy, the character, and the manners of the eskimos have been frequently described. the courageous navigators who have explored the polar sea in quest of a north-west passage have held frequent intercourse with these poor people, and all agree in eulogizing their gentleness, their patriarchal life, their eagerness to succour strangers. an american, captain hall, the last adventurer who has set himself the task of discovering the wrecks of franklin's ill-fated expedition, spent a whole year in the midst of the eskimos, whose amiability and generosity he praises in no stinted terms. exclusively hunters and fishers, the eskimos have no other domestic animal than the dog; they harness it to their sledges, and also train it to chase the seal, the walrus, and the reindeer. it is in the summer only that they hunt the latter animal. in that genial season there is no lack of other game, terrestrial and marine. it is for them a season of abundance, wherein they gorge themselves with flesh, blood, and fat. during the winter they often fast several days at a time, and remain immured in their huts like hybernating animals; but at length, driven by famine and by want of oil, they go forth upon the ice in search of the seals which come up to breathe. when they have been fortunate enough to kill one, they divide it amongst them amicably, and regale themselves upon it until only the bones remain, after which they endure a new period of privation. thus they live from day to day, in continual alternations of gluttony and abstinence, without injury to their health, and without shortening their lives. and it is worthy of notice that europeans who once consent to adopt this regime--to drink the warm blood and eat the raw flesh and fat of seals--soon accept of it without the slightest repugnance, and become capable of enduring, like true hyperboreans, the terrible cold of the long polar winters. * * * * * the inhabitants of sagalien, one of the northerly asiatic islands, are a race called the anios, the same people who form the aboriginal population of jesso, and some tribes of whom also dwell on the opposite shores of manchooria. they are uncultured and pagan savages, who dwell in huts built of rough logs, and live upon the proceeds of their fishery and the chase. their women are ugly and little; the men are tall, lithe, straight, and strong, with flowing hair and unkempt beard and moustaches. like the samoiedes they worship the bear; feasting the living animals on the choicest dried fish, and planting young pines round the cages in which they are kept. their graves they regard with similar feelings of veneration. * * * * * the other hyperborean races do not widely differ in character and physical appearance from those already described. [illustration] chapter iv. the mountains. "blue, and baseless, and beautiful, did the boundless mountains bear their folded shadows into the golden air. the comfortlessness of their chasms was full of orient cloud and undulating mist, which, when their silver cataracts hissed, quivered with panting colour." ruskin. from the polar deserts to the icy crests of the mountains the transition is natural. there are here, so to speak, two varieties of a single class of deserts, which we might call the deserts of cold, since the coldness of the climate is the dominant cause which in both renders the soil more and more unproductive and uninhabitable. in effect, it is not only in departing from the tropic zone that we see the mean temperature gradually sinking even to the point whereat all liquids congeal and all terrestrial life becomes impossible. the same phenomenon occurs in proportion as we ascend in the atmosphere. it is a consequence of the properties of the gaseous medium which envelops our globe, and takes place in obedience to certain laws which science has been able to ascertain and define. we know now that the decline of the temperature is always in proportion to the elevation of places or of the atmospheric strata; but the value of the relation which exists between the two terms may be modified by various circumstances--such as the direction of the prevailing wind, the hygrometrical state of the atmosphere, the hour of the day, and particularly the climate, or, to speak more exactly, the thermic latitude. the warmer the climate, the more sensible the difference between the temperature of the air at the level of the sea and that which we observe at a certain height; greater, nevertheless, is the height to which we must rise to find the region where the thermometer never descends below °, and where, consequently, the snows and ices of the mountains do not melt in any season. as a mean, we estimate every feet of elevation in the torrid zone as equal to one thermometrical degree, and in the temperate zone at one degree for every feet, the cooling of the air. that is, for every feet in the one instance, and every feet in the other, as we ascend above the sea's level, the temperature decreases one degree. in the polar regions the decrease of temperature is insensible up to a certain height, which has not yet been ascertained. at ingloolich, in ° ' north latitude, captain parry flew a kite to a height of feet, with an _à minima_ thermometer attached. at this elevation the temperature of the air was ° below zero, or the same as on the ice-fields of the sea. humboldt counted one degree of declination for every feet on chimborazo. de saussure obtained one degree for every feet on mont blanc. the limit of eternal snows, or perpetual snow-line, which at the pole sinks to the very level of ocean, rises higher and higher as it approaches the lower latitudes, and attains its maximum elevation towards the equinoctial line. it follows, that in the countries bordering on the arctic circle, mountains of very moderate altitude show themselves all through the year in a shroud of radiant snow; while, under the tropics, if we would meet with masses of eternal ice, we must mount to a height of , feet and more. the limit of the permanent snows is, however, affected by a variety of local circumstances, such as the neighbourhood of great seas or forests. the subjoined table, therefore, which shows the height of the curve of congelation in different latitudes, is founded upon the known law of the decrease of heat by elevation, and must be regarded rather as approximatively correct than strictly accurate. table of snow-line. ------------------------------------- | | | | | | mean | height | |latitude. | temperature | of the | | | at the level | snow- | | | of the sea. | line. | | | | | ------------------------------------- | | degrees | | | centrigrade. | | | | degrees | | | | fahrenheit. | | | | | feet. | | | | | | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | . | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | ½[ ] | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | , | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | · | · | | | | | | | ------------------------------------- that the foregoing table needs considerable modification in particular localities is evident from the following facts:--in the scandinavian alps, lat. ° north, the snow-line occurs at an elevation of feet, instead of ; in the alps of savoy, lat. ° north, it is found at feet, which is nearly that of the table. on the southern slope of the himalayas the traveller ascends to an elevation of upwards of , feet before he enters the realms of snow and ice, and on the northern slope to , feet. finally, in the andes of bolivia, according to pentland, the curve of congelation lies between , and , feet. thus, then, in the mid torrid zone, we must accomplish a weary ascent of , to , feet before we can find ourselves transported from the calcined plains whose sands scorch and blister our feet, or the dense forests whose innermost depths teem with the most exuberant and beautiful floral life, to the heart of icy deserts and the sublime silence of the mountains. and in passing from one to the other of these extremes, we traverse in a few hours all the climates which succeed one another from the equator to the pole. nevertheless, i must point out an important difference between the polar deserts and the snowy regions of the mountains, which is wholly to the advantage of the former. i have already shown that, under the highest latitudes, men find, in the exceptional activity of their functions of nutrition, and, above all, of respiration, a powerful re-agent against the intensity of the external cold. this resource fails him on the mountain summit. in vain will he attempt, as a succedaneum against the cold, to modify his ordinary regimen, to drink warm blood, to eat fat and raw flesh; his stomach will reject such aliment, or digest it only with difficulty, and he will not suffer less from the extreme rigour of the temperature. at the pole air pours freely into our lungs, and its pressure stoutly maintains the equilibrium of the fluids of our body. such is not the case when we soar, icarus like, into the higher regions of the atmosphere; in proportion as we ascend, the air rarefies, and its pressure diminishes. consequently, respiration becomes difficult and painful; the quantity of oxygen designed to cherish animal heat by the combustion of the carbon and hydrogen of the blood becomes insufficient; at the same time, the tissues and the liquids which they enclose expand; perspiration, instead of diminishing, experiences a relative augmentation; if the atmospheric pressure is much too weak, the blood extravasates, and forces itself out through the nose, the ears, and the pores of the skin. in a word, that peculiar malady which has been named the _mal des montagnes_, and which is not always unattended with danger, attacks the hardiest traveller, and compels him with all speed to return to lower and securer levels. when, therefore, we speak of "the pure and living air" of the mountains, of the vigour and health of their inhabitants--even as the poet says-- "an iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain"-- we are really to understand those lofty hills which are decorated in some places with the name of mountains, or the table-lands that form the first steps of the great chains. such, indeed, are the only inhabited and inhabitable mountains. there only is the cultivation of a few plants still possible; there only can the wild beasts find an asylum in wood or forest, and the cattle green fields of pasture; there may man plant his feet, build his dwellings, devote himself to rearing his herds, to the chase, or to more sedentary industries. let us remember, moreover, that the salubrity of the air of elevated districts has been greatly exaggerated, and that if we meet with many mountaineers agile, robust, and intelligent, we also meet with a great number affected by organic diseases either wholly unknown or very rare in the plains, such as goître, scrofula, and cretinism. the structure of the mountains, their form, and the nature of their soil, suffice, even without these meteorological conditions i have just indicated, to render them impracticable as the dwelling-place of man and of most animals. to ascend them is almost always an enterprise of the most hazardous, frequently of the most perilous character. to climb the lofty peaks of the himalaya, to scale the majestic brow of chimborazo, to ascend the frozen sides of the jungfrau or mont blanc, is an achievement of which the boldest boast, as if they had won a waterloo or an inkermann! only a keen longing after that notoriety which for some minds fills the place of renown, or a passion for dangerous enterprise such as stimulates the pioneer or the explorer, or a powerful scientific and artistic interest, can impel the alpine adventurer--can instigate a saussure, a forbes, a pentland, or a tyndall, to mount the scarped ramparts of primeval rocks, to tread warily along precipices which the chamois can scarcely traverse, to escalade the savage cliffs and frozen pinnacles, and to breathe "the difficult air of the iced mountain-tops." the annals of mountaineering are illuminated with many stirring stories of human endurance, patience, and heroism; but, alas! the page is too often robed in black, and too frequently records the death of some unhappy explorer! it is no part of my plan to trace the geological history of mountains. we know that their formation has been attributed, according to a satisfactory theory, to the upheavals and expansions of the igneous matter which, in the primitive ages, boiled under the solid crust produced by the superficial solidification of our planet, and whose ebullition, though considerably decreased, even in our own days is frequently made known in volcanic phenomena and earthquakes. at divers epochs the crust of the globe will have been rent and dislocated, giving vent to floods of fused mineral matter; these, solidifying in their turn, will have produced those inequalities of the earth's surface which we call mountains; enormous inequalities, as they appear to us; mole-hills or grains of sand if we compare them with the volume of the terrestrial sphere. the distribution of the mountains over the surface of the continents and islands, and the forms which they have assumed, seem, at the first glance, altogether capricious and irregular. yet an attentive study speedily demonstrates that some higher law than that of chance presided at the violent and tumultuous production of these majestic masses. thus, in the first place, it is evident that every mountain not a volcano connects itself of necessity to other mountains, and forms a _chain_ of greater or less length, which departs a little from the straight line, or rather from the arc of the great circle. the principal chains throw out branches, and by _mountain knots_, as they are called, unite with other secondary chains--the whole composing a _mountain system_; but the apparent irregularities of these systems may always be referred to one common direction. if from the disposition of mountains we pass to their distribution, we perceive that all chains which have sprung from the same geological convulsion are always distinctly parallel, and the successive chains distinctly perpendicular among themselves; so that the age of a chain is known by its direction. nor is there anything to astonish us in this species of symmetry, when we recollect that every substance previously liquefied or diluted by heat, and which, while cooling, becomes contracted by the closer compression of its atoms, splits with a certain degree of regularity, generally following lines which intersect each other at right angles. and it is through the crevices of the cooled terrestrial crust that these fused matters have escaped, according to the hypothesis generally admitted by geologists, which, by solidifying in their turn, have created the mountains. i can only indicate these considerations to the reader; their development would beguile us too far from our prescribed path. if we direct our attention now to the configuration of mountains, we shall see that this configuration depends essentially on the nature of the rocks which constitute them. granite, for example, is one of those which offers the most varied outlines, as the reader may see without quitting the united kingdom, in the rugged, fantastic, broken masses of the argyllshire highlands, that hem in the waters of loch goil and loch long. granite abounds in the tropical zone, and seems to prefer chains of moderate elevation. granite heights are generally distinguished by abrupt and polished flanks, pointed or dentelated summits, scarped approaches, deeply fissured slopes, and narrow, wild, and profound valleys. gneiss, a felspathic and micaceous rock, of schistous structure, is found in layers sometimes horizontal or gently inclined, sometimes undulating and complicated towards the border. the contours of the gneiss mountains are less cloven than those of mountains of granite; but numerous fissures and indentations are still discoverable. [illustration: the organ mountains of rio janeiro.] porphyry generally occurs in isolated peaks, with almost vertical flanks; seldom in continuous chains. porphyritic mountains, says m. maury, imprint on the landscape a peculiarly picturesque character. this rock sometimes appears under the form of tall pillars set in close juxtaposition--it is then known as _columnar porphyry_; and to groups of these columns have been given in some countries the name of _orgues_ or _organs_, on account of their resemblance to the organ pipes which discourse solemn music in our cathedrals. thus: in mexico two mountains occur distinguished by this appellation, _los organos_; one is that of mamanchota, situated to the north of the indian village of actapan. the portion soaring out of the rock, says humboldt, is three hundred feet in height; but the absolute elevation of the summit of the mountain, at the point where the organos begin to shoot aloft, is toises (about feet). the other is the jacal, which is nearly feet above the sea-level, and crowned with forests of pine and cedar. but the most celebrated organ mountains are those which rear their glittering shafts at the extremity of the bay of rio janiero. "it is not only the aspect of these pointed summits," says dr. yvan, "that reminds the spectator of the sublime instrument of our churches; the strange sounds which escape from between these cylinders of rock render the analogy still more striking, and complete the illusion. the voice of the tempest, the lamentations of the forests bowed by the passing winds, the doleful wails of the jaguars, the cries of the howling monkeys passing between these sonorous peaks, produce a harmony before which all human instrumentation loses its grandeur. we feel that it is the universal soul which inspires the chords of the majestic keys. the _serra dos organos_ is clothed in virgin forest over three-fourths of its extent; it is only at long intervals, and in obscure valleys, that we encounter any traces of human industry, or that we traverse some circular treeless hollows, in which an abundant herbage flourishes, and feeds the troops of horses and oxen enclosed in these natural parks." the _organ mountains_ of epailly (in the department of the haute loire, in france) and of bart (in the corrèze), and the _colonnades_ of chenavari (in the ardèche), belong to the basaltic formation, rendered so remarkable by its frequent arrangement in prismatic columns of extreme regularity. basalt also gives birth to chains which resemble vast walls, and sometimes appears in the form of pyramids, plateaux, or simple mamelons. of the columnar arrangement the palisades, on the banks of the river hudson, may be particularized as a noble example; but a still grander spectacle is presented on the river columbia, west of the rocky mountains, where the waters pour through a valley walled on either side with tier upon tier of pillars, to the height of fully a thousand feet. the trachytes, massive rocks of excessive roughness, occasionally appear in the shape of cones, at times in that of domes or enormous balloons, and at times as cupolas with spire-like points, like minarets. the chalks, the sandstones, the diorites, have all their characteristic aspect, and give to the mountains where they dominate, and to the landscapes which surround them, an easily recognizable physiognomy. and, finally, everybody knows the particular configuration affected by the volcanic mountains. the great mountain-chains are unequally distributed in different parts of the world, and their disposition varies in a remarkable manner in the two great continents. for the most part it agrees with the direction of the principal land masses in each. thus, in the old world, the chief ranges assume an easterly and westerly course, following the parallels of latitude; in the new, a northerly and southerly direction, like that of the meridians of longitude. in europe, the mountains are numerous, but generally of very moderate elevation. in the north, we find the _scandinavian alps_, covering nearly the whole of norway and some part of sweden. from the naze, or cape lindesnaes, they roll far away, like foam-crested billows, to the very shore of the frozen sea. the central and highest part of the mass, between latitude ° and °, is called the dover-feld; the more northerly portion, the koelin mountains; the more southerly, lang-feld and hardanger-feld. their summits are comparatively flat--felds, or fields, as the name indicates; on the eastern side they slope gradually to the plains bordering the gulf of bothnia, their sides clothed with dense forests of pine and fir; on the west they rise abruptly from the margin of the ocean, and their steep, barren, and swarthy flanks are broken up by numerous inlets, or _fiords_, where the waters lie cradled in gloom and desolation. their highest point is now known to be skags-tol-tind, in the lang-feld range, upwards of feet. all the loftier summits rise above the snow-line, and wear night and day, winter and summer, a shroud of frost and snow. the glaciers are often of great magnificence, and equal, if they do not transcend in sublimity, those of the alps of switzerland and savoy. the _mountains of scotland_ seldom exceed feet in height; the principal summits, however, ben mac-dhui, and ben nevis, are respectively, and feet. ben lawers, on the west side of loch tay, reaches feet; ben more, in the south-west of perthshire, feet; and schehallion, feet. ben lomond, east of the famous lake of that name, has an altitude of feet. the characteristics of the scotch mountains are their barren sides, only relieved by patches of purple heather; their originally fantastic and broken outlines; their deep, narrow, savage glens, which are often of the gloomiest and most desolate aspect; and their still deep tarns, or lakes, mirroring each lofty height in their clear and glassy surface. the most important of the european systems is that of the _alps_, whose majestic and glorious landscapes have been for ages the admiration of the poet and the artist. they begin, on the west, near the head of the gulf of savoy; sweep round the upper portion of italy, as if to shut out that historic peninsula from the european mainland; bend to the south-east to approach the adriatic; and throw out a spur, or prolongation, along the eastern shore of that sea, and parallel with it. that portion of the system which borders the mediterranean is distinguished as the maritime alps; between italy on the one side, and france and savoy on the other, lie the cottian and graian alps; from mont blanc to monte rosa stretch the pennine alps; further to the eastward extend the lepontine, rhetian, and noric alps; and south-easterly, the carnic, the julian, and the dinaric alps. the bernese alps form the northern barrier of the valley of the rhone; their direction is parallel to that of the pennine.[ ] the principal alpine summits are:--mont blanc, the "monarch of mountains," , feet; monte rosa, , feet; finster-aarhorn, , ; the jungfrau, , ; and the ortler spits, , feet. the scenery of the alps is always of the grandest character; its more remarkable features being its huge glaciers, or ice-rivers, with their brilliant and ever-changing hues. "motionless torrents! silent cataracts! who made you glorious as the gates of heaven beneath the keen full moon? who bade the sun clothe you with rainbows? who, with living flowers of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet."[ ] it is supposed that there are at least four hundred of the great glaciers, varying from three to thirty miles in length, from a hundred to six or seven hundred feet in thickness, and from a few yards to a couple of miles in breadth. the total superficial area of the glaciers in switzerland, savoy, piedmont, and the tyrol, has been estimated at square miles. the _apennines_ must be considered a subsidiary portion of the alps, rather than as an independent system. they branch off from the maritime alps, and traverse the entire length of italy. several peaks rise to an elevation of between and feet; but the average height scarcely exceeds feet. monte coma, the culminating point, is feet. the south of italy is occupied by a remarkable volcanic region, where the subterranean fires still give awful signs of their intense activity. _mount vesuvius_, which raises its conical mass, girdled with vines and chestnuts, above the fair city of naples, is feet above the sea-level. its sister volcano, _mount etna_, in the island of sicily, attains a far loftier elevation ( , feet),[ ] and exhibits a charming variety of picturesque scenery. the forest region on the lower slopes is rich in glowing effects of colour, while near the summit the landscapes wear a grander aspect. mr. matthew arnold has painted an etnean picture with marvellous force in the following beautiful passage.[ ] "'tis the last of all the woody, high, well watered dells on etna; and the beam of noon is broken there by chestnut boughs down its steep verdant sides; the air is freshened by the leaping stream, which throws eternal showers of spray on the mossed roots of trees, and vines of turf, and long dark shoots of ivy-plants, and fragrant hanging bells of hyacinths, and on late anemones, that muffle its wet banks; but glade, and stream, and sward, and chestnut trees, end here; etna beyond, in the broad glare of the hot noon, without a shade, slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare; the peak, round which the white clouds play." * * * * * between france and spain lies the great system of the _pyrenees_, whose topmost peaks exceed , feet in altitude. their entire breadth averages between forty and fifty miles; the southern slope is exceedingly rugged and abrupt, and the passes or defiles exhibit a character of exceeding savageness. the two loftiest crests are mount maladetta, , feet, and mont perdu, , feet. the interior of spain consists of an elevated table-land, bordered by the wild mountain-ranges of the _sierra nevada_ and the _sierra morena_. the average height of the snowy chain of the nevada is feet, but the peak of mulharen soars to the noble elevation of , feet. in france, we meet with the chains of the _cevennes_ and the _vosges_, the former extending along the right bank of the rhone, with an average altitude of feet; the latter stretching from north to south along the right bank of the rhine. the vine-clad slopes of the latter offer many a romantic picture to the wayfarer in rhineland. very curious in geological interest are the extinct volcanic mountains of auvergne; so black, charred, scathed, and desolate, that one might suppose them to have been the scene of some old-world battle between the titans and the olympian gods. here the puy de sancy exceeds feet ( ), and the now silent cone of the puy de dôme, feet in height. the _hungarian mountains_, or mountains of germany, occupy the country between the rhine and the eighteenth meridian of east longitude. here we meet with the dark and densely wooded crests of the schwarz wald, or black forest; the erz-gebirge, on the borders of saxony and bohemia; and the rich metalliferous masses of the legend-haunted harz. continuing our survey to the eastward, our glances rest on the bold and many-peaked groups of the _carpathians_, which, commencing near the sources of the oder and the vistula, describe a semicircle round the fertile hungarian plain for between seven and eight hundred miles. striking down to the danube, it faces on the opposite side the lofty wall of the balkan, and through the gorge thus formed, the famous "iron gates" of ancient story, the river rolls its waters with impetuous rapidity. the more elevated summits of the carpathians possess an average height of feet, but mount lomnitz reaches the loftier level of feet. on the borders of asia lies the long and narrow chain, or rather chains, of the _ural mountains_, with an average altitude of from to feet, sinking in about latitude ° to a rocky ridge of little more than feet. the loftiest crest is mount yaman, in latitude ° ', feet. the ural mountains possess abundant mineral treasures, both gold and platinum occurring in extensive abundance. the chain of _mount caucasus_ stretches for about miles between the black and caspian seas, in the direction of north-west and south-east. it exceeds miles in breadth, throwing out from the central mass numerous branches and parallel ridges, and enclosing a network of valleys, plains, and ravines. the culminating point appears to be the group or mountain-knot of elburz, in the meridian of ° ' e., which attains the stupendous elevation of , feet. kasbek, which is really in asia, reaches , feet. in the asiatic continent the grandest mountain-system is that of the _himalayas_ (or "snowy mountains"), which limit the thibetan table-land on the south, and divide it from the hot plains of northern india. they extend in an east and west direction for about miles, with a breadth of from to ; and consist of a number of parallel ranges, divided by transverse valleys, and rising one above another like a series of gigantic terraces. the slopes are clothed with an exceedingly rich and beautiful flora, and far up to the very snow-line extend magnificent breadths of forest foliage.[ ] on the southern slope this snow-line is about , feet high; on the northern, , feet. the loftiest summit of the himalayas, and probably the very apex of our globe, is _mount everest_ (latitude ° '), , feet in altitude. _kunchin-jinga_ is , feet; _dhawalgiri_, , feet; and _javaher_, , feet above the ocean-level. "as we ascend the exterior face of these mountains,"[ ] says captain strachey, "tropical vegetation prevails to a height of about feet, though even from feet a few of the forms of colder climates begin to appear; the vegetation, however, is, on the whole, scanty on this declivity. far different is it when we follow the same zone of elevation into the interior of the mountains, along the courses of the larger rivers, which, owing to the great depths of their valleys, carry a tropical flora into the very heart of the mountain region. the sheltered and confined beds of these rivers, where the two great requisites for tropical vegetation, heat and humidity, are at their maximum, often afford the finest specimens of forest scenery, varied by an admixture of the temperate forms of vegetable life, which here descend to their lowest level. thus the traveller's eye may rest on palms and acacias intermingled with pines; on oaks or maples covered with epiphytal orchideæ; while pothos and clematis, bamboos and ivy, fill up the strangely contrasted picture. "above feet oaks and rhododendrons greatly increase in number, and these trees, with andromeda (_pieris_), form the great mass of the forest from to feet. species of the deciduous trees of the temperate zone are gradually introduced as we rise, and these again, with the addition of other pines, prevail in the upper regions of forest--that is, from to , feet." [illustration: the himalayas--mount gaurisankar ( , feet).] glaciers abound in the loftier himalayas. the lowest elevation to which they descend is about , feet above the level of the sea. the _altai mountains_ lie north of mongolia, with an average elevation of from to feet. eternal snow crowns their loftiest summit, mount bielukha, , feet. in central asia we find the chains of the _thian-shan_, partly volcanic, and the _kuen-lun_, which are little known, but probably lift their towering heads to an altitude of fully , feet. china is traversed from west to east by two mountain-ranges, the pe-ling and nan-ling, or "northern" and "southern," which prolong their rocky heights to the very shores of the pacific. west of the table-land of pamer the eye rests upon the formidable chain of the _beloor-tagh_, from , to , feet in elevation; and on the borders of central asia the himalaya, the beloor-tagh and other chains unite in the colossal knot or group of the _hindoo-koosh_. thence, with a westerly course, extend the _paropamisan_ and _caspian mountains_, the latter culminating in mount demavend, , feet, near the caspian sea. the _soleiman mountains_ border on the rugged plateau of afghanistan; in armenia rises the fable-haunted crest of agri-dagh, or _mount ararat_, , feet; while, in asia minor, the taurus chain, which so often beheld the banners and glancing spears of the romans, attains its loftiest in _mount argæus_, or arjish-dagh, , feet; and along the coast of syria rolls the undulating range of _lebanon_, with mount hermon soaring to feet. arabia is occupied by a branch of the lebanon, which runs southward into the sinaitic peninsula. the highest of the sinai mountains is feet above the sea. the average altitude of the _ghauts_, which line the east and west coasts of hindostan, is feet; but some of their summits aspire to feet. a range of high mountains traverses the dreary peninsula of kamtschatka, and appears to be a continuation of the volcanic chain which forms the kurile islands, and extends even to japan and the great islands of the eastern archipelago. many of the kamtschatkan volcanoes are still active, such as avatsha, kluchevsky, and assachnish, and though shrouded in snow and ice project from their seething caldrons vast showers of ashes, stones, boiling water, and lava. avatsha is feet high. the indian islands contain many colossal mountains, mostly, if not all, of a volcanic character, and the same generalization is true of the beautiful polynesian archipelagos:-- "summer-isles of eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea." mount ophir, in sumatra, is , feet high; stamat, in java, , feet; indiapura, in sumatra, , feet; tomboro, in the island of sumbawa, feet; and kilauea, in the sandwich islands, feet. kina-balu, in borneo, is a magnificent mass, , feet in height. "its grand precipices," says a traveller,[ ] "its polished granite surfaces glittering under the bright tropical rays, the dashing cascades, which fall from so great a height as to dissolve in spray before being lost in the dark valleys below, have a magical effect upon the imagination." * * * * * my rapid survey of the mountain-systems of the globe now brings both writer and reader to the african continent, which contains, however, an unusually large proportion of plain and low level. the northern mountain-ranges, which extend from east to west parallel to the mediterranean, are known to geographers under the general appellation of _mount atlas_, whose culminating point occurs in the peak of miltoin, , feet, to the south-east of the city of morocco. in the north-eastern part of the continent lie the _mountains of abyssinia_, the highest pinnacle being that of geesh, which towers at an elevation of , feet above the sea. many other summits are also crowned with "snows eternal," feeding a succession of streams which pour their waters into the white nile. detached masses and mountain-groups spread along the western coast, between the th and th parallels of north and south latitude respectively. to the north of the equator lie the _kong mountains_; and near the coast of the bight of biafra rises the semi-extinct volcano of the _camaroons_, , feet high. this elevation is far exceeded by that of the colossal summits, which on the eastern coast are situated within a few degrees of the equinoctial line, and wear a crown of snow which is indissoluble. one of these, _kilimandjaro_, has an altitude of , feet, while _kenia_ cannot be less than , feet. others are probably equal, or little inferior, to these in height. in south africa are three ranges of mountains, or rather terraces, the northernmost of which is called the _nieuweld_, and runs in a general course of east and west. towards its eastern extremity it bears the name of the _sneeaberg_, or snowy mountain, and its summits are frequently feet high. the _compassberg_ group is feet in elevation. immediately to the south of cape town rises the curious flat-topped _table mountain_, feet in height. the _peak of teneriffe_, in the canary isles, off the north-west coast, is volcanic; it rises , feet above the sea. * * * * * asia possesses, as we have seen, the loftiest mountain-peaks, but it is on the american continent we meet with the grandest mountain-systems. we remark, in the first place, that they are all directed from north to south; in the second, that they are grouped along the western and eastern coasts in two unequal systems, converging towards each other as they run southward. in north america these two systems are the _rocky mountains_ on the west; and the _apalachian_, or _alleghany_, on the east. the former consists of a mountain-region, diversified with valleys, terraces, and plateaus, varying in breadth from to miles, and raising several summits to a very conspicuous elevation, as in mount brown, , feet, and the volcanic peak of mount elias, in california, , feet. the _apalachian_ range extends from the gulf of st. lawrence to the parallel of °, a course of miles. it is intersected by lake champlain and the valley of the hudson. its average height does not exceed feet; but it culminates in mount washington to an altitude of feet. in south america the chain of the rocky mountains is prolonged in the magnificent system of the _cordilleras de los andes_, or the andes, which commences immediately to the southward of the isthmus of panama, extends along the whole stretch of the western coast, and finally terminates in the rocky archipelago of tierra del fuego. this chain is locally distinguished into the columbian, peruvian, bolivian, chilian, and patagonian andes. its widest extension occurs between the th and th parallels, where it measures upwards of miles across. throughout its entire course it attains a very considerable elevation. its volcanic character is very marked. thus, in the columbian andes, _antisana_ and _cotopaxi_ are still active; in the chilian, _aconcagua_ is the loftiest volcano on the globe; in the patagonian, four active volcanoes occur. the region at the base of the chilian andes suffers more from volcanic convulsion than any other part of the world, and its towns are repeatedly destroyed by earthquakes. the principal summits are:--aconcagua, , feet; chimborazo, , feet; sahama, , feet; cotopaxi, , ; antisana, , feet; sorata, , feet; and illimanni, , feet. on the eastern coast we meet with the mountains of guiana and the mountains of brazil, never reaching a higher level than feet. _mount sarmiento_, in tierra del fuego, is feet above the sea. in the west indies the loftiest point is found in the _blue mountains_ of jamaica, feet. chapter v. vegetable life and animal life in the mountains. the same changes that we observe in the characters of vegetable life as we advance towards the pole reproduce themselves, the reader will easily understand, as we ascend the mountain-sides. only, in the former case the gradation is slow and scarcely perceptible; in the latter, it displays itself rapidly; in such wise that a distance of a few hundred yards in height is equivalent to a journey of several degrees in latitude. it is scarcely necessary to add that the warmer the climate, the higher we must rise to reach the belt or zone where flourish the species peculiar to arctic countries. in every land the flora of the lowest region of the mountains is virtually the same as that of the adjacent plains, and it is only at an elevation of feet that we discern a positive change of aspect. in temperate europe, the normandy fir and the _epicea_ begin to form, at that altitude, forests of considerable extent. these trees are from to feet in height, with a pyramidal configuration, sombre foliage, and drooping boughs, and whose bark takes to itself a clothing of various lichens (notably _usneas_), the long filaments, branchy and yellowish, clinging to the branches of the most aged individuals. in the shadow of these resinous trees thrive the honeysuckle, the rose, the wild raspberry. at the base of the senile trunks are developed the crawling or climbing stems, ever verdurous, of various lycopodiums. in rocky localities the great yellow gentian unfolds its long spikes of golden flowers, in company with the elegant martagon, whose yellow-spotted red corollas are rolled up turban-wise. at a higher level, between and feet, the cembro pine, rare enough in france and england, more common in the mountains of central europe, and the larch, whose leaves fall every winter, are the last representatives of the true arborescent flora. [illustration: . fir, with bearded usnea. . great yellow gentian. . martagon, or turk's cap lily.] still continuing our ascent, we meet now with nothing but an herbaceous vegetation. here and there only, in turfy places and abrupt ravines, a few birches and some dwarf willows display themselves, scarcely taller than the herbs which surround them. it is in the rocky hollows also that the oleanders or ferruginous rhododendrons vegetate, sole representatives in europe of a genus which among the asiatic mountains numbers several species. the flora of the alpine prairies is, moreover, extremely varied. the gramineæ dominate therein, but associated with other families which enamel with the most brilliant colours the bright green carpet of those cold regions; the bright yellow or orange of the compositæ; the blue of the phyteumas, of the larkspurs, and the campanulas; the rose of the carnations and the centaureas; the intense purple of the ranunculuses (_nigritellæ_). in the most arid localities we admire the azure flowers of the little gentianellas and the white blossoms of the saxifrages; their presence, under such conditions, filling our souls with wonder, and stimulating our hearts to praise their divine creator. "and with childlike, credulous affection, we behold their tender buds expand-- emblems of our own great resurrection, emblems of the bright and better land."[ ] some of the plants which enrich the lofty slopes of the european mountains are endowed with an agreeable aromatic odour, and with keen stimulating properties. such are the _artemisias_ and the _achilleæ_. to the former of these families belongs the _artemisia glacialis_, which the mountaineers consider an universal panacea, and which enters into the composition of the famous liqueur of the chartreux. on the threshold of the eternal snows, under the influence of the icy breezes, vegetation grows rarer and yet rarer, until it is reduced to a few species which compensate for their insignificance by their beauty. such are the campanula of allioni, with its graceful bells of blue; the delicate saxifraga, whose rosy flowers also expose their beauties on the frost-bound shores of spitzbergen; the soldanella of the alps; the ranunculus of the glaciers; numerous androsellæ, some of which do not exceed a third of an inch in height; finally, on the extreme border, and straggling even on the moraines of the glaciers, where no other plant can live, the little myosotis, which grows in small tufts covered with white down, and starred with delicate blue flowers. at a still higher level we find only a few lichens relieving the monotonous surface of the rocks; and sometimes, flourishing under unknown circumstances, the _protococcus nivalis_, whose red globules communicate to the snow a blood-red tint. the mountain flora will offer us, in other parts of the globe, the same series of diminution, commencing with the groups which people the low lands of each geographical zone, and terminating with those which, at the level of the sea, are met with only in the frozen zone. some mountain-chains, however, possess genera or species exclusively belonging to them. it is on the ridges of atlas and lebanon, at an elevation of or feet, that the majestic cedars spread their umbrageous branches. the cedars of atlas attain a stature of to feet, and their trunk measures, at the base, from a yard to a yard and a half in diameter. "when young," says m. charles martins,[ ] "they have a pyramidal form; but when they soar above their neighbours, or above the rock which protects them, there comes a sudden storm, a flash of lightning, or an insect pierces their terminal shoot, and deprives them of their shapely spire; the tree is discrowned; then the branches spread horizontally in terraces or layers of verdure, one upon another, screening the sky from the gaze of the traveller, who presses forward in a sort of twilight under these vaults impenetrable to the solar rays. from an elevated point of the mountain still more majestic is the spectacle. the horizontal surfaces resemble lawns of the deepest green, or of a glaucous colour like that of water, upon which are sprinkled cones of a violet hue; the eye plunges into an abyss of greenery in whose depth mutters an invisible torrent." [illustration: cedar of lebanon.] the cedar of atlas constitutes, if not a species, at least a distinct variety from the cedar of lebanon. the latter is now very rare on the mountain which is regarded as its native habitat. the prophet ezekiel describes it in all its glory: "a cedar with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of a high stature ... his height was exalted above all the trees of the field, and his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long, because of the multitude of waters, when he shot forth" (ezek. xxxi. , ). but those immense green forests which once stood out in dark deep shadow against the radiant sky are now reduced to a single scanty grove--a grove containing, according to dr. hooker, but four hundred trees, and of these four hundred only twelve of the ancient majestic race. they are situated high up on the western slope of the mountain-range, two hours south-east from tripoli, and at an elevation above the sea-level of feet. most of the lebanon patriarchs are about feet in height, and of nearly the same girth. one, however, measures feet in circumference. the cedar was introduced into england towards the close of the seventeenth century, and has become permanently naturalized. it is even found in a flourishing condition as far north as inverness. it does not, however, attain such gigantic dimensions here as on the slopes of lebanon. there is one at goodwood, in sussex, feet in circumference; and another at peperharrow, in surrey, feet. in the jardin des plantes a celebrated tree, whose terminal shoot was struck by a chance shot during the siege of the bastile, boasts of the following proportions:-ten feet girth at three feet from the ground, and ten feet and a half on a level with the soil. its horizontal branches extend fully forty-five to fifty feet in length, and cover, consequently, a surface of upwards of feet in circuit. [illustration: rhododendrons of the himalaya. . rhododendron pendulum. . rhododendron dalhousie. . rhododendron nivale.] if we would now pass in review the complete series of zones of vegetation, it is to the north of hindostan, in the himalaya, or to south america and the cordillera of the andes, that we must transport ourselves. on the first steps, or lowest terraces, of these immense chains, we shall see the tropical flora revealing all its wealth and its puissance; there, between and feet above the sea-level, we meet with nearly all the plants peculiar to temperate climes, and those which only belong to the northern lands. on the himalayan slopes, the pine and the cedar flourish at an elevation of feet. advancing from this limit, we soon encounter a great variety of rhododendrons, a shrub now well known in our european gardens, and highly prized for its ever green foliage and rich full bloom. it thrives at the height of , feet; a few species even battle with the elements at an altitude of , feet, but they are then only stunted and crawling plants. with these are associated, at about , feet, the alder, the birch, and the willow. the plains are covered, at the same time, with a prodigious host of ranunculaceæ, compositæ, saxifrages, and pinnalaceæ, to which succeeds all the army of lichens. thus, then, it appears that the same laws determine always and everywhere the orographic distribution of plants. only the influence of elevation is counterbalanced here by that of climate; whence it results that the arborescent species endure at a far greater height than on our european mountains. in the same manner that the himalaya "resumes," so to speak, the flora of all the climates of the old world, does the cordillera of the andes, and, notably, that portion of the chain situated between peru and venezuela, present all the vegetable types of the new world, disposed upon its plateaux and its slopes as upon a gigantic flight of steps. in the lower region, the plants of tropical america, favoured by a marshy soil, deck themselves out in their most gorgeous attire. at an elevation of between and feet, the vegetation is neither so brilliant nor so varied, but it has not yet thrown off its original character. we remark here a constant abundance of myrtaceæ, laurenaciæ, and bignoniaceæ, as well as numerous epiphytous plants--orchidaceæ, ferns, bromeliaceæ. from to feet we mark the successive appearance of plants belonging to the colder countries of north america: escallionæ, magnoliaceæ, vacciniaceæ, and solanaceæ. here and there a few bromeliaceæ and some other epiphytes display themselves. we encounter also in this zone a small number of palmaceæ; among others, the ceroxylon and the diplothenium. but soon the arborescent vegetation almost wholly disappears, and only a few stunted bushes remain, similar to those which, in the alps, succeed the larch. then come meadows almost entirely formed of compositæ, umbelliferæ, and saxifrages; and, finally, the lichens, the last plants-the last forms of vegetable life--lingering on the frontiers of the region of eternal snow. if the law which presides over the orographic distribution of plants were applicable to the animal kingdom, we should meet on the frozen crests of the mountains with the same species as, or, at least, with analogous species to, those we have seen in the vicinity of the pole. but it is not so. plants flourish wherever they can find, with an endurable climate, a soil in which their roots can develop themselves and imbibe the juices needful for their support; but the conditions which render a country inhabitable for animals--i mean the higher animals more particularly--are wholly different and more complex. a facility for removing from place to place in search of food is one of these conditions, and assuredly one of the most essential. but the number of terrestrial animals capable of climbing the scarped flanks, of traversing the narrow ridges, and leaping across the precipitous chasms of the mountains, is extremely limited. however, a few herbivora excel in these perilous exercises. they are ruminants of small size, with tiny limbs, and small ungulated hoofs; moufflons, wild goats, chamois, kids, which seek on inaccessible heights a refuge against the attacks of man and the carnaria, and bound, with marvellous agility and precision, from rock to rock, from icy crag to crag, over the most formidable gulfs, and up the most precipitous steeps. the moufflons, or wild sheep, erroneously regarded by some naturalists as the ancestors of our domestic sheep, form a genus whose species are distributed in asia, america, and northern africa, and in the mountainous islands of the mediterranean. the musmon moufflon, which inhabits the mountains of corsica, of sardinia, of cyprus, and of candia, is nearly the size of a sheep, but far more robust. his hair, which is only wool properly so called, is a reddish-brown over nearly the whole of his body, and whitish under the belly and the legs. his horns are of great size, transversely crumpled, with a simple curve, and a sharp extremity. among the asiatic species the largest is the _masimon argali_, which inhabits the altaï and the mountains of kamtschatka, and approaches the ass in size. his skin is a yellowish-brown, with some white on the fore-feet. his horns describe an almost complete circle. the american species is the _musimon montanus_, which we find in the rocky mountains. finally, the region of the atlas and of the aurès mountains is the country of the ruffled moufflon (_moufflon à manchettes_), so named on account of his long hairs, which fall from his shoulders upon the extremity of his anterior legs. his neck is also supplied with a thick mane. [illustration: musk-deer.] the wild goats and bouquetins probably form, as the best authorities represent, but one and the same genus. in any case the latter are much better known than the former. they closely resemble our domestic goats, from which they chiefly differ in the prodigious development of their horns, the said horns being generally knotty, slightly divergent, and supported by osseous axes. their name, according to gervais, comes from two words, _bouc-estain_, signifying the goat of the rocks. they belong exclusively to the old continent. these animals are very wild. the precipitousness and lofty elevation of their pasture-grounds render their chase a matter of peril. the same may be said of the chamois, or isard, which inhabits the loftiest ridges of the alps, the pyrenees, and the mountains of greece. dogs are of no avail in hunting these animals. in asia the falcon is employed in capturing the bouquetin. in europe the chamois-hunters are excellent marksmen--indefatigable, fearless, capable of great endurance, keen, and vigilant. it is at morn and eve that they venture forth on their hazardous enterprise. the chamois wander in small troops. their voice is a kind of low bleating; but when one of them descries approaching danger, he immediately raises a sharp cry, which is the signal of flight. driven together and closely packed, the poor animals stand at bay, and dash themselves upon the daring hunter with an impetuosity which often proves fatal to him. the musk-deer form a distinct family in the order _ruminantia_. in their external conformation they resemble both the stag and the antelope, but they have neither horns nor antlers; their stomach is deficient in the part named the _feuillet_, which exists in all the other ruminantia; finally, their upper jaw is provided with two long canines, which among the males project from the mouth, and which serve at one and the same time as defensive arms and as instruments to dig out of the soil the roots upon which these animals feed. all the species of this genus are asiatic, except one, which is a native of guinea. i can only particularize here the musk-deer of thibet and nepaul, which furnishes commerce with the curious product, so useful in medicine and perfumery, known as _musk_. this product is an extremely odorous and unctuous substance, contained in a special organ situated under the belly of the male. the high price which it commands would make the chase of the musk-deer very profitable, were not these animals so rare and so difficult to get at. they lead a solitary life among the scarped rocks and in the thorny bushes bordering on the glaciers. in winter they descend towards more temperate localities. they are caught either in snares or with nooses, or slain with arrows. the tongusian hunters, to attract the musk-deer, imitate the cry of their young by applying the mouth to a fragment of bark. the chase is only pursued in winter and autumn. in thibet the hunters require a special license from the government. we may pass over the species of rodents which burrow among the mountains, with a word of allusion to the traditional companion of the poor wandering savoyard, the alpine marmot. this gentle and interesting animal is so well known to my readers that i need not pause to describe him. in the deep gorges and dense forests which break up the monotony of the lofty table-lands, live in fierce solitude the congeners of the "man in the white cloak" of the polar deserts--bears with a thick fur and of a sombre hue. while these animals seem designed by their organization to feed upon flesh, and while their strength enables them to seize upon the largest game--which, indeed, they occasionally do--their diet is omnivorous, and they even exhibit, in general, a marked predilection for the aliment of a vegetable nature. the reader, moreover, will remember with what eagerness the bears of our menageries and zoological gardens devour the bread, cakes, or fruit which their visitors press upon them. in their native mountain homes they will rather fly from man than attack him; but if assailed and closely pressed, they defend themselves bravely, rearing upon their hind-feet, and endeavouring to suffocate their aggressor with their muscular arms. if caught in their youth they are easily tamed, and display a greater intelligence than any of the other carnivora. the genus _ursidæ_, or bears, is wholly wanting in africa, but has its representatives in europe, asia, and america. the european species are: the great brown bear, formerly distributed over all the mountains and through all the forests of western and northern europe, and which is still sufficiently common in the alps, the pyrenees, and some wooded highland districts of russia; and the bear of asturias, found only in the sierras of the iberian peninsula. the latter is of smaller dimensions than the former. his hide is tawny. asia possesses: the syrian bear and bear of lebanon, two varieties of the same species, distinguished by horsfield under the name of _ursus isabella_, in allusion to the dirty brown colour of his skin; the boar of thibet, which is found in the himalayan chain and the islands of japan--in size and appearance he approximates to our european bear, but differs in the blacker shades of his hair; the malay bear (_prochilus malayanus_), which is jet black, climbs trees with agility, and lives on a vegetable diet; and the juggler, or jungle bear of india (_prochilus ursinus_), originally named the "five-fingered sloth,"--a great favourite with the indian jugglers on account of his adaptability and mildness. [illustration: . black bear of canada. . gray bear of north america.] [illustration: the condor of the andes.] to north america belong the black bear (_ursus americanus_) and the grisly bear (_ursus ferox_). the former has a long head, a pointed nose, small eyes, and short round ears; his limbs are strong, unwieldy, and thick; his tail is short; feet large; and the hair on the body smooth, glossy, and black. the grisly bear is about nine feet long, a narrow and flattened muzzle, sunken eyes, and formidable teeth; he ranges over not only the entire chain of the rocky mountains, but in the prairies and forests which occupy the centre and west of the great continent, where his sanguinary instincts and prodigious strength render him a formidable antagonist. the black bear of canada, on the contrary, is the least ferocious and least carnivorous of his genus. his chief food is of a vegetable nature--grain, fruits, and roots--but he does not disdain an occasional regale of pork. he commits great depredations on the maize-fields, and is also exceedingly partial to honey. from the nature of his food, his flesh is exceedingly succulent, and much relished by the canadian settlers. ascend the wildest and most barren mountains, even to the limit where all life ceases to exist; or the flank of a perpendicular rock, in a crevasse, in some chink or fissure where the foot of man or quadruped may never rest; and there, were you able to approach sufficiently near, you would see some interlaced branches and stems, and within it a few fragments, a few gnawed and polished bones, while a strong odour scented the surrounding air. regard it more attentively--some tiny creatures are astir upon that unclean couch. yes: your gaze now rests on the eyry of one of those aërial tyrants, eagles or vultures, which alone can dwell on the cloud-crowned, wind-swept heights. i must confine myself here to mentioning the largest and most formidable species, which surpasses all the others in sweep and speed and power of flight--the condor of the andes. this bird possesses the habits and voracity of other vultures, and, as if conscious of his enormous strength, shows himself the most audacious. he frequently pounces upon living animals; but his non-retractile talons, blunted by their attrition upon the rocks, do not permit him to carry off his prey; he contents himself with fixing it against the ground with one of his claws, while he rends it to pieces with his powerful beak. gorged with food, he becomes incapable of flight. you may then approach him; but should you attempt to seize him, he opposes a desperate resistance, and as he enjoys an extraordinary tenacity of life, the victory will probably cause you a prolonged struggle and many cruel wounds. a story is told of a chili miner, of more than ordinary physical force, who attacked--hand-to-hand, as it were--a condor while digesting his greedy banquet, and unable to make his escape. the engagement was long and desperate. the man was compelled to put forth all his strength. at length, exhausted, torn, and bleeding, he left his enemy on the field of battle, and carried off for a trophy a few feathers, which he showed to his comrades, affirming that he had never fought a harder fight. the other miners went in search of the corpse of this terrible bird. they found him standing erect, and flapping his wings in order to fly away. they only killed him by crushing in his head with a hatchet. the condor enjoys the privilege of an exceptional longevity. the indians of the andean plains assert that he lives nearly a hundred years. he builds no regular nest; the female is satisfied with a hollow in the rocky cliff of sufficient size to shelter her while hatching her eggs. both parents busy themselves very attentively in bringing up their young, disgorging in their beaks the food which they have themselves taken. the young birds grow slowly; it is not until they are six weeks old that they begin to flutter round their parents. their training, however, lasts but a few months; after which they separate of their own accord from the male and female birds, and seek their own nourishment. the condor has the loftiest flight of all the winged race. he has been seen towering in the "blue serene," on a level with the snow-crowned summit of illimani, , feet above the sea, in a region where man cannot endure the excessive rarefaction of the air. when, in the fulness of time, civilization shall have conquered to itself the south american continent, the condor, flying for refuge to these brain-wildering heights among the icy peaks of the cordillera, shall be, perhaps, in that quarter of the globe, the latest denizen of the desert--the last representative of the savage world. index. abbye-singh, the tiger-killer, . abyssinia, its physical features, ; flora, - ; mountains, .--see also shoa, tigre. abyssinian meadow-grass, . _acacia detinens_, . _acacia doratoxylon_, . acacias, family of, their characteristics, . _acrostichon grande_, . _actæas_ described, . _adansonia digitata_ (the baobab), . adour, the, valley of, . africa, interior of, described, , ; southern plateau, , , ; its general physical features, , ; karroos of southern africa, , .--see cape colony, central africa, equitorial africa, kaffraria, kalihari, natal, senegambia. african elephant, characteristics of, . agami, the, described, . agouti, the, described, . agua, the, described, . ahu, the, described, . akhaf, the desert of, , . albert n'yanza, the, discovered by sir s. baker, . alfa, the, described, . alfourous, the, their manners, . alleghany mountains, the, character of, . alligator, the, its natural history, , . _alligator lucius_, . _aloe socotrina_, . aloes, various species of, described, . alpaca, the, characteristics of, , .--see huanacu. alpine squirrel, the, . alps, the, referred to, ; described, , . alps, the scandinavian, described, . altaï mountains, the, description of, . amazon, forests of the river, their characteristics, , . amboyna, island of, its species, . america, progressive civilization of, , ; spanish conquests in, , ; probable future of, ; character of its fauna, - .--see north america, south america. _anastatica hierochuntica_, . andamanese, the, character of, . andes, the, description of, , ; condor of, , ; vegetation and character of the pampas of, , . androsellæ, the, described, . annona (ox-heart), the, described, . ant-eater, habits of the great, , . anthropomorphic apes, natural history of, - . _antilope dorcas_, the, account of, . apache indians, the, described, . apalachian mountains, the, features of, . ape, the, natural history of, ; habitat, .--see baboon, chimpanzee, cynocephali, cynopitheci, gorilla, monkey, orang-outang. apennines, the, their character and aspect, . _apios tuberosa_, . _aponogeton distachyum_, . apteryx australis, its natural history, , . _aquila bifasciata_, . arabian deserts, the, description of, . arabs, the, their origin, ; physique, ; history, , ; religion, ; attachment to polygamy, ; love of rapine, ; religious zeal, ; general characteristics, , ; household wealth, , .--see bedouins. _aralia crassifolia_, . ararat, mount, its physical aspect, . araucanians, the, their habits and manners, . arctic discovery, reference to, and account of, - . arctic regions, the, described, .--see polar regions. _ardea alba_, .--see heron. _areca saccharifera_, . argæus, mount, description of, . ariel gazelle, the, natural history of, . _aristida pungens_, . armadillo, the, natural history of, , . arnee buffalo, the, description of, , . arnold, matthew, quoted, , . aroidaceæ, the, family of, . _artemisia alba_, . _artemisia glacialis_, . artesian wells, . _artocarpus incisa_, . _arundo conspicua_, . asiatic elephant, the, its natural history, , . _asimina triloba_, . asinus quagga, the, natural history of, , . ass, the, its habits and peculiarities, . ass, wild, the.--see onagra. _astelia banksii_, . asturias, bear of, described, . atacania, the pampas of, . ateles, the, their natural history, , . atkinson, t. w., quoted, , , , . atlas mountains, the, their situation and physical aspect, , . atmosphere of mountain-regions, , . aureilhan, lake of, . australia, discovery of, , ; its deserts, ; rivers, ; mountains, ; adventure and exploration in, , ; wilderness of, ; expedition by burke and wills, - ; its flora, - ; its fauna, - ; its characteristic vegetation, - ; its aboriginal population, , . auvergne, its extinct volcanoes, , . avatsha, mount, . aye-aye, the, its natural history, . baboon of the atlas, the, described, . bahiouda, desert of, described, , . baker, sir s., quoted, , , . baleniceps, the, account of, . balsams, the yellow, described, . bamboo, the, its physiology and uses, . bamunguatos mountains, the, chain of, . banana, the, its physiology and uses, , , , . banyan, the, account of, , . baobab, the, characteristics and discovery of, , . barth, dr., quoted, . barbary squirrel, the, account of, . barren landes, the, described, . _bassia buttyracea_, . batata, the, account of, . bates, h. w., quoted, , , , , , , , , , , , , . batna, account of, . baudouin, lake, description of, , . bauhinias, the, characteristics of, . bear, the arctic, natural history of, , ; adventures with, , ; bear of europe and asia, , ; of north america, , . bear, the white, account of, , . beaver, the, natural history of, ; dams built by, , ; mode of hunting, ; gradual disappearance of, . bechuana country, the, dryness of, . bedford, earls of, their works in the fen country, . bedouins, the, their manners, habits, religion, and warlike disposition, , . beloor-tagh, mountains of, described, . benguela, description of, ; flora of, . benin, climate and aspect of, . berbers, the, their characteristics, . betel-nut tree, the, account of, . biafra described, . bielukha, mount, described, . biscarosse, lake, ; forest, . bisons, the, natural history of, ; mode of hunting, ; food, migrations, uses, . bittern, the great, account of, . black bear, the, account of, . black mosquito grass, . black mountains, the, , , . black pepper, whence procured, . black swan, the, account of, . boa-constrictor, the, natural history of, , . boars of america, account of, . boitard, quoted, . bolas, indian, a mode of hunting with, , . bonald, quoted, . _borassus flabelliformis_, , . _bos arni_, . _bos bubalus_, . _boswellia serrata_, . _botauris stellaris_, .--see bittern. botocoudos, the, described, . _bradypus torquatus_, . brande, w. t., quoted, , , , . bray, mrs., quoted, . _brayera anthelmintica_, . brazil, campos of, their physical aspects, , . bread-fruit tree, its character and properties, , . brittany, physical history of, - ; geology , ; its druidic monuments, ; its landes, , ; its inhabitants, ; its _dunes_, or sand-hills, , . brown bear, the, account of, . brun, malte, quoted, . brush-tailed rock wallaby, described, . bryant, w. c., quoted, . bubalus, the, described, . _bucephalus viridis_, . buckland, dr., quoted, . buckland, frank, quoted, . buenos ayres, pampas of, , . buffalo, the, natural history of, ; mode of hunting, ; of kaffraria, , . buffon, quoted, , , , . bull-frog, the, described, , . buriäts, the, account of, , . burke and wills, australian expedition of, - . burnett, quoted, , . burton, captain r. f., quoted, . bustard, the, natural history of, . butter-tree, the, natural account of, . byron, quoted, , , , . cæsalpineæ, the, account of, . caimans.--see alligator. _caladium segmium_, . calebash nutmeg, the, account of, . california, giant trees of, , . calla, the, account of, . _callistimon salignum_, . _callithrix sciurus_, . _calomys bizcacha_, . camaroon mountains, the, account of, . camel, the, natural history of, - ; docility and usefulness, , ; physiology, , ; habits, - ; moral qualities, , ; story of, , .--see dromedary. camel-herd, the, described, . campanula of allioni, the, . campos of brazil, vegetable life of, , . canada, future prospects of, . cannes, keltic memorials at, . cannibalism in hindostan, ; in polynesia, ; in africa, ; in ombaï, . caoutchouc, nature and properties of, , . cape colony, account of, , . cape eland, the, . cape negro, . capim gordura, described, . capybara, account of the, . caracara, the, account of, . caraccas, the llanos of, . cariama, the, account of, . caribs, the, their manners and customs, , . oarnivora, the, habitat and history of, - . _carolinea insignis_, . carpathian mountains, the, account of, carrette, m., quoted, , . carrion plant, the, described, . caspian mountains, the, . cassanga, flora of, . cassava bread, described, . cassia, the, account of, . casso, the, described, . cassowary, the, natural history of, , . _castor fiber_, .--see beaver. _casuarina equisetifolia_, . cathartes, urubu, the, described, . catoblepus gnu, the, described, . caucasus, mountain-range of, described, . cazau, lake of, , . cebidæ, the, natural history of, , . cedar-trees, in the atlas region, , ; in england, ; in the lebanon, . _celastrus edulis_, . central africa, physical features of, - . cerastes, the, natural history of, , . _cercopithecus diana_, . _cercopithecus ruber_, . cereopsis, the, account of, , . _cereus peruvianus_, . cervus mexicanus, the, account of, . cevennes, the, natural features of, , . ceylon, reference to, . ceza, pierre de, quoted, . chacma, the, described, . chambers, william, quoted, . chamois, the, natural history of, , . characeæ, the, described, . cheetah, the, natural history of, , . cheiromys madagascariensis, . chilason, the, described, . chiquitos, the, account of, . chulon, the, described, . ciconia, the, natural history of, . civets, the, natural history of, . citrulli, the, . climate, influence of, , . cloquet, dr., quoted, . _clusia rosea_, . cobra, the, physiology of, , . cocoa-nut palm, the, description of, . _cocos oberacea_, . _coffæa arabica_, . coffee-tree, description of, coleridge, s. t., quoted, , , . _colocasia mucronatum_, . colonial millet, account of, . comanches indians, the, habits of, . common buffalo, the, physiology of, . common squirrel, the, . compass berg, the, account of, . compositæ, the, in botany, . condor of the andes, account of, , . coniferæ, the, family of, , . convolvuli, american, described, . _convolvulus batatas_, . cook, captain, voyages of, . cooper's creek, in australia, , . copal-tree, the, properties of, . coracan, the, account of, . _corchorus olitorius_, . cordilleras, the, physical features of, . corral in ceylon, the, . _corypha australis_, . _corypha inermis_, . cossacks, the, manners and customs of, , . cotton-plant, the, in the sahara, . cow-tree, the, properties of, . crawford, quoted, . crocodile, the, natural history of, ; mode of trapping, . _crotalus horridus_, . _croton sebiferum_, , . cucamis, the, described, . cucurbitaceæ, the, account of, . cuon bansu, the, described, . curlew, the, natural history of , . cuvier, quoted, , . cycadaceæ, the, properties and nature of, . _cycas circinnalis_, . _cygnus atratus_, . cynocephali, the, natural history of, ; habits and propensities, . cynopitheci, the, natural history of, , . dante, quoted, . darling, the river, in australia, . dartmoor, physical history of, ; its _tors_, or granite hills, ; morasses, ; ancient forests, . darwin, dr., quoted, . date-palm, the, its character, fruit, and uses, - . date-tree, the, thorny, properties of, . daumas, general, quoted, , . d'auret, madame leonie, quoted, . daw, the, natural history of, . dead sea, description of, ; its phenomena and desolation, ; its basin, ; probable origin, exploration of, ; constituents and character of its waters, , . deane, quoted, . delegorgue, quoted, , . delta, the, of the nile, . derrias, the, account of, . deserts, the, of france, - ; england, - ; of europe and asia, - ; animal life in, - ; inhabitants of, - ; deserts of sand, , , , , ; rainless deserts, , , ; of salt, , , ; of persia, , ; of arabia, - ; of africa, - ; phenomena of the deserts, - ; vegetation in, - ; animal life in, - ; fauna of, , ; inhabitants of, - ; of africa, - , _et passim_. desfontaines, quoted, . desmoulins, quoted, . desplobado, desert of, . de st. blaize, m., quoted, - . de st. vincent, m. bory, . diard, quoted, , . dima, the, account of, . dinotherium, the, described, . _dioscorea alata_, . djemel, or common camel, the, - . dog-headed opossum, the, described, . dogs, the prairie, so-called, - ; wild dogs, . dolmens of brittany, the, . _doranthes excelsa_, , . douc, the, account of, . _dracæna terminalis_, . dromedary, the, natural history of, , . dryandra, the, nature and properties of, . _dryobabanops camphora_, . dseren, the, described, . du chaillu, quoted, , , . duck-billed platypus, the, characters of, , . dunes, or sand-hills.--see sand-hills. d'urville, dumont, explorations of, . dutch discoveries in australia, . dyer, quoted, eagles, adventure with, - . echidna, the, natural history of, , . _echinacea purpureas_, . egagra, the, reference to, . egypt, desert of, described, ; soil, ; vegetable life of, - ; inhabitants of, , . _elæis guinensis_, . eland, the, natural history of, , . elburz, mount, . _eleasine corocana_, . _eleasine tocussa_, . electric eel, the, its nature and phenomena, ; mode of catching them, , . elephant, the, natural history of, , ; various species, habitat, mode of march, ; treatment of the young, , ; mode of entrapping, - ; elephant hunts in hindostan and ceylon, , ; general characteristics, - . elephant seal, the, . el-kantara, oases of, described, , . ellis, rev. william, quoted, , . emerson, r. w., quoted, . emu, the, natural history of, , ; the "wingless," . england, colonial empire of, . epacridæ, the, natural history of, . _ephedra_, . _ephedra alata_, . epicea, the, described, . equatorial africa, expedition in, by burton and speke, ; barth and denham, , . _erica cavendishiana_, . eriocaulons, the, description of, . _eriodendron samaüma_, . erosion, desert of, its physical features, , . eskimos, or esquimaux, the, in arctic america, their appearance, character, habits, and manners, . etna, mount, description of, ; physical character of, . eucalyptic, or gum-trees of australia, described, , . euhydra tribus, , . euphorbiaceæ, the, description of, , . europe, invasions of, by asiatic tribes, . falls of the zambesi, described, , . felinska, madame, quoted, . fen country of england, the, described, ; extent of, ; ancient aspect, ; modern landscapes, oases, drainage, , ; present productiveness, ; general character, . fennec, the, characteristics of, , . ficus indica, or banyan-tree, , ; of the indian archipelago, . fish hawk, the, described, . fishing eagle, the, described, , . flamingo, the, description of, ; habits of, ; varieties of, . flax, australian, its properties, . fletcher, quoted, . flying squirrel, the, natural history of, , . fontainebleau, forest of, described, . forbes, professor, quoted, . forest, a petrified, account of, . forests, their general features, , ; botany of, ; influence of, on temperature, and properties, , ; in europe and asia, ; in america, - ; flora of, - .--see woods. forgues, m., quoted, , . fox squirrel, the, natural history of, . foxes, the polar, characteristics of, . france, deserts of, described, , ; mountains of, - ; forests of, ; marshes, , . fromentin, m., quoted, . gallago, the, account of, . gamboge, indian, its uses, , . _gangeticus crocodilus_, . gariep river, the, in south africa, . gascony, characteristics of the llandes of, , - ; its sand-hills, , . gavial, the, natural history of, . _gazella soemmeringii_, . gazelles of the steppes, description of the, . genets, the, natural history of, . gentian, the yellow, described, . gervais, m. paul, quoted, - , . ghauts, mountain-range of the, in hindostan, . ghonds, cannibalism amongst the, . gibbon, the historian, quoted, , . gibbon-lar, the, . gibbon monkey, the, character of, ; habitat, and natural history of, ; various species of, - . gibbon-siamang, the, . gipsies, the, their habitats, ; their various names, and immigration into europe, ; peculiarities of, ; in russia, . giraffe, the, natural history of, , . glutton, the arctic, described, . gneiss mountains, characteristics of, , . gnu, the, natural history of, , . goat, the wild, described, , . goats' serpent, the, account of, , . gobi, desert of, its physical features, ; plateau of, . goethe, quoted, . goose, the cerefaced, described, . gorilla, the, natural history of, - ; its appearance and habits, , ; mode of hunting, . gossypium, the, account of, . gould, quoted, . grallatores, the african, characters of, . gramineæ, the, family of, . granite, structure of, . grasses of the american steppes, . gray, dr., quoted, . gray squirrel, the, account of, , . great karoo, the, described, . green climber, the, account of, . grey, sir george, quoted, . grisly bear, the, habits and physiology of, . guacho of the pampas, the, , . guaiacum, its properties, . guaranis, the, manners and customs of, , . guatemala, flora of, . guépard, the, natural history of, . guiana, savannahs of, , . guinea corn, its properties, . guinea palm, the, character of, . guinea pepper, nature of, . _gulo arcticus_, . gymnoti, the, .--see electric eel. _gynerium saccharoides_, . _haliætus leucocephalus_, . hare, the arctic, . hare, the varying, . harpy eagle, the, natural history of, . harris, major, quoted, . heather-cock, the, described, . _hectia pitcairniæfolia_, . _helichrysum fruticosum_, . hell, madame hommaire de, quoted, , , , , , , . helps, arthur, quoted, , , . hemionus, or wild horse, the, natural history of, , . hemippus, or wild mare, the, natural history of, . henna plant, the, properties of, . heron of the steppes, the, described, ; species of, . herschell, sir john, quoted, . herve and lanoye, mm., quoted, , . himalaya mountains, configuration, structure, and vegetation of, ; glaciers of, ; cedars and rhododendrons of, , ; flora of, . hindostan, flora of, - . hindu reverence for the banyan, . hippopotamus, the, natural history of, , ; adventure with, . homer, quoted, , . honey-guide, the, why so called, . honeysuckle, the arctic, described, . hooker, dr. joseph, quoted, , . hops, the african, description of, , . horace, quoted, . horeb, mount, description of, . horse, the, in america, . horse, the wild, description of, . hottentots, the, character of, . howling monkey, physiology of the, , . huanacu, the, uses of, . huc, the abbé, quoted, , , , , . hudson's bay, account of, . humboldt, a. von, quoted, , , , , , , , , , , . hungary, mountain system of, . hurricane in the steppes, account of, . hyæna of the cape, the, natural history of, . _hyæna villosa_, . _hydrochærus capybara_, . hydrophis, the, account of, . _hylobates cinereus_, . _hylobates leuciscus_, . _hylobates syndactylus_, , . hyperborean races, the, their manners, customs, and characteristics, , . ibis, the, natural history of, . ice-fields, their aspect, . ice-mountains, features of, . ichneumon, the, natural history of, . _ignatia amara_, . immortelle, the, characteristics of, . india, palms of, their physiology, , . indian millet, uses of, . indian oak, its properties, . indians of north america, their history and character, - . indigo, nature and properties of, , . _indigofera tinctoria_, . ipo-antiar, the, its nature and properties, , . iron bark tree, the, uses of, , . iron mountains, the, vegetation of, , . _isonandra-percha_, the, its nature, . jacana, the, characteristics of, . jaguar, the, natural history of, . _jalapa officinalis_, . janin, jules, quoted, . _jatropha manihot_, . java, vegetable life in, , . jebel-gaouss, reference to the, . jebel-tougour, reference to the, . jephson, quoted, . jerbilla, the, natural history of, , . jerboa, the, natural history of, . jocko, the, of buffon, . jomard, m., quoted, . jordan, valley of the, its physical features, , . kabara, the port of, . kaffirs, the, character of, , . kaffraria, physical features of, ; flora of, - . kalihari desert, physical features of, - ; flora of, , . kalmüks, the, ethnology, religion, character, customs of, , . kamtschatdales, the, physical features of, . kamtschatka, mountains of, . kanaks, the, . kandelung valley, the, account of, , . kangaroo, the great, physical character, habits, and manners of, , . karroos of south africa, the, , . keats, quoted, . kenia, mount, in equatorial africa, . kerman, desert of, , . _khaya senegalensis_, . khirgiz, the, races of, , ; customs, dwellings, attire, , , ; character and mode of life, . kilimandjaro, mount, in equatorial africa, . kina-balu, mount, in africa, . kingsley, rev. charles, quoted, . kite, the black, reference to, . kong mountains, the, in africa, . kooloo-kamba, the, . koragum, the, described, . koran, reference to the, . kordofan, physical features of, . korosko, desert of, its physical features, , . korsak, the, described, . kuen-lun mountains, the, in asia, . _lacerta crocodilus_, . lagomys, the, natural history of, , . landor, w. s., quoted, . lanoye, f. de, quoted, , . laorty-hadji, father, quoted, , . laplanders, the, their character, occupation, mode of life, cradles, huts, and general characters, - . latham, dr., quoted, . lauraceæ, the, family of, described, . _laurus cinnamomum_, . lauture, comte escayrac de, quoted, , . _lavatera plebeia_, . _lawsonia inermis_, . lebanon, mountains of, . _lecythis ollaria_, . leeba river, the, , ; flora of, , . leguminosæ, the, family of, described, . leopard, the, natural history and anecdotes of, - . _lepus variabilis_, . liana tieuté, described, . _lichen esculentus_, , . _lignum vitæ_, . _limoniastrum guyanianum_, . linnÆus (linne), quoted, , , , . _linum marginale_, . lion, the, natural history of, ; old fables respecting, ; habits of, ; general characters of, . livingstone, dr., quoted, , , , , , , , , , , , . llama, the, natural history of, ; anecdotes respecting, . llaneros, the, account of, . llano-estacado, the, . llanora, flora of, , . llanos, the.--see pampas. lobata, plains of, . loganiaceæ, the, family of, described, . longfellow, quoted, , , , . lorinthaceæ, family of, described, . loris, the, natural history of, . lucan, quoted, . lund, dr., quoted, . lupata mountains, in africa, . lyon, captain, quoted, . maca, the, account of, . _macropus giganteus_, , . madagascar, flora of, - . mahari, the, natural history of, , . mahogany tree, the, account of, . maïs del agua, . makis, the, habits of, , . malabar squirrel, the, natural history of, . malays, the, character and habits of, , . mamanchota, organ mountain of, . mammoth, the, natural history of, - . man, supposed analogy between the ape and, ; early history of, . manchineal, the, nature and qualities of, , . mandinké, the, tribe of, . mandrill, the, described, . mangrove tree, the, physiology of, , , . manioc, the, properties of, . manna plant, particulars of, . mant, bishop, quoted, - . mara, the, reference to, . marmot, the alpine, account of, , . marquesas islands, the, inhabitants of, , . marsupials, their physiology and characteristics, .--see kangaroo, phalanga, phascolarctos, thylacyni. martagon, the, described, . martens of the north, the, account of, , . martin, sir roger, his exploits as a tiger-killer, . martins, m. charles, quoted, , , , , , , , , , . massaranduba, the, described, , . mastodon, the, particulars of, , . mauritia palm, the, uses and importance of, . maury, captain, quoted, , , , , . mauvaises terres, in nebraska, description of the, . mediterranean, the, . mekran, desert of, . _melantha punctuata_, , , , , . mesembryanthema described, , . mexico, pampas of, ; savage man in, . michelet, quoted, , . milton, the poet, quoted, , , , . milton, lord, and dr. cheadle, quoted, , . _milvus ater_, .--see kite. minizan, destruction of, . minosa, the, account of, . mint, australian, described, . mirage, the, description of, ; its effects and origin, , ; explanation of, ; characteristics of, , . mohammed, reference to, . _mollugo cerviana_, . moluccas, flora of the, . mongolia, its position, history, present condition, ruined cities, ; religion, races, and physical characteristics, , . mongolian family, the, offshoots of, .--see arabs, shemites. monkey, the, of the old world, ; of south america, , .--see chacma, derrias, douc, mandrill, howling monkey, preacher monkey, red monkey, spotted monkey. _monodora myristica_, . monostremata, the, natural history of, - .--see echidna. montoir, marshes of, , . moore, quoted, , , , , . morin, quoted, . mossamedes, gardens of, . mosses, arctic, properties of, . moufflon, the, description of, . mount despair, . mountains, the, atmosphere of, , ; distribution and configuration of, ; constituents of, , ; of europe, , , , ; of asia, - ; of africa, , ; vegetable and animal life of, - . mourad, desert of, . mpongwes, the, account of, . mulhaçen, peak of, in the pyrenees, . mÜller, max, quoted, , , . murray, c. a., quoted, , , . murray, the river, . _musa, ensete_, . _musimon argali_, . _musimon montanus_, . musk-deer, the, . musk-ox, the, , . mustelidæ, the, natural history of, . _mycetes beelzebub_, , . _mycetes strumineus_, . myosotis, the, . _myrmecophaga piliata_, - . _myrsine variabilis_, . nadjed, table-land of, . nandau, the, account of, . nanguer (gazelle), the, described, . _narsilia macropus_, , . _nasalis larvatus_, . natal, coast of, . nature, the study of, , . negro cynopithecus, the, described, . negro, the, habitat of, , ; his physical peculiarities, ; in africa, - ; in australia, . _nelumbium calophyllum_, , . _nepenthes distillatoria_ (or pitcher plant), the, described, . new holland, rivers of, . ngami, lake, in central africa, ; flora of, . nieuveld bergen, in south africa, , . niger, the, delta of, ; valley of, . nigritia, vegetation of, , . nile, river, fecundity of, , ; struggle between it and the desert, ; mountains of, ; scenery of the valley of, ; sources of the, ; valley of, . _nipa fructicans_, . north america, superiority of, over south america, ; deserts of, .--see prairies. noukahiva, islanders of, - . nova zembla, described, . _nshiégo-mbouvé_, the, account of, . nubia, women of, , . _nuphar lutea_, . nutmeg, the calebash, account of, . nux vomica, its properties, . n'yanyizi-nyassa, lake in central africa, . nylghau, the, description of, . oases of the sahara, ; their formation, ; vegetable life of the, - ; of el-kantara, described, , ; of ouargla, , ; springs of, ; precarious conditions of the existence of , . _oenothera macrocarpa_, . oestre, the, , . ombai, inhabitants of, , . onagra, the, natural history of, ; description of, ; properties and uses, - . ophidia, the, physiology and characteristics of, , . _oplismenus colonus_, . _opuntia frutescens_, . orang-outang, habitat of, ; description of, ; habits of, , ; general details, - . organ mountains of brazil, described, . orinoco, the river, , . _oriza sativa_, its properties, . ostiaks, the, described, ; priests and worship of, ; mode of hunting of, . ostrich, the, natural history of, ; anecdotes of, ; american species of, . otter of kamtschatka, the, described, . ouaregla, oasis of, described, , . ouistitis, the, account of, , . ourmiah, or urumiyeh, salt lake of, . ox, the, in america, . paca, the, natural history of, , . pachydermata, the, characteristics of, , . palisades of the hudson, ; of the rocky mountains, . palliser, captain, his expedition of discovery, . palmaceæ, the, physiology of the family of, . palm moriche, the, described, , . palm tree, in egypt, ; growth of, in oases, ; properties and uses of the fruit, ; general details, , . pampas, the, description of, , ; inhabitants, ; area and physical aspects, - . pampas grass, the, uses of, . pampas indians, the, characteristics of, , . pampero, the, phenomenon of, . _pandarus candelabrum_, . panther, the, natural history of, . papaw tree, the, character of, . papuans, the, their manners and customs, , . paradoxures, the, described, , . paraguay river, the, . pariah dog of india, described, . parkyns, mansfield, quoted, , . _parry_, captain, expedition of, . _partux picta_, . pashiúba tree, the, account of, , , . pasom, the, described, . passiflora, the, order of, . patagonia, pampas of, their physical aspect, , , ; vegetable life in the, - . patagonians, character of the, . _paullinia pinnata_, . peccary of america, its natural history, . pecherais, the, their habits, . pelican, the, natural history of, , . pennant, quoted, . _pennicellaria spicata_, . _pennisetum fasciculare_, . pernambuco, pampas of, described, , . perris, m., quoted, . peru, conquest of, , ; plains of, , . _petrogale brachiotis_, . _petrogale penicillata_, . phacocoerus, the, natural history of, , . phalanga, the, account of, . phascolarctos, the, described, . phascolomys (or wombat), the, introduced into europe, ; discovery of, ; description of, . philippine islands, the, vegetable life in, . phlox, the, character of, . picakolou, the, natural history of, , . _pimelia axiflora_, . pine barrens of mexico, the, description of, , . pine of new caledonia, the, . pipa, the, account of, . _piper nigrum_, . pirates of the desert, . _pistacia lentiscus_, . _pistacia terebinthus_, . _pistia spatulata_, . _poa abyssinica_, . polar regions, the, extent and area of, , ; of america, described, ; of asia, , ; of europe, , ; discoveries in, - ; animal and vegetable life in, - ; characters of the inhabitants of, - . polecat, the arctic, described, . polynesia, cannibalism in, ; inhabitants of, their manners and customs, - . pope, the poet, quoted, , . porcupine ant-eater, the, natural history of, , . porphyry, mountains of, . portuguese, discoveries of the, in the terra australis, , . pott, professor, quoted, . prairies of north america, description of the, - ; of central america, - ; vegetable life in the, - . preacher monkey, the, described, . primeval forests, the, characters of, , . pringle, quoted, . proboscideæ, the, physiology of, , . protaceæ, the, account of, . _proteles lalandii_, , . _protococcus nivalis_, . _psamma arenaria_, . _pteris caudata_, . _pteromys splendens_, . _pteromys volans_, . _pteromys volucella_, . ptolemÆus, reference to, . _pudonta gigas_, . puff adder, the, characters of, , . puma, the, natural history of, , . pyrenees, the, description of, . _pythecus lar_, . python mouse, the, described, . python of sunda, the, described, . quagga, the, natural history of, , . quango, the, valley of, . quarterly review, quoted, . quichuas, the, manners and habits of, , . quicksands in arabia, described, , . quinquina, the, properties of, . race, influence of, on the world's history, , . races of the desert, their characteristics, - . radiquet, m. max, quoted, , . rafflesia arnoldi, discovery of, ; description of, . rain in the sahara, . _ratellus mellivorus_, . rattlesnake, the, physiology of, - . ravenala madagascariensis, the, account of, . reach, angus, quoted, , . red monkey, the, peculiarities of, . red skins, the, ancient distribution of, ; false romance with which they have been invested, , ; various races of, , ; physical peculiarities of, . reinaondaban, the, account of, . reindeer, the, natural history of, - . renan, m., quoted, . rennie, john, reference to, . _retama duriæi_, . rhinoceros, the, physiology of, , ; its habitats, ; the indian species of, ; javanese, , ; african, , ; adventure with a, . _rhizophora mangle_, . _rhus toxicodendrum_, . richardson, sir j., quoted, , . rocellæ, the, nature and properties of, . rocky mountains of north america, the, , . rodentia, family of the, described, . roebuck of tartary, the, described, . roggeveld bergen, the, in south africa, . rose, cooper, quoted, . rose of jericho, the, described, . ross, sir james, quoted, , ; arctic discoveries of, , . rowe, rev. j., quoted, . rowe, nathaniel, quoted, . ruskin, j., quoted, , , . _saccharum officinarum_, . sachot, m. octave, quoted, . sagalien, inhabitants of, described, . sago-palms, the, properties of, . sahara, the african, its physical aspects, , ; mountains, ; oases, described, , ; its peculiarity of aspect, ; area, , ; climate of, . saiga, the, natural history of, , . salsolaceæ, the, properties of, . salt desert, the, character of.--see deserts. salt-wort, described, . samoiedes, the, history and character of, - . sand, deserts of.--see deserts. sand-hills of brittany, the, ; their mode of formation, ; of gascony, ; density and configuration, , ; inland encroachments, , ; their peculiar influence, ; of africa, , . _santalum acuminatum_, . sapucaya, or monkey's nut, the, described, . sarcoramphus papa, the, account of, . sarkha, desert of, . sarmiento, mount, california, . sarracenia, the, characters of, . sassafras laurel, the, described, , . savacou, the, described, . savage man, his abasement and mean pleasures, ; his sanguinary instincts, , ; his love of intoxicating drinks, want of a literature and of science, ; his intellectual deficiencies as compared with civilized man, ; his neglect of trade and commerce, imperfect conceptions of the supreme being, ; sun-worship, ; his priestcraft and superstition, ; his low moral standard and cannibal tastes, .--for savage races, see pp. - , and - . savannahs of guinea, their features, . savenay, marshes of, described, , . saxifragas, the, properties and uses of, . schomburgk, sir r., quoted, , . _scindapsus pertusus_, . _sciurus alpinus_, account of, ; _carolinensis_, , ; _getulus_, ; _maximus_, ; _vulgaris_, ; _vulpinus_, . sea-bear, the, natural history of, . sea-lion, the, natural history of, . sea-shore wolf, the, natural history of, . seal, the, habitats, manners, and physiology of, . sechura, pampa of, described, . senegal, serpent-worship of, ; serpents of, described, . senegambia, physical features of, , ; flora of, ; cereal growth of, , . sennaar, physical features of, . sensitive plant, the, described, . serpent-bird, the, of the cape, natural history of, . serpents of the steppes, the, described, ; of asia and africa, - .--see ophidia, viper. shakspeare, quoted, . shekanis, the, account of, , . shelley, the poet, quoted, , , . shemites, the, characteristics of, , .--see arabs, tibboos, touraregs. shepherd races of asia, their history, manners, customs, and character, , . shirwa, lake, in africa, . shoa, vegetable life in, . short-eared rock kangaroo, the, natural history of, . silk-cotton tree, the, properties of, . _silphium laciniatum_, . _silphium terebinthinaceum_, . simoom, the, phenomena and effects of, - . sinai, mount, physical aspect and associations of, , , , . sioux indians, cemeteries of the, . sivas, quicksands of, described, , . skags-tol-tind, mount, referred to, . sloth, natural history, habits, and manners of the, - .--see three-toed sloth, two-toed sloth. _smilax rotundifolia_, . smith, sydney, quoted, . smyth, admiral, quoted, . sneebergen, mountain-range so called, , . snow, perpetual, limit of, . socotrine aloes, value of, . solidungulæ, the, order of, , . somerville, mrs., quoted, , , , , . sonnerat, m., quoted, . sorgho grass, properties of, . southey, quoted, , , . south america, inferiority of, to north, ; its deserts, .--see pampas, virgin forests. spain, its conquests in america, , . spenser, quoted, . sphagnum, the, properties of, . spider monkey, the, described, , . spitzbergen, description of, , . spotted monkey, the, described, . squirrel, the, natural history, habits, and characteristics of, - .--see alpine squirrel, barbary squirrel, common squirrel, flying squirrel, gray squirrel, malabar squirrel. squirrel monkey, the, . stag, the spotted, described, ; yellow, described, . staghorn, the, described, . stanley, dean, quoted, , , , . _stapelia hirsuta_, . steppes, the, in europe and asia, their extent, , ; their plateaux, ; their vegetable life, - ; phenomena connected with, , ; animal life of, ; ornithology, - ; erpetology, ; inhabitants, . steppes of south america, the, surface of, ; vegetation, swamps, and conflagrations of, - ; a night on, ; inundations of, ; solitude of, ; steppes of patagonia, , ; buenos ayres and the andes, , ; of desplobado, ; hurricanes of, ; animal life of, , . _sterculia acuminata_, . _sterculiaceæ_, the, family of, . st. hilaire, augustus, quoted, . st. john, spenser, quoted, . _stipa crinita_, . _stipa tenacissima_, . stocqueler, quoted, . stork, the, description of, . strachey, captain, quoted, . _strelitza regina_, described, . _struthio camelus_, .--see ostrich. strychnine, nature and properties of, . styraceæ, family of, their characteristics, . sugar cane, history of, . sugar palm, the, described, . sumatra, vegetable life in, , ; cannibalism in, , . sun, worship of, once prevalent, . surinam toad, the, described, . swamp oak, the, qualities of, . swan's marsh, the, reference to, . _swietenia mahogani_, its uses, . table mountains, the, geography of, . talfourd, sir t. n., quoted, , . tallow tree, the, properties and uses of, . tamanoir, the, described, . tamarind, the, characteristics of, . tamias, the, account of, . tanganyika, lake, in central africa, , . tanguen, or tanghin, the, properties of, . tapioca, commercial value of, . tapir, the, , ; natural history of the american, ; mode of defence, and peculiarities of, , . tarpan, the, natural history of, - ; reference to, . tartar-nogaïs, the, their territories, customs, and religion, , . taro, the, account of, . tarsi, the, description of, . taylor, henry, quoted, . taylor, tom, professor, quoted, . tchad, lake, discovery of, , ; description of, . teak, the, properties and commercial value of, . tegeter, mount, referred to, . telfaria pedata, the, described, . temperature, laws affecting, . teneriffe, peak of, described, . tennyson, quoted, , , , , , . tété, flora of, . texas, vegetable life of, - . _theobroma cacao_, properties of, . thibet, bear of, . thomson, quoted, . _thrasaëtus_, . three-toed sloth, the, natural history of, . thylacyni, the, natural history of, - . ti, the, described, . tibboos, the, of africa, their habits and character, - . tierra-del-fuego, inhabitants of, . tiger, the, natural history of, ; described by buffon, ; by daubenton, ; characteristics, habits, swiftness of, , ; mode of hunting, , . tiger-cats, the, description of, . tigré, geological features of, ; flora of, , . _tillandra usneoides_, , . tip, desert of, . toads.--see agua, bull-frog, surinam toad. tocusra, the, . _todea africana_, . toothache-tree, the, described, . topaz, the, account of, . touaregs, the, of africa, their manners, habits, and characteristics, - . trachytic rocks, character of, . traveller's tree, the, described, , . trecul, m., quoted, , , , . tree-ferns, their character, , . trees, colossal, of peru, - . tremaux, m., quoted, , , , . tremblet, m., quoted, . _trichecus_, . trigonocephalus, the, description of, . _tristegis gluttinosa_, . tristram, rev. h. b., quoted, , , . trumpet-bird, the, description of, . tumboa, the, physiology of, , . tupinambis, the, described, . two-toed sloth, the, natural history of, , . unau, the, described, , . _unghandia speciosa_, . upas-tree, the properties of, ; fables relating to, . upper guinea.--see senegambia. ural mountains, the, geology of, . _urceola elastica_, . _uvaria Æthiopica_, . vaquois, the, character of, , . varan of the nile, the, described, . varans of the desert, the, natural history of, - . variegated baboon, the, account of, . venezuela, pampas of, - . vesuvius, mount, description of, . vibro, the genus, . victoria n'yanza, lake, discovery and account of, . victoria regia, the, history and description of, , . vicuña, the, natural history of, - . vine, the, account of, . viper, the camel-headed, description of, - . vipera cerastes, the, natural history of, , . vipers, the, of the desert, , , ; of south africa, , . virgin forests, their extent and characteristics, - ; vegetable life in, , ; a day in, - . vistula, the river, . _vitis vinifera_, . viverridæ, the, natural history of, , . vizcacha, the, described, . vouabembés, the, cannibalism among, . von martins, the traveller quoted, . von tschudi, quoted, , , , . vosges, the, mountain-range of, , . wallace, mr., quoted, , . walrus, the, natural history of, . water-lily, yellow, the, described, . water snake, the, habits of, . waterton, the naturalist, quoted, , . wells in the sahara, . welwitsch, dr., quoted, . welwitschia, the, described, , . whirlwinds of sand, description of, , . white, walter, quoted, . white wormwood, the, properties of, , . whydah, serpents at, . wilkes, admiral, quoted, , ; arctic discoveries of, , . wills, w. j., quoted, , . wilson, alexander, quoted, , . wistman's wood, description of, , . wolf of tartary, description of, ; his ravages, - . wombat, the, .--see phascolomys. wood, rev. j. g., quoted, , . woods of europe, their aspect and characteristics, , . wordsworth, quoted, , , . wourali, the poison, deadly nature of, . wou-wou, the, natural history of, . wrede, baron de, quoted, , . _xanthorroea arborea_, , . yakoutes, the, their habits and mode of hunting, , . yucca tréculeana, . yvan, dr., quoted, . zambesi, the, course of, , ; delta and cascades of, , ; vegetation of, . zana, lake, vegetation on the shores of, , . zebra, the, natural history of, . zebra wolf, the, natural history of, . zibeth, the, described, . zopelotes, the, described, . zorga, the, account of, . list of illustrations. whole page engravings. . a pyrenean landscape, . celtic memorials in brittany, . the shepherds of the landes, . a flood in brittany, . wild horses terrified by a storm, . the dead sea, . caravan in the desert, . lake baudouin (a salt lake), . landscape in the atlas (region of tablelands), . the sahara (desert of erosion), . french column surprised by the simoom, . night-scene in the african interior, . victoria falls, river zambesi, . prairies of north america, . view of the "mauvaises-terres," nebraska, . a prairie on fire in central america, . pampas of south america, . australian landscape, . vegetable life in the african plains, . tiger hunting in the indo-chinese peninsula, . hunter pursued by peccaries, . the virgin forest of the gaboon, . the virgin forest in brazil, . tropical vegetation, . flora of the east indian islands, . a forest in madagascar, . flora of the new world, . hunting the elephant in africa, . a corral in ceylon, . death of an orang-outang, . a gorilla killing a negro, . a cannibal feast among the battas of sumatra, . the desert of ice (arctic pole), . the reindeer of lapland. . the condor of the andes, vignettes. . the tarpan, or wild horse, . onagra, or wild ass, . bactrian camel, . the eland, . capture of a wolf by a kirghiz horseman, . great bittern--white heron--curlew, . the eagle of the steppes, and the antelope saiga, . cossack horsemen in the steppes, . night encampment of gipsies in the steppes, . khirgiz aoul or village, . mount sinai, . ravines of korosko, . whirlwinds of sand, . a mirage in the desert, . jujube tree--lentiscus--tamarisk, . doum-palm--date palm--alfa, . a street in ouargla, . the mahari--the djemel, . striped hyænas of the sahara, . jackals disinterring dead bodies, . gypaëtos--sociable vulture--cathartes percnopterus, . gazelles--antelope--nanguer, . gazelles of arabia opposing a panther, . jerboas attacked by a horned viper, . varan of the nile--varan of the desert, . bedouin shepherds and bedouin nomades, . touaregs, . attack upon a q'sour, . nubian women, . burke, wills, and king in the deserts of central australia, . vegetable life in south africa, . vegetable life of cape colony, . vegetable life of cape colony, . vegetable life of cape colony, . vegetable life in the american prairies, . vegetable life in texas, . vegetable life in the texan prairies, . vegetable life in the plains of the meta, . aquatic plants of guiana, . vegetable life in the pampas, . vegetable life in victoria, . vegetable life on the australian plains, . vegetable life on the australian plains, . hippopotamus and crocodile of the river nile, . rhinoceros, . the daw and the quagga, . zebras, . a lion rending a giraffe, . antelope gnu--oreas lanna--striped or banded gnu, . an african hopo, . the african leopard, . spotted hyænas, . zibeth and indian genet, . striped parodoxure devouring a crested goura, . ostriches, . rose flamingoes, . python molure--echidna--fennec, . american tapir, . guanaco--llama--vicuña, . agouti--capybara, . armadillo loricata--ant-eater, . cougouars, or pumas, . bison attacked by jaguar, . prairie wolves, . cathartes-urubu--king of the vultures, . alligators, or caimans, . crotalus, and boa-constrictor, . trigonocephalus pursued by birds, . bufo agua--pipa surinamensis, . fishing for gymnoti, . large-browed wombat, . thylacynus cynocephalus, . ornithorhynchus--echidna, . apteryx australis, . the banyan tree, . baobab--guinea palm--acacia verek, . bread-fruit tree of ceylon, . nipa fruticans--sugar palm--ipo-antiar, . ravenala madagascariensia--heritiera argentea--tanghin, . large-leaved magnolia--virginian catalpa--pinas sabiniana, . blechnum brasiliense--alsophila horrida--panicum plicatum--maranta--caladium violaceum, . banana--carolinea insignis--clusia rosea, . kaffir hunter carried off by a rhinoceros, . baboons plundering a garden, . the black cynopithecus, . gibbon-siamang, and mourning gibbon, . howling monkeys, . ateles crossing a river, . maki-mocoas--white-mantled maki, . cheiromys, or aye-aye of madagascar, . aï-unau, . common european squirrels, . negroes: natives of kidi, africa, . kaffir warriors, . hottentots: a man and woman, . australians, . papuans, . malays: male and two females, . hovas of madagascar: men, woman, and child, . warriors of the island of ombai, . islanders of noukahiva, . indians of north america. the red skins, . indian women of north america, . the apaches attacking an emigrant train, . guarani indians (south america), . patagonians, . adelie land (antarctic ocean), . ermine and sable-marten, . the white bear and her cubs, . lapland fishers, . a samoiede family, . yakout warrior worried by a white bear, . kamtschatdales, . the organ mountains of rio janeiro, . the himalayas: mount guarisankar, . fir, with bearded usnea--great yellow gentian--martagon, . cedar of lebanon, . rhododendrons of the himalaya, . musk deer, . black bear of canada--gray bear of north america, footnotes: [ ] the "mysteries of the ocean," rendered into english by the translator of "the bird" and of the present volume, is published, as a companion work, by messrs. t. nelson and sons. [ ] the jura chain is an outlier of the great alpine system, and situated on the border of switzerland; the vosges separate the valley of the rhine from that of the moselle (greatest elevation, feet); and the cevennes that of the loire from the basin of the rhone (greatest elevation, feet). [ ] the forest covers an area of about sixty-four square miles. the château, originally founded by robert the pious in - , was rebuilt in the twelfth century by louis vii. [ ] jules janin, "la bretagne" (ed. paris, ), c. xvii. [ ] deane, "archæologia," vol. xxv. [ ] see mr. jephson's "walking tour in brittany," and tom taylor's recent book of "translations of breton songs and ballads." [ ] p. fletcher, "the purple island," canto i. . [ ] tennyson, poems: "mariana." [ ] angus reach, "claret and olives." [ ] the fir plantations, which are so numerous in the landes, were first formed in , under the direction of the minister, m. necker (father of madame de stael). in , the department had a population of , . acreage, , , . [ ] angus b. reach, "claret and olives." [ ] m. perris, in "mémoires de l'académie de lyon." [ ] "dunes," from _dun_, a hill. these sand-mounds also extend along the coast of the netherlands, where they serve to protect the low country from tidal inundation. "in some places," says a traveller, "they look like a series of irregular hills; and when seen from the top of the steeples, they are so huge as to shut out the view of the sea. the traveller, in visiting them from the fertile plains, all at once ascends into a region of desert barrenness. he walks on and on for miles in a wilderness such as might be expected to be seen in africa, and at last emerges on the sea-shore, where the mode of creation of this singular kind of territory is at once conspicuous."--_w. chambers, "tour in holland."_ [ ] rev. s. rowe, "perambulation of the ancient forest of dartmoor" (ed. by dr. e. moore; london, ). [ ] mrs. bray, "the borders of the tamar and the tavy." [ ] rev. c. kingsley, in _good words_, vol. for , pp. - . [ ] dyer, "poetical works," _the fleece_, book ii. [ ] walter white, "eastern england," ii. , . [ ] humboldt, "ansichten der natur," vol. i., app. [ ] humboldt, "ansichten der natur," vol. i. (notes). [ ] homer, "iliad," book i. [ ] madame hommaire de hell: "voyage aux steppes de la mer caspienne," tome ^{er.} [ ] the onagra is identical with the koulan (_equus hemionus_) of the persian. it is described in the book of job, ch. xxxix. - . [ ] t. w. atkinson, "oriental and western siberia," pp. , . [ ] brande, "dictionary of art and science," art. _camel_. [ ] madame de hell, "voyage aux steppes de la mer caspienne," tome i^{er.} [ ] class i., mammalia: order iii., carnaria; order v., rodentia; order ix., ruminantia. [ ] also called the musmon (_ovis musmon_). [ ] this rod, or whip, is furnished with a long cord terminating in a slip-knot, something like a lasso. with this instrument the tartars seize and carry away the horses and wild asses, and, as we see in the engraving, capture wolves alive, and satisfy their hatred against these unfortunate beasts, less ferocious, assuredly, than the tartars themselves. [ ] huc, "souvenirs d'un voyage dans la tartarie, la thibet, et la chine," tome ^{er.} [ ] bishop mant, "british months." [ ] atkinson, "oriental and western siberia," pp. - . [ ] humboldt, "ansichten der natur," vol. i. [ ] prof. max müller, "lectures on the science of language," nd series, p. . [ ] the spanish gipsies call themselves _calés_ (black). many interesting details of this curious people are embodied in george borrow's "zincali; or, an account of the gipsies in spain." [ ] all that is really known about them will be found in professor pott's "zigeunersprache" (halle, ). [ ] max müller, "on the origin of language," nd series, p. . [ ] t. w. atkinson, "oriental and western siberia," pp. - . [ ] max müller, "origin of language," pp. , . [ ] dr. latham thus describes their physical characteristics:--"the face is broad and flat, because the cheek-bones stand out laterally, and the nasal bones are depressed. the cheek-bones stand out _laterally_; are not merely projecting, for this they might be without giving much breadth to the face, inasmuch as they might stand forward. the distance between the eyes is great, the eyes themselves being oblique, and their carunculæ concealed. the eyebrows form a low and imperfect arch, black and scanty. the iris is dark, the cornea yellow. the complexion is scanty, the stature low. the ears are large, standing out from the head; the lips thick and fleshy rather than thin; the teeth somewhat oblique in their insertion, the forehead low and flat, and the hair lank and thin."--_descriptive ethnology._ [ ] rev. h. b. tristram, "the great sahara," p. . [ ] mrs. somerville, "physical geography," vol. i., p. . [ ] moore, "lalla rookh"--_veiled prophet of khorassan._ [ ] lake sir-i-kol is , feet above the sea-level; that is, nearly as high as mont blanc. it is fourteen miles long and one mile broad. [ ] dean stanley, "syria and palestine," pp. - . [ ] laorty-hadji, "la syrie, la palestine, et la judée." [ ] shelley, "poetical works"--_stanzas written in dejection_, &c. [ ] a parasang varies in length; in some parts of persia it measures thirty, in others fifty furlongs. [ ] such quicksands are found at some parts of the british coast, and the reader will remember that in one of them occurs the catastrophe of scott's romance, "the bride of lammermoor." [ ] miss martineau, "eastern life: past and present." [ ] coleridge, "poetical works"--_kubla khan_. [ ] trémaux, "egypte et ethiopie," re partie, c. vii. [ ] m. charles martins, "du spitzberg au sahara" (paris, ), pp. , _et seq._ [ ] martins "du spitzberg au sahara," p. . [ ] tristram, "the great sahara," p. . [ ] martins. "du spitzberg au sahara," _in loc._ [ ] fromentin. "une eté dans le sahara." [ ] moore's "poetical works"--_veiled prophet of khorassan_ [ ] martins, "du spitzberg au sahara," p. . [ ] dean stanley, "sinai and palestine," pp. , . [ ] philip smith, "history of the world," i. . [ ] t. w. atkinson, "travels on the russo-chinese frontiers." [ ] moore, "lalla rookh"--_the fire-worshippers_. [ ] homer, "odyssey," book xi., pope's translation. [ ] m. le comte d'escayrac de lauture, "le désert et le soudan" (paris, ). [ ] dante, "l'inferno," c. xiv., longfellow's translation. [ ] order, _cruciferæ_. [ ] sub-order, _tubulifloræ_. [ ] martins, "du spitzberg au sahara," pp. , _et seq._ [ ] moore, "lalla rookh"--_the fire-worshippers_. [ ] martins, "du spitzberg au sahara," p. . [ ] tristram, "the great sahara," pp. - . [ ] général daumas, "le grand desert," pp. - . [ ] carrette, "exploration de l'algérie," tome ii. [ ] this substance, according to other authorities, was more probably the saccharine exudation, _mount sinai manna_, which forms on the branches of the tamarix mannifera, and thence falls to the ground. [ ] wordsworth, "poetical works"--_rob roy's grave_, vol. iii., p. . [ ] gibbon, "decline and fall of the roman empire," v., p. . [ ] tremblet, "les français dans le desert" (paris, ). [ ] goethe's "faust," translated by theodore martin, p. . [ ] dr. livingstone, "missionary researches in south africa." [ ] thomas pringle, "south african sketches." [ ] livingstone, "missionary travels and researches." [ ] keat's "poetical works," sonnet ix. [ ] livingstone, "missionary travels and researches." [ ] baker, "basin of the nile and equatorial africa," ii. - . [ ] morin, "sources du nil," in _annuaire scientifique_ for . [ ] dr. barth, "travels and discoveries in central africa" (london, - ). [ ] wordsworth, "poetical works;" sonnet xvi., vol. iii., p. . [ ] taylor, "isaac comnenus," poetical works, ii. . [ ] mrs. somerville, "physical geography," i. , _et seq._ [ ] w. c. bryant, "poetical works." [ ] mrs. somerville, "physical geography," i. . [ ] these inundations are nowhere more extensive than in the network of rivers formed by the apure, the arachuna, the pajara, the arauca, and the cabuliare. large vessels sail across the country over the steppe for forty or fifty miles. [ ] humboldt, "ansichten der natur," i., steppes and deserts. [ ] dr. i. von tschudi, "travels in peru" (london, ), pp. , . [ ] _polylepis racemosa._ [ ] _krameria triandria._ [ ] journal of w. j. wills, _in locis_. [ ] order, _euphorbiaceæ_. [ ] order, _tiliaceæ_. [ ] order. _pandanaceæ_. [ ] order, _musaceæ_. [ ] order, _anacardiaceæ_. [ ] mansfield parkyns, "life in abyssinia," i. , . [ ] adansonia digitata, a species of baobab (order, _stercubaceæ_). [ ] order, _celastraceæ_. [ ] order, _rosaceæ_. [ ] order, _gnetaceæ_. [ ] brande, "dictionary of science, literature, and art," iii. , . [ ] order, _anacardiaceæ_. [ ] order, _ranunculaceæ_; sub-order, _actaea_. [ ] order, _onagraceæ_, or evening primrose tribe. [ ] order, _zygophyllaceæ_. [ ] humboldt, "ansichten der natur"--steppes and deserts, note . [ ] order, _nymphaceæ_. [ ] the pampas grass is very hardy. its stems are from ten to fourteen feet high, its leaves six or eight feet long, and its panicles of flowers silvery white, and from eighteen inches to two feet in length. another brazilian species of the same _genus, gynerium saccharoides_, yields a considerable quantity of sugar. [ ] sydney smith, in _edinburgh review_, for . [ ] order, _amentaceæ_. [ ] order, _liliaceæ_. [ ] order, _malpighiaceæ_. [ ] order, _myrtaceæ_. [ ] the same name, "traveller's tree," is applied to the _urania speciosa_. [ ] _pachydermata_, from [greek: pachus], thick, and [greek: derma], skin; an order of quadrupeds distinguished by the thickness of their hides. [ ] sir s. baker, "the albert n'yanza," &c., i. - . [ ] livingstone, "missionary travels and researches in south africa." [ ] stocqueler, "handbook to india." [ ] du chaillu, "travels in equatorial africa." [ ] dr. livingstone, "missionary travels and researches." [ ] f. buckland, "curiosities of natural history." [ ] as in jer. viii. ; and psalm lviii. , . [ ] wallace, "travels on the amazon and rio negro." [ ] dr. von tschudi, "travels in peru" (london, ). [ ] it was introduced into england by the earl of derby in . an alpaca factory, covering eleven acres, was erected at saltaire, near shipley, yorkshire, by mr. titus salt, in , and is now the largest establishment of its kind in the world. [ ] dr. von tschudi, "travels in peru." [ ] dr. darwin, "journal of a naturalist" (voyage of the beagle, rd vol.) [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the river amazons." [ ] rev. j. g. wood, "homes without hands." [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the amazons," pp. , . [ ] hon. c. a. murray, "travels in north america." [ ] a. wilson, "american ornithology." [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the amazons." [ ] gould, "quadrupeds of australia," _in loc._ [ ] m. p. gervais, "histoire naturelle des mammifères," sub nom. _thylacynus_. [ ] sir. g. grey, "expeditions of discovery in north-western and western australia" ( ). [ ] ruskin, "modern painters," vol. v., pt. vi., c. i., § , . [ ] longfellow, "poetical works"--_evangeline._ [ ] milton and cheadle, "north-west passage by land," chap. xv. [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the river amazons." [ ] order, _lycopodiaceæ_; club-mosses. [ ] lecythis ollaria (order, _lecythidaceæ_). [ ] bertholletia excelsa (_lecythidaceæ_). [ ] order, _bignoniaceæ_. [ ] order, _leguminosæ_; tribe, mimosæ. [ ] order, _sterculiaceæ_. [ ] order, _urticaceæ_. [ ] iriartea ventricosa. [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the amazons," pp. , . [ ] matthew arnold, new poems: "empedocles on etna," p. . [ ] f. de lanoye, "l'inde contemporaine," c. ^{er.} [ ] order, _musaceæ_. [ ] order, _moraceæ_. [ ] southey, "poetical works"--_the curse of kehama._ [ ] craufurd, "the eastern archipelago." [ ] brande, "dictionary of science, literature, and art," iii. . [ ] from the greek [greek: epi], upon, and [greek: phyton], a plant. [ ] order, _leguminosæ_. [ ] rev. w. ellis, "three visits to madagascar." [ ] order, _apocynaceæ_. [ ] the genus _vibris_ is the type of a tribe of animalcules commonly known as microscopic eels, remarkable for their extraordinary minuteness. one species is parasitic upon wheat, and when full grown attains a quarter of an inch in length; but the young are so microscopically small that , might be contained in a single grain of wheat. [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the amazons," pp. - . [ ] dr. buckland. bridgewater treatise, "on geology and palæontology," &c. [ ] mansfield parkyns, "life in abyssinia." see some interesting details in major harris's "sport in the western highlands of ethiopia." [ ] h. w. bates, "the naturalist on the amazons," p. . [ ] according to humboldt, this is an exaggeration: the howlers assemble in large numbers, morning and evening, and join in a chorus of discords, but do not obey a president or leader. [ ] in the foregoing paragraphs i have allowed the french author, m. mangin, to express his opinions in his own language. i must guard myself, however, from being supposed to endorse them as a whole. between the most intelligent simiæ and man a wide gulf exists, which i see no reason for supposing the ape will ever cross. and i believe that his physical likeness to man may be satisfactorily referred to that general progressiveness in creation which we may trace from the lowest to the highest types. [ ] du chaillu, "travels and adventures in equatorial africa" (london, ). [ ] du chaillu, "travels and adventures in equatorial africa." [ ] t. noon talfourd, "dramatic works." [ ] arthur helps, "spanish conquest in america." [ ] pope, "poetical works"--_essay on man._ [ ] capt. r. f. burton, "lake regions of equatorial africa." [ ] r. w. emerson. "essays" (collected works, bell & daldy, vols.) [ ] this was written in september . [ ] alfred maury, "la terre et l'homme," ch. vii. [ ] for information, as entertaining as it is valuable, respecting the history, people, and products of madagascar, see the rev. william ellis's "three visits to madagascar," and m. octave sachot's "madagascar et les madécasses" (paris, ). [ ] in the language of the sandwich islanders. _kanak_ or _kanaque_ signifies "a man." [ ] compare the narratives of the early voyagers, especially those of de bougainville, cook, and wallis. [ ] _hacienda_, a farm; _haciendero_, a farm-proprietor. [ ] admiral wilkes, "narrative of the u. s. exploring expedition." [ ] the isothermal line of °, which in europe scarcely touches the north cape of lapland (about °), descends in america fully degrees lower, even to the south of james bay. [ ] hervé and lanoye, "voyages dans les glaces du pôle arctique," chap. i. (paris, ). [ ] sir james c. ross "voyages of discovery and research" (london, ). [ ] sir j. richardson, "fauna boreali americana." [ ] professor forbes, "norway and its glaciers" (edinburgh, ). [ ] ° ' north latitude, the parallel of london. [ ] compare malte brun, ed. by lavallée, "géographie universelle;" mrs. somerville, "physical geography;" and sir j. herschel, "physical geography" (encycl. britt., th edit.) [ ] coleridge, _hymn in the valley of chamouni_. for a glowing account of these phenomena, see professor tyndall's "glaciers of the alps." [ ] admiral smyth, "the mediterranean." [ ] matthew arnold, "new poems" ( )--_empedocles on etna_. [ ] dr. j. hooker, "himalayan journals." [ ] captain strachey, "journal of royal geographical society" (vol. xxi.) [ ] spencer st. john, "life in the forests of the far east" (london, ). [ ] longfellow, "poetical works." [ ] charles martins, "du spitzberg au sahara." * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: in the desert of kahalari=> in the desert of kalahari {pg } the evergeen oak=> the evergreen oak {pg } from monte video to the mouth of the rio nigro=> from monte video to the mouth of the rio negro {pg } salver-shaped carolla=> salver-shaped corolla {pg } incalculable longivity=> incalculable longevity {pg } with its orbed noon=> with its orbed moon {pg } communicates with the larnyx=> communicates with the larynx {pg } muller, max, quoted, , , .=> müller, max, quoted, , , . {index} [illustration: teaming in death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the mystic mid-region the deserts of the southwest by arthur j. burdick with illustrations g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press copyright, by arthur j. burdick published, april, the knickerbocker press, new york kingdom of solitude, thou desert vast, the keeper thou of secrets of the past, for what, o desert, was thy land accurs'd? thy rivers dried, thy fields consumed by thirst? thy plains in mute appeal unfruitful lie beneath a burning, stern, relentless sky that brings its showers of life-renewing rain unto the mount, but ne'er unto the plain. what secret guardest thou, o desert dread? what mystery hidest of the ages dead? doth some strange treasure lie within thy breast that thou wouldst guard from man's most eager quest? or doth there in thy solitude abide some mystery that nature fain would hide? some secret of the great creative plan too deep, too awful for the mind of man? o desert, with thy hot, consuming breath, whose glance is torture and whose smile is death, realm of the dewless night and cloudless sun, burn on until thine awful watch be done. then may the shifting winds their off'rings bring-- the yielding clouds their life-fraught dews to fling upon thy yearning, panting, scorching breast, that with abundance thou at last be bless'd. so, where thy wasted sands now barren lie, green fields may some day meet a smiling sky. where now but lurks grim, ghastly, burning death, the violet may shed its fragrant breath. it hath been said--a sure, divine decree-- that in the solitude shall gladness be; and, by that one from whom all goodness flows, that thou shalt bloom, o desert, as the rose. a. j. b. contents chapter page i.--the desert ii.--the land of thirst iii.--curious plants which live in the desert iv.--strange dwellers of the desert v.--humanity in the desert vi.--a funeral in the region of death vii.--desert basket-makers viii.--ships of the desert ix.--the story of a streak of yellow x.--desert borax mines xi.--other minerals found in the desert xii.--a remarkable harvest-field xiii.--death valley xiv.--the mouth of hades xv.--desert miscellany--unusual and peculiar features xvi.--journalism below sea-level xvii.--the end of the desert index list of illustrations page *teaming in death valley _frontispiece_ *the desert * mount san jacinto from the desert *ancient sea beach, colorado desert near coachella *when california was an island from an old spanish map. *an indian well in the desert *an oasis in the colorado desert *sentinel palm a welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden in the cañon. *an oasis dwelling thatched with palm-leaves in colorado desert this might pass for a cannibal's hut in the south sea islands. *a desert bedroom *sahuaro, or giant cactus *spanish bayonet *a desert cactus in blossom--one of many varieties *"the well of the desert" *one of the desert bloomers *a yellow diamond-back rattler desert lizard, chucawalla, closely akin to the gila monster horned toad tarantula centipede scorpion *a chemehuevi indian and coyote *a chemehuevi dwelling *a chemehuevi squaw and child *a desert dwelling on the colorado river *the desert "white house" *the funeral pyre *a mojave indian pounding mesquite beans in wooden mortar *rare tulare and pomo baskets *a yuma woman weaving coarse baskets *mojave basket-maker *the advance agent of progress *ships of the desert *bearing the red man's burden *taking on the cargo *the prospector sets forth *an aged prospector at mouth of his mine *an anxious moment--looking for the yellow streak *an aËrial ferry--prospectors crossing colorado river *a traction engine hauling borax from death valley *the painted desert *a monument in the land of thirst *a typical desert mining town plowing salt in colorado desert *teaming in death valley indian chief lying in state a desert pottery factory black buttes--phantom ship of the desert digging the imperial canal imperial church--first wooden building in lower colorado desert year-old willow trees at international line irrigating desert land desert sorghum milo maize on reclaimed desert land near heber adobe hotel, calexico, which has the only shower bath in the desert * from photographs reproduced by permission of c. c. pierce & co. the mystic mid-region chapter i the desert between the lofty ranges of mountains which mark the western boundary of the great mississippi valley and the chain of peaks known as the coast range, whose western sunny slopes look out over the waters of the placid pacific, lies a vast stretch of country once known as the "great american desert." a few years ago, before the railroad had pierced the fastness of the great west, explorers told of a vast waste of country devoid of water and useful vegetation, the depository of fields of alkali, beds of niter, mountains of borax, and plains of poison-impregnated sands. the bitter sage, the thorny cacti, and the gnarled mesquite were the tantalizing species of herbs said to abound in the region, and the centipede, the rattlesnake, tarantula, and gila monster represented the life of this desolate territory. more recently, as the railroads have spanned the continent at different points, we have knowledge of several deserts. there are the "nevada desert," the "black rock desert," the "smoke creek desert," the "painted desert," the "mojave desert," the "colorado desert," etc.; the "great american desert" being the name now applied to that alkali waste west of salt lake in utah. as a matter of fact, however, these are but local names for a great section of arid country in the united states from two hundred to five hundred miles wide, and seven hundred to eight hundred miles long, and extending far down into mexico, unbroken save for an occasional oasis furnished by nature, or small areas made habitable by irrigation. where the old union pacific drew its sinuous line across the northern section of the desert, a trail of green spots was left to mark the various watering-stations for the engines. the southern pacific railroad left a similar line of oases down through the colorado desert, and the santa fé, in like manner, dotted with green spots the great mojave desert. the water at these stations is obtained in some instances by drilling wells, and where it can not be obtained in this manner it is hauled in tank cars from other points. [illustration: the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] a portion of the desert lies below the level of the sea. death valley, in the great mojave desert, has a depression of one hundred and ten feet below sea-level, while portions of the colorado desert lie from a few feet to four hundred feet below ocean-level. in the latter desert there are square miles below sea-level, and there are several villages in this desert which would be many feet submerged were the mountain wall between sea and desert rent asunder. there is a mystery about the desert which is both fascinating and repellent. its heat, its dearth of water and lack of vegetation, its seemingly endless waste of shifting sands, the air of desolation and death which hovers over it,--all these tend to warn one away, while the very mystery of the region, the uncertainty of what lies beyond the border of fertility, tempts one to risk its terrors for the sake of exploring its weird mysteries. strange tales come out of the desert. every one who has ventured into its vastness, and who has lived to return, has brought reports of experiences and observations fraught with the deepest interest, which tend to awaken the spirit of adventure in the listener. the most famous of the american deserts are the great mojave and the colorado, the latter lying partly in the united states and partly in mexico. as trackless as the sahara, as hot and sandy as the great arabian, they contain mysteries which those deserts cannot boast. within their borders are the great salt fields of salton and of death valley, which have no counterpart in the world; the "volcanoes," a region abounding in cone-shaped mounds which vomit forth poisonous gases, hot mud, and volcanic matter, and over which region ever hang dense clouds of steam; the great niter fields and borax plains of the mojave, and other equally strange exhibitions of nature. there are other mysteries in the desert. amid its sands are gold and gems for the fortunate finder, and many are they who have lost their lives in search of these treasures. hovering over the desert, too, is that phantom, that desert apparition, the mirage, a never-ceasing wonder to the fortunate traveler who wants not for water and who is in no doubt as to his way across the dreary waste, and a never-ceasing torment and menace to the thirst-tortured wayfarer lost in the dread solitude. imagine the mockery to the thirsty traveler of a rippling sheet of water, its blue waves rolling ever in view but receding as he advances, leaving only the burning sands to the perishing one! is it any wonder that men go mad in the desert? and yet, locked in the breast of this waste is more fertility than is necessary to supply the continent with sustenance. [illustration: mount san jacinto from the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the colorado desert is thus called because the great river of that name carved it out of the sea. it is also destined to lose the name of desert because of that same river. at one time the gulf of california extended nearly up to banning, where rise those two sentinels of the plain, mt. san jacinto and mt. grayback, each towering nearly two miles above the surrounding country. this was before the colorado river had cut its way through the mountains to the sea, forming that magnificent chasm known as the grand cañon. for endless centuries the great river has been eating out the heart of the continent, pulverizing the rock and earth, and bearing it in its turbid tide down from the mountains and tablelands to the lower plains and to the sea. a part of its burden of silt was laid down over the northern portion of the gulf, and a part of it was carried by the force of the current far down into the great body of water and was piled up ninety miles below the present boundary line between mexico and the united states. this bank was about sixty miles long, extending in an easterly and westerly direction. along the right side of the current was formed a lateral embankment, which eventually shut off the river from its former inlet into the gulf and directed it to its present mouth, some two hundred miles lower. this, joining with the sixty-mile embankment, severed one portion of the gulf from the main body and left an inland sea where now is the desert. then the thirsty sun drank up the waters of this sea and left the land of desolation. how long ago all this happened is a matter of conjecture. there are many places on the boundaries of the desert where the ancient beach-line may be traced long distances. here are found numerous shells and corals. many of the shells are unbroken, and one might almost believe, to look upon them, that they were tossed there by the restless waves no longer ago than yesterday. the varieties of shells and of sea relics correspond very closely with those now abounding in the sea. [illustration: ancient sea beach, colorado desert, near coachella from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] there are evidences that the desert has been dry land many centuries. upon its breast are found indian pottery and implements of a style and pattern antedating those in use at the time the white man reached this country. then, too, as far back as the sixteenth century, when the earliest exploration of that region was made, the desert-dwelling tribes seem to have been thoroughly established in the territory once occupied by the gulf. it doubtless required centuries, after the waters were cut off from the region, to dry up the inland sea and make it possible for man to enter in and occupy the territory. it is the belief of some scholars that the land was submerged when the first spanish explorers reached the coast. in support of this theory they point to certain maps which show the gulf as covering that region. a map of the early navigators recently in the possession of general stoneman of the united states army, which was obtained by him in the city of mexico, shows the gila river as entering the gulf, whereas the gila river now enters the colorado river ninety miles north of the present mouth of the colorado. a map of california, published in by n. sanson d'abbeville, geographer to the king of france, pictures the gulf of california as extending along the entire eastern boundary of the state, and connecting with the pacific ocean on the north. this map was made from sundry drawings and accounts furnished by the early navigators, and is glaringly incorrect. it is certain that the gulf did not then, or at any time, extend to the pacific. the early explorers and map-makers conveniently guessed at matters upon which they could get no information. [illustration: when california was an island from photograph by c. c. pierce & co. from an old spanish map.] chapter ii the land of thirst when the "tenderfoot" first strikes the desert country he is surprised to learn that he is expected to pay for the water he uses for himself and for his beast. a little later he becomes indignant upon finding himself unable to purchase even a small quantity of the necessary fluid because of the extreme caution of the proprietor of some desert well where he has expected to replenish his stock of water. it is not an unusual happening for the desert traveler, who has toiled hours over the burning sands after his supply of water has been used up, to find the desert-dweller unwilling to spare a drop of his scanty supply. not all desert wells are dependable, and sometimes the solitary dweller of the oasis finds his supply exhausted; he then has to haul all the water he uses forty or fifty miles until such time as the winter rains come to replenish the vein which feeds his well. one who has never experienced it can gain no idea of the torture of thirst upon the desert. the scorching sun from a cloudless sky, with never so much as a hint of haze to temper its rays, seems fairly to drink the blood of the traveler exposed to its fierceness. from the sands rises a cloud of fine alkali dust which penetrates the nostrils and enters the mouth, stinging and inflaming the glands, and adding to the torture of thirst. a few hours of this suffering without water to alleviate the pain is sufficient to drive most men mad. it is this desert madness which travelers most fear. if one can keep a clear head he may possibly live and suffer and toil on to a place of safety, even though bereft of water many hours, but once the desert madness seizes him all hope is lost, for he no longer pursues his way methodically, but rushes off in pursuit of the alluring mirages, or chases some dream of his disordered brain which pictures to him green fields and running brooks, ever just at hand. men tortured by thirst become desperate. a thirsty man knows no law save that of might. men who would, under ordinary circumstances, scorn to do even a questionable act, will, when under the pressure of extreme thirst, fight to the death for a few drops of water. [illustration: an indian well in the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] not long ago a respectable citizen of a little california town had occasion to cross the desert at a point where water-holes were few and far apart. he depended upon obtaining water at a certain ranch, established at one of the oases on his route, and when he arrived there he and his guide and burros were in sad condition, having been several hours without water. he gave his guide a five-dollar gold-piece and told him to see the rancher and purchase the water necessary to carry them to the next watering-place. it happened that the rancher's well was in danger of going dry, and he declined the money, refusing to part with any water. pleadings were unavailing, and the guide returned to his employer and reported his inability to make a deal. then the staid citizen arose in his wrath and, with a ten-dollar gold-piece in one hand and a revolver in the other, he sought the rancher. "there is ten dollars for the water, if you will sell it," he said; "and if not, i will send you to hades and take it, anyway! now which will it be?" there was but one reply to an argument of that kind; the rancher sulkily accepted the money, the brackish water was drawn from the well, and the journey was soon resumed. as a result of this transaction, however, the rancher was obliged to take a forty-mile journey over the desert and back, to replenish his water-supply from another well. john f. mcpherson, of los angeles, manager of the nevada land office, left los angeles, in august, , to traverse the great mojave desert, on his way to look over the lands in the parumph valley, in nevada. his experience, which was by no means uncommon, is best related by himself. "i left los angeles by team," he says, "for the purpose of retracing the government surveys and making field notes. i had with me two companions, one samuel baker and a young man from the east. we proceeded over the foothills to cajon pass, thence to victor, out on the desert. it was in the burning days of a fierce, dry summer. the earth was fervid and the air quivered with the intense heat of the sun which poured its burning rays from a cloudless sky. bad luck accompanied us from the very start. at pomona, thirty miles from los angeles, we lost a horse and had to purchase another. at daggett, out in the desert, which place we reached the second day of our desert travel, we found the thermometer registering degrees in the shade. we passed through daggett and made camp, ten miles farther on, at dark. [illustration: an oasis in the colorado desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "eighteen miles beyond daggett is coyote holes, where we expected to find water to replenish the supply with which we left daggett at seven o'clock in the morning. we found the well dry when we reached there, and the place red with alkali. near the well, two pieces of two by four scantling marked the grave of some traveler who had preceded us and who had run short of water before reaching the holes. he had arrived too far gone to go farther, and his companions had remained with him till the end and had given him a burial in the sand and set the scantlings to mark the spot. those scantlings proved our salvation a little later. "by noon we had consumed all but about three gallons of our water and we determined to save this till the last extremity, for we had yet eighteen miles to go to the next watering-place, garlic springs. our horses were already in bad shape and nearly crazed for want of water. in their eagerness to reach it they plunged forward at a pace that threatened soon to exhaust them. our efforts to restrain them by means of the reins were unavailing, and we were obliged to take off our coats and throw them over the heads of the animals and then lead them by the bits in this blinded condition. "just beyond coyote holes, on the road to garlic springs, is a fearful sink known as dry lake. here the ground is shifty and treacherous and the wheels of the wagon sank deep into the sand. just as we had reached the farther side of the lake the forward axle of the wagon broke, letting the front part of the wagon fall to the ground. this frightened the horses so that they became almost unmanageable. they seemed to realize that this delay meant possible death, and their cries were almost human-like and were indeed pitiable to hear. "by this time the condition of my companions and myself was dire, and we realized that time was of the greatest importance. the thermometer registered in the shade--and no available shade. to add to our misery and increase our danger a terrible sand storm arose, blinding, stinging, and almost smothering us. "it was like standing in front of a blast furnace, opening the door, and catching at the blast. there were pounds of provisions in the wagon at the time, and if we abandoned that we were sure to perish of starvation. it could not be thought of. "we unhitched the horses and tied them to the rear of the wagon and stretched the heavy canvas which had covered the wagon over them to protect them from the sand storm. our salvation lay with the horses. if they became exhausted or broke loose, we knew that our bones would be left to bleach upon the desert sands as have the bones of so many desert travelers. "the young easterner lost his courage and cried like a baby. the three gallons of water were divided among man and beast, and then baker started back to coyote holes to get the two pieces of scantling with which to mend our broken wagon. while he was gone the young easterner and myself threw the freight from the wagon to make ready for the work of trussing up the rig when baker returned with the scantlings. "the storm continued to increase and it soon became as dark as midnight. when it came time for baker's return the storm was at such a height that we feared he would have perished in it or that he had lost his way. hour after hour passed and still he did not return, and we lost hope. at about o'clock in the evening, however, he came into camp with the scantlings. his mouth was bleeding from thirst and he was nearly blinded with the sand, but he had the material with which to repair the wagon, and hope returned to all our hearts. [illustration: sentinel palm a welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden in the cañon from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "with stout wires and the timbers we soon had our wagon in shape, and the freight was speedily loaded upon it and we prepared to resume our journey. our ill-luck, however, was not at an end, for when we attempted to attach the tongue of the wagon the king-bolt was not to be found. it was midnight when we had our wagon repaired and loaded, and it was two o'clock before we succeeded in pawing the king-bolt out of the sand where it had fallen. then we had twelve weary miles to travel before we could reach water. we were all in a terrible state when we started, and the wagon sank so deeply in the sand that our progress was fearfully slow. "twenty-four hours without water in the desert is a terrible thing. before we had covered half the distance to garlic springs baker went mad. he was for abandoning the party, and that meant, to one in his condition, certain death. there was but one thing i could think of to prevent him, and that i did. i pulled my revolver and told him if he attempted to leave the party i would shoot him. he had enough sense or sanity to heed the admonition, and he stayed with us. i had to carry my revolver in my hand, however, and constantly keep an eye on him. it was ten o'clock when we reached the springs, and we were all on the verge of delirium. it was several hours before our swollen and parched throats would admit more than a very few drops of water at a time. we bathed in the water, soaked towels in it and sucked at the ends, and by degrees fought away the demon of thirst. baker spent five weeks in a hospital after reaching civilization, and we all were unfitted for hard work for a long time." it is easy to gather tales of this sort from the towns bordering upon the deserts. there are still more disastrous tales which remain untold because none survive to relate them. items similar to the one herewith given are by no means rare. the subjoined one is an associated press dispatch dated imperial, april , . it says: "five human skeletons were found to-day at the east side of the salton river, making eighteen found to date on the part of the desert being brought under irrigation. the presumption is that the persons may have perished from thirst as many have done in this region, which a few months ago was utter barrenness. nothing has been found to give any clew to the identity of these persons whose bones may have lain on the desert for many years." down in the colorado desert is a well which is bringing its owner a fortune. within a radius of fifty or sixty miles are a score or more of mining camps where no water is to be found. prospectors and other travelers, also, frequently pass that way, and there is no other water for many miles about. these travelers and the residents of the mining camps are glad to pay handsomely for water from this well. the proprietor has built tanks and loading apparatus for the convenience of his patrons, and he has established the following schedule of prices: [illustration: an oasis dwelling thatched with palm leaves in colorado desert this might pass for a cannibal's hut in the south sea islands from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] gallons, or less, cents per gallon. two-horse load, cents per gallon. four-horse load, cents per gallon. the well is a very deep one and the water was obtained by drilling. it requires a power-pump to raise the water to the surface, and the fuel to run the boiler and engine has to be hauled many miles across the desert sands, so, after all, the rates for water are not so exorbitant as they may seem at first glance. every year the great deserts of the west claim scores of victims, the most of whom die of thirst. men go out into the arid plains, are not again heard from, and their fate remains, in many cases, a mystery to the end of time. again, beside a bleaching skeleton is found a trinket or belonging which serves to identify the remains. sometimes the identification comes long after death, as in the case of a los angeles prospector who years ago left that city with a companion to cross the desert. the two men lost their way, and the prospector, leaving his companion with the burros at the foot of an eminence, climbed to the top to take a survey of the country and try to get his bearings. after waiting an hour or more for him to return, his comrade began searching for him, and after several hours of vain seeking he resumed the journey alone and eventually reached his destination in safety. twenty years later some prospectors found human bones upon the desert and beside them a hunting-knife and a watch which had belonged to the long-lost prospector. he had died within two miles of good water. here and there in the solitudes of these great saharas may be seen rude crosses, or stones heaped into mounds, to mark the spot where, in horrible torture, some human life went out. and, strange as it may seem, these graves are more plentiful in the vicinity of the oases than elsewhere. to drink heavily after several hours of abstinence is almost certain death. many a poor fellow has struggled on through hours of extreme torture, buoyed up by the thoughts of the refreshing draught awaiting him, only to die in agony from drinking too deeply of the precious potion. [illustration: a desert bedroom from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] sometimes death comes from a very different cause. not long ago a veteran prospector was taking a party across the desert, and saw in the distance a green spot on the plain. they were headed for timber mountain, where good water is plentiful, but they had run short of water some hours before, and were nearly choked with thirst. they turned from their course to visit the green spot, believing that water would be found there. they were not mistaken, for a bubbling spring greeted their eyes, a sight more welcome than would have been a mine of gold, but about the spring were strewn a number of human skeletons, indicating that a goodly sized caravan had met death there. they were too thirsty to pause to make inquiry as to the cause of this wholesale fatality, and hurried on to the spring to cool their parched tongues. the leader of the party, however, was suspicious and insisted that no one should take more than a few drops of the water at that time. his caution proved their salvation, for within a few minutes after drinking of the water all were taken violently ill. the spring was a natural arsenic fountain. as soon as the party was able to travel the journey was resumed and timber mountain was reached in safety. the guide carried away some of the water for analysis and thus learned of the properties of the spring. later, he returned and set up a sign to inform travelers of the dangerous character of the water. chapter iii curious plants which live in the desert in the mystic mid-region grows vegetation as weird and wonderful as the region which it inhabits. the mojave yucca (_clistoyucca arborescens_) is a strange freak of vegetation found nowhere else in the world. the palo-verde stands grim and sentinel-like, along the banks of the colorado river which skirts the deserts, an evergreen but leafless tree with curious branches which cross and recross each other, forming a perfect network of green vegetation. cacti in innumerable variety abound in certain portions of the deserts, from the tiny prickly balls covered with long gray hairs to the giant sahuaro which attains a height of fifty feet. in some places the deer-bush thrives: this plant is so named because of the resemblance borne by its branches to the horns of a deer. there are also sage, mesquite, chaparral, and greasewood, and numbers of other peculiar species of plants. [illustration: sahuaro, or giant cactus from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] cacti are the most numerous of the species of vegetable life. the several varieties all have their uses to those versed in the lore of the desert. in them the indians, who make the desert their home, find food, drink, raiment, and shelter. this is particularly true of the _cereus giganteus_, which is abundant in the arid regions of southern arizona, new mexico, texas, and mexico. this plant grows, in many cases, to a height of fifty feet. in some sections it grows so thickly that several hundred plants are found on a single acre. the plant consists of a main trunk which rises to a height of from ten to twenty feet, and then branches into two, three, or several columns, which grow upright several feet. the main trunk and branches are ribbed, and these ribs are thickly studded with clusters of heavy spines, which if lighted will burn readily, the flame running up the ribbed columns, seeking and burning all the spines thereon. this fact has given rise to the name of "arizona candle" which is often applied to the giant cactus. alternating with the spiny ribs, and just beneath the epidermis, are ligneous fascicles--one for each rib--which serve as a support for the soft tissues which constitute the bulk of the plant. these fascicles are from twenty to forty feet long, according to the height of the plant, and are from one to three inches in diameter. they constitute the framework or skeleton of the plant, and are left standing when the plant itself dies from age or other cause. this frame is of great value to the desert indians or to desert travelers who know its properties. the fascicles make excellent firewood, and when cut into required lengths they are used as pickets with which to build corrals, and for the roofs to the adobe huts. the spines of the plant are also used by the indians as combs. the plant lives to be more than one hundred and fifty years old, as has been determined by counting the layers of growth. the first flowers appear when the plant has attained a height of eight or ten feet, and they come into bloom early in may and continue in blossom till near the middle of june. the blossoms are large, white, and waxy. the flowers are borne in the axils of the bunches of spines, often fifty or more blossoms in the summit of a single branch. it comes to fruit in august, and then it is that the indians ride from plant to plant and with long poles detach the fruit, which is gathered and preserved as food or is made into an intoxicating drink of which they are very fond. [illustration: spanish bayonet from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] another plant, a species of yucca, abundant in the southern deserts, is the spanish bayonet. these plants have a thick, palm-like stem or trunk with long, thick, spine-pointed leaves. the flowering stem shoots up many feet in height and bears myriads of white, showy, panicled flowers, lily-like in appearance. as many as six thousand blossoms have been observed upon a single plant. an interesting peculiarity of this plant is that it cannot pollenize itself, but is obliged to depend for its perpetuity upon a little moth whose sole aim in life seems to be to perform the work of pollenizing this plant. this moth does not eat the honey or pollen of the plant, but lays her eggs upon the stigma of the flower and then gathers the pollen of the blossom and deposits it over the eggs, thus protecting the eggs and pollenizing the plant at the same time. the larvæ hatch at the time that the flower goes into seed, and the grubs feast upon the seeds, destroying a part of them, but leaving enough to keep up the supply of plants. the indians eat the undeveloped flower-shoots of this plant raw, the stalks are roasted over hot stones and make a very palatable dish; the fruit, which is cylindrical and yellow, ripening in august and september, is eaten raw, and is also dried for future use. it is pulpy, sweet, and nourishing. the mojave yucca is a remarkable plant, which resembles in its nature both the cactus and the palm. it is found nowhere save in the mojave desert. it attains a height of thirty or forty feet, and the trunk, often two or three feet in diameter, supports half a dozen irregular branches, each tipped with a cluster of spine-like leaves. the flowers, which are of a dingy white color, come out in march and last till may, giving off a disagreeable odor. the fruit, however, which is two or three inches long, is pulpy and agreeable, resembling a date in flavor. from the base of the plant radiate countless roots. these lie near the surface and extend a long distance, absorbing such moisture as they find with avidity. one of the peculiarities of the yucca wood is its ability to store moisture. the fiber of the wood is cellular, and it is almost equal to a sponge in its capacity for storing and retaining water. fully sixty per cent. of its weight is sap. [illustration: a desert cactus in blossom--one of many varieties from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the trunk and branches of the tree are covered, a portion of the time, with bristling reflex leaves, which finally fall, showing that bark has been added to the tree. a sectional view of this bark shows concentric rings such as characterize exogenous stems. as the yucca is an endogen, this peculiarity is a remarkable one. like its cousin, the sahuaro, the mojave yucca is a friend to the indians, who eat of the fruit when fresh, and dry it to be used when it is out of season. they also utilize the flower-buds and blossoms in preparing a stew, which, if not tempting to the appetite, is at least nourishing, and with them that is the main object of food. the seeds, when dried, are ground in rude mortars and used for mush and in making a sort of bread. in the middle and northern desert, where the cacti are not so plentiful, there grows the _allenrolpea occidentalis_, or greasewood. this shrub grows to the height of four or five feet, and is a leafless, jointed-branched plant, which appears to be too succulent to burn unless plucked and left for days to dry. the reverse is the case, however, for, if lighted, the plant will make an excellent fire when green, but if cut for a few hours it becomes so watery that nothing can induce it to burn. though the days on the desert are terrifically hot, the nights are apt to be chilly, and the greasewood often proves a most welcome friend to the traveler. another friend to the desert wanderer is the _chlorogalum pomeridianum_, or soap plant. this grows from two to five feet high and has a bulbous root two or more inches in thickness which is an excellent substitute for soap--hence its name. the leaves are from one to two and one half feet in length, and from an inch to an inch and a half in thickness. the plant flowers in july and august, the blossoms opening in the afternoon only. the bulb of the plant lies deep in the earth and has the power of storing moisture, in time of rain, for the long, dry months which follow. as previously stated, the numbers of the cactus family to be found in various portions of the desert are almost innumerable. in a three-days' journey through the southern desert, taken early in may, the writer noted forty-two different varieties of cacti in blossom. these ranged from the delicate bloom of tiny plants to the gorgeous blossoms of the giant species, thirty, forty, and even fifty feet in height. [illustration: "the well of the desert" from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] it was a most memorable trip. at no other season of the year does the desert present so gay an appearance as in may and early june. blossoms, white, pink, yellow, purple, and scarlet, are to be seen on all sides, till one loses the idea that he is in the desert and almost dreams that he is in some wonderful garden. but there are no sparkling fountains and grassy lawns to complete the illusion; only the thorny shrubs with their vivid blossoms and the scorching sands, the dust, the thirst, and the cloudless sky above. a very common species of cactus is the nopal or prickly-pear, the fruit of which is known as the tuna, and which is much prized both by indians and by mexicans. a welcome plant to the desert traveler is the bisnaga, or "well of the desert." this is a cylindrical-shaped green plant thickly covered with sharp spines. by cutting out the center of the plant, a bowl is formed which quickly fills with water of an excellent quality, affording a palatable drink to the thirsty traveler. many a life has been saved by these plants, and there have been a number of instances recorded where travelers, ignorant of the properties of the plant, have died of thirst in the midst of them. another cactus found in the southern desert is the grape cactus, which bears in clusters fruit resembling the tuna. the fruit is green without and purple within, is juicy, melting, and luscious. a very common and ungainly plant is the ocotilla, growing clusters of straight poles from ten to fifteen feet in height, which are covered with spines. the poles terminate in long spikes of beautiful scarlet blossoms. the maguey or mescal, sometimes misnamed the century plant, is common along the foothills bordering the desert. it is from this plant that the mexicans and indians distil the fiercely intoxicating drink known as mescal, which contains a large percentage of alcohol of a villainous quality. from the cluster of spiked leaves, which attain a height of four or five feet, springs a pole ten to twelve feet tall, which bears large clusters of small yellow flowers filled with a sickishly sweet syrup. the maguey furnishes the native indian with both food and clothing. from the fibers of the leaves he weaves coarse cloth, and the inner leaves, when stripped and cooked in the earth ovens by surrounding them with stones heated on coals, are considered a delicacy. snake-weed is the name given a low-growing plant with a pulpy leaf, because when the leaves are crushed and applied to the wound, in case of snake-bite, they serve as an antidote to the poison. [illustration: one of the desert bloomers from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] pectis, or creosote bush, is another desert plant, with odor not unlike the essence of lemon. it is prized by the indians for its medicinal properties. there are a number of other varieties of plants--mostly of the cactus family--which contribute to the sustenance of the indians of the desert, but it is in the fibrous tissues of the giant cactus and the yuccas that they find their material for the weaving of garments, plaiting ropes, and making baskets and other articles of use and ornament. of late years the squaws of the several desert tribes have found the making of baskets and other trinkets for sale to curio hunters a very profitable undertaking. one squaw of the mojave indians received more than three thousand dollars in a single year for work of that sort. and the desert, which flaunts the banner of death in the face of the stranger, hands out its treasures to its children, and they live and thrive and love it. there is a little flower found growing in certain portions of california's deserts, which fulfills the poet's statement embodied in the couplet: "full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air." the little yellow blossom has, so far as the writer knows, no name in the text-books on botany. it is a tiny blossom, growing very close to the ground, and it opens only at night. then, whoso chances to pass through a patch of these flowers is treated to incense such as never exhaled from the most redolent orange orchard. [illustration: a yellow diamond-back rattler from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the perfume is given off in vast quantities, and is sweet beyond the power of language to describe, yet it is not the sickening, overpowering perfume of some plants. one does not need to lift the flower to the face to get the fragrance,--the air is fairly saturated with the sweet odor. the daylight, however, puts an end to both blossom and perfume. there is not a sign of the blossom to be found when the morning sun lights up the desert plain. it is only the night traveler who is favored with the sweet experience arising from an acquaintance with this strange plant. chapter iv strange dwellers of the desert the representatives of the animal kingdom in the desert are fully as strange and curious as are the specimens of vegetable life. it may seem strange that animal life should exist at all in this region of death and desolation, but several forms of creatures seem to find this dread region congenial. in keeping with its surroundings is the _crotalus cerastes_, one of the most deadly of the rattlesnake family. it is known to the frequenters of the desert region as the "sidewinder," because of its alleged propensity for springing sidewise at the object of its wrath, and because it travels with a sidelong motion. the bite of this creature is considered to be certain death, and it is a saying in the west, when some unusually frightful catastrophe overtakes one: "it was a regular sidewinder." the sidewinder is of a grayish color, mottled with dark blotches. it is found in the very heart of the desert, miles and miles from any known supply of water, and it is believed by many to be able to exist without that fluid. near the borders of the desert the great yellow diamond-back rattler, _crotalus horridus_, is found, as well as a species of constrictor known as the "bull snake." the latter grows to a length of ten or twelve feet and, while formidable to look upon, is perfectly harmless. [illustration: desert lizard, chucawalla, closely akin to the gila monster] such innocence is not claimed for the gila monster, _heloderina horridum_, which is found in the southern portion of the colorado desert. this huge lizard is like the chameleon in one respect: it changes its color to conform to its surroundings. it is in the main of a yellow hue, with dark markings which change to a gray or to a reddish tint according to the character of the soil about its abiding-place. when it lies quietly upon the earth it is very difficult to detect it because of this resemblance to the soil. the gila monster attains a length of nearly two feet. it is covered with horny protuberances and scales similar to the horned toad, so called. when angry it makes a hissing noise not unlike that made by a serpent. [illustration: horned toad] the horned toad--which is not a toad, but the lizard _phrynosoma_--is an innocent little fellow, attaining a length of six or eight inches at the most. there was a time when his reputation for evil was second only to that of the gila monster. now that he is better known he has become a plaything of children and a pet in many a household. a common creature in the portions of the desert in which cacti abound is the cactus rat, a small rodent about midway in size between the mouse and the ordinary rat. he is provided with a bushy tail which he carries over his back, squirrel fashion. he lives upon the barrel cactus, a plant so protected by spines as to seem unapproachable by man or animal. the cunning rat, however, has found a way of attacking this formidable vegetable. he burrows in the earth at the foot of the plant and comes at it from beneath. one specimen of the matured plant will keep a colony of the rats several months. they gnaw at its vitals till nothing but the empty shell remains, then they emigrate to some other plant and there set up housekeeping for another six or eight months. living so far from a habitable country, the rat finds few enemies to molest it. the rattler is about the only creature which preys upon it, therefore it thrives and multiplies in the midst of the fearful region it has chosen for its home. it is astonishing to the desert traveler, after he has crossed half a hundred miles of parched and barren territory, to find about the spring of an oasis tortoises basking in the sun or swimming in the waters of the desert well. [illustration: tarantula] the desert tortoise differs from the ordinary tortoise in several respects. it never exceeds in length over fifteen or sixteen inches, but in form and other characteristics it more nearly resembles the sea turtle than it does the tortoise. this leads to the belief that the desert specimen is the descendant of a sea turtle that throve in the waters of the gulf when it extended over the now desert country. change of conditions from sea to land--and most forbidding land at that--is supposed to have dwarfed the original species till a new one is the outcome of the change. [illustration: centipede] if one familiarizes himself with the desert, he will find that the rattler and the gila monster are not the only representatives of the "poison people" in that region. the scorpion, the tarantula, and the centipede make their home there and add to the dangers and terrors of desert travel. there are also animals found here and there in the desert and along its borders, which cannot be classed as typical desert animals. bands of wild horses and wild burros are known to roam the formidable region, migrating from oasis to oasis, cropping the grasses at one place till they are exhausted, then moving across the burning sands, guided by unerring instinct, to the next green spot in the desert, twenty, forty, or perhaps fifty miles away. the coyote, too, finds his way to nearly all portions of the desert, and even in the midst of the great desolate waste his uncanny cry goes up in the night-time, making the darkness still more lonely for the chance traveler who pitches his tent in the land of terror. [illustration: scorpion] few birds are seen in the desert after one has left the border-lands behind, but there is one inhabitant of the air which is never absent. hovering ever over the region of death is the vulture, ready to settle down to his grewsome feast the moment thirst and heat shall have robbed his victim of life. one may scan the heavens with never a sight of one of these birds while all goes well with himself and his beast, but let one of his horses or burros fall by the way, and lo! from the heavens descend numbers of the birds, and, should a traveler pass that way a few hours later, he would find but the whitening bones of the animal and a few fragments of the hide. and were he to look aloft, he, too, would discern not a speck against the blue canopy above him. chapter v humanity in the desert why human beings should have chosen such a place as the desert for their habitation is a mystery without a solution. possibly the forefathers of the present dwellers of the region fled thither to escape the oppression of tribes more powerful and war-like than their own. be that as it may, there dwell in the great mojave and in the colorado deserts several tribes of men who, according to their traditions, have made their home there many centuries. up in the death valley region is a tribe known as the panamint indians. they live in rude huts built of sticks and mud, and they subsist upon the most disgusting of foods. at a certain season of the year owen's lake and several smaller saline lakes in that region abound with a white grub--the larva of a two-winged fly, _ephydra californica_--called by the indians "koochabee." the indians visit the lakes at the season of the year when the grub is most plentiful, and from the shores of the lakes they gather them where the waves throw them up in windrows several inches deep. the grubs are dried and are then pulverized in rude stone mortars. the powder is used in making a sort of bread which is highly prized as an article of food. [illustration: a chemehuevi indian and coyote from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] snakes and lizards are also cooked and eaten by the panamints, and their vegetable diet consists chiefly of leaves and buds of cactus plants and other wild herbs. they are not agriculturists and are but indifferent hunters. they seem contented with their lot and evince no desire to leave the desert for a more habitable region. the seri indians are found at the extreme southern portion of the desert. at one time there were considerable numbers of them in the colorado desert, but in the mexican government, then in possession of the territory, removed them to the island of tiburon, where the greater number now live. a few families are to be found, however, in the vicinity of the "volcanoes" in the colorado desert. the seri indians are unreasoning, treacherous, and indolent. the women of the tribe command great respect from the men, and the family relationship is always traced through the mother. in the language or dialect of the tribe there is no equivalent to the word "father," although there is for "mother." little attention is paid to the death of a male member of the tribe, but when a woman dies the funeral ceremonies are elaborate. the cocopahs are another banished tribe, now occupying the desert region south of the boundary line between the united states and mexico. not many years ago their chief village was a few miles from yuma, which town was their trading-post. smallpox broke out in the indian village, but the indians continued to visit yuma and soon carried the disease thither. when the authorities learned the source of the infection they forbade the indians to come to the town, and to insure obedience to the command, a mounted guard was placed about the indian village. two indians one day eluded the guards and walked into yuma. then the edict of banishment went forth. the indians were driven from their homes and across the border into mexico, and the village and all effects left behind became food for the flames. [illustration: a chemehuevi dwelling from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the cocopahs, as a rule, are of fine physique, hardy, and nimble, but like all desert tribes they are unprogressive. a peculiar burial custom prevails among these indians. as a rule they wear their hair long--a custom with all of the western tribes--but upon the death of a relative it is cut. if the deceased was a distant relative the hair is but slightly shortened. if a very near relative it is cut close to the head. the nearness of kinship is easily determined by the length of hair of the mourners. a still more curious custom prevails in connection with the marriage ceremony. before a cocopah girl may become a bride she must be buried over night in the earth. a hole is first dug in the sand deep enough to admit her in a sitting posture. then a fire is built in the pit and is made to burn till the earth is thoroughly warmed. it is then extinguished, and the bride enters the grave and is buried to the neck in the earth. here she remains till the morning, when she is ready for the marriage ceremony. occupying the region between these dwellers of the extreme southern portion of the desert and the tribe first described are the mojave indians and the yumas. the indians of these tribes are of good stature, but they are dull, coarse, and unprogressive. they live in rude huts, curiously constructed of twigs, stones, and mud. the occupation of the men consists in an occasional visit to the fertile country in search of game, or to the mountains in search of turquoise, a gem much prized by nearly all the indian tribes. the women make baskets and toys, blankets, and beaded ornaments to sell to curio dealers, whose agents make frequent visits among them to gather up these articles. they live upon fish taken from the colorado river, game taken in their occasional hunting excursions, and upon dishes prepared from cacti. a sort of government is maintained. they have their chiefs and medicine men, the latter being second in power and importance. the medicine men practice the healing art, depending more upon mysterious rites and incantations than upon herbs and medicines for their cures. among the indians of the northern desert it is the custom, as it is with some other western tribes, to execute the medicine man when he shall have lost his third patient. [illustration: a chemehuevi squaw and child from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the chemehuevi indians are also desert-dwellers. they depend chiefly upon nature to supply them with food and other necessities. the desert cactus furnishes a large proportion of their food. the fibers of the plants are woven into a coarse cloth, which gives them clothing, and mud and sticks form the material for their houses. like the other desert tribes, they know of no more desirable spot for an abiding-place; and no greater sorrow could come to them than to be told that they were to be transported to a land of "green fields and running brooks." the desert is their home. they know its peculiarities and its mysteries; it keeps them and lets them live, and they love it. why should they long for that which is strange, and for which their natures are not adapted? chapter vi a funeral in the region of death in the great weird wastes which make up the mojave desert, death is king. he sits enthroned in the terrible region known as death valley, and from that fiery pit he stretches forth his fleshless fingers over all the desert region, and exacts a fearful toll from the desert-dwellers and from those who travel through his domain. to the mojave indians, a visit from the great destroyer comes as an event. in their lives few incidents occur to relieve the monotony of existence in that barren, isolated, and uneventful region, and the circumstances attending the taking off of a member of the tribe are made the most of. even in the case of the death of the most humble member of the community the rites are elaborate and prolonged. the traditions of the tribe do not record any funeral so memorable as was that of the recently deceased chief, sutuma, who had ruled his people for more than half a century. [illustration: a desert dwelling on the colorado river from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] sutuma was of a royal line. his father, his fathers father, and his father's father's father had ruled the tribe before him, even as his son is now presiding over the affairs of his people. sutuma's father was chief of the mojaves when padre junipero serra, the founder of the california missions, came into the desert from the san gabriel mission in search of a fabled city supposed to be located in the midst of the great desert. this city was reported to be a mighty pile of stately stone buildings, with walls and towers and domes and spires in profusion. indians told the good father of having viewed the city from a distance and, believing that he was about to discover a civilized race of beings, padre junipero set out for the desert on an expedition of discovery. when he had passed the barrier of mountains at what is now known as cajon pass, he looked out upon the great desert spread before him and lo! miles away, plainly outlined against the azure sky, was the wonderful city. it was, as had been described, a city of walls, and spires, and lofty buildings. with exultant cries the padre and his followers made haste toward it. when they had traveled several hours the city seemed no nearer. when darkness compelled them to pitch their tents for the night it appeared to be as far away as when they had started toward it in the morning. when they arose on the following day and turned their eyes toward the point whither they had been traveling, the city had disappeared. disappointed and filled with alarm, the padre and his men prepared to return to san gabriel. before they had completed their arrangements for the return journey the city reappeared. when they had journeyed city-ward half a day, and it seemed still as far away as ever, they met a party of indians. these indians were mojaves, and at their head was their chief, the father of sutuma. by means of the sign language the indians made the padre understand that the city was a phantom and did not really exist, and the disappointed party turned back. it was the padre's first experience with the mirage, that phenomenon of refraction and reflection which has lured so many men to their death in this same desert. [illustration: the desert "white house" from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the mojaves cremate their dead. when sutuma passed away, his body was arrayed in all the splendor which his regal wardrobe afforded and he was laid in state under the thatched roof of an open approach to the "white house" of the mojave desert. during the three days in which the silent form lay awaiting the final rites, it was surrounded by a band of mourners who uttered cries and lamentations unceasingly. old morabico, the aged prophetess of the tribe, with eyes raised heavenward, recounted, in a chanting monotone, the joys of the spirit land whither the departed chief would go when the fires of the funeral pile had freed the captive spirit. braves of the tribe hid their faces against the supporting posts of the structure and uttered doleful cries till exhaustion compelled them to give way to other braves who in like manner wailed their grief. women and children, seated about the form of their late chief, added their voices to the mournful chorus. on the evening of the third day, the body of the old chieftain was borne on the shoulders of six strong young braves to a huge pyre out on the plain some distance from the village. here were found waiting the men, women, and children of the tribe and the official chanters, or poets-laureate who officiate on such occasions. the body was laid upon the pile of fagots, and it was then securely bound to an upright stake and the torch applied. two of the chanters took their places at the head and foot of the body, and the third began running about the pyre, chanting in a loud voice the virtues of the departed. the indians are natural poets. the simpleness of diction, the imagery of thought and directness of statement, render their improvised measures exceedingly attractive. much of the charm of their poetry is lost in the translation and the writer cannot give, with any degree of accuracy a rendition of the poems thus weirdly chanted about the blazing pile. the following will give an idea of the words of the chanters: "he is dead, he is dead! it is sutuma our chief, our beloved. he lived an hundred years and did no evil. he was the son of an hundred chiefs and he was wise. his words were like drops of water on thirsty ground. his deeds were good and they will live forever." this poet continued to chant his improvised epic as he ran about the pyre, till he became exhausted, when he exchanged places with one of his companions who took up the strain and went on: [illustration: the funeral pyre from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "the sun is darkened because our chief is gone. the stars weep dewdrops because he is dead. the wind sings sorrowfully because he lies low. when he was alive the earth was very glad. his household rejoiced because of his good sayings. his braves were fearless because he was strong. he was great, he was good, he was full of wisdom. he is dead and the earth groans with its sorrow." from time to time the chanters changed places, and the poem of praise and sorrow continued till the fire burned low and died out. then the old prophetess, morabico, lifted from the embers a handful of ashes, which she cast upon the winds saying: "to the glad land waft thy spirit. be there happy ever as thou art entitled to be because of thy goodness and wisdom." then, in the blackness of the night, lighted only by the stars above, the picturesque band journeyed back into the lonely desert village, and the funeral was at an end. chapter vii desert basket-makers in the midst of a region so repellent that a large part of it remains comparatively unknown and unexplored, one art has reached a state of perfection unattained in civilized communities. this is the art of basket-making. when, in , marcos de niza, in his explorations northward from mexico, entered the great desert region, he found peoples equipped with baskets of wonderful make and of marvelous fineness, such as the enlightened nations of europe could not produce. the basket-makers of that time had all the skill that is known to their descendants to-day. more than three and one-half centuries have passed since then, but it has marked no improvement in the art. it was perfect then; it was perfect as far back as the traditions of that early day could trace it. it is an art to which civilization can add nothing; on the contrary, civilization threatens it with retrogression. [illustration: a mojave indian pounding mesquite beans in wooden mortar from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] neither history nor tradition goes back far enough to determine when the art of plaiting and weaving had its birth, nor can we find evidence of a period when the work of the weaver has been less perfect. progressiveness in those lines has been at the expense of the quality of the article produced. while the indian is weaving a single blanket the modern loom will produce thousands, but never has loom been invented which could produce a blanket equal in quality to the hand-made blanket turned out by some of the indian tribes who inhabit the arid lands of the west. almost all the basket-weaving tribes--and that includes nearly every tribe west of the rocky mountains--have legends pointing to the antiquity of the art. the pomo indians of northern california tell that when the progenitors of their tribe were created, the great spirit furnished them with food in conical, water-tight baskets which served them as patterns for future work in that line. the navajos learned the art by patterning after the baby-baskets in which the infant gods of war were sent to them, and the havasupais believe that the daughter of the good god tochopa taught the art to her daughter, from whom the tribe descended. the basket plays an important part in the affairs of the desert indian. it is his cradle in infancy; it is necessary in his domestic life, baskets being used in which to store his grain, cook his meals, serve his food, and carry his burdens. it figures in religious ceremonies, in marriage festivals, and in funeral rites. it forms a part of the decoration of his home, and serves him as a repository for his precious turquoise, wampum, and other treasures. his water-supply is brought and stored in baskets, the history and traditions of his tribe are woven into basket designs, and of late years, since the curio hunter is abroad in the land, the basket has become a very fertile source of revenue, bringing, in some instances, actual wealth. indian baskets may be divided into four general classes: . burden baskets, such as are used for the carrying of loads of various kinds. these are generally of coarse material and are quite likely to be the work of old men who are incapacitated for other labor, or of young members of the tribe who are learning the art of basket-weaving. [illustration: rare tulare and pomo baskets from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] . domestic baskets, including the granaries, cooking utensils, water-bottles, and other baskets in general use about the house. in this line may be classed the baskets in which are cradled the infants. . jewel baskets, which are used for holding articles of value and trinkets prized by the householder, and baskets used solely for ornamental purposes. . ceremonial, embracing such as have sacred significance and historical import, and those used at feasts and festivals and at marriages and funerals. it may seem strange to speak of using baskets in which to cook food, but this is a common practice with certain tribes. vegetables are boiled and mush is cooked in baskets, by dropping into the basket with the food stones which have been heated on live coals. certain foods are also cooked in shallow baskets, which have been lined with clay, by placing live coals beside the food, and then skilfully twirling the basket in such a manner as to keep the food and coals constantly changing places, but at the same time separate from each other. by occasionally blowing into the dish the mess is kept free from ashes and the coals are kept glowing. the designs which appear in indian baskets are not merely artistic conceptions of the weavers, but have significance. the sacred baskets are dedicated to certain purposes suggested by the designs woven in them. thus the cobweb pattern in a hopi basket signifies that it is to be used in conveying offerings to the "spider woman," as one of the deities or saints in the hopi calendar is designated. even the seeming miscalculation in the weaving of patterns is by design, as in the instance of patterns which apparently are calculated to run entirely around the basket but fail to join at the place of meeting. the opening is purposely left that the evil spirits may find a place of exit and pass out before they have opportunity to work harm to the possessor of the basket. the colors in the design have their significance. red means triumph or success; blue signifies defeat; black represents death; white denotes peace and happiness. colors are also used to designate the points of the compass. yellow symbolizes the north because, as the indians explain, the light of the morning is yellow in the winter season when the sun rises toward the north instead of directly in the east. blue stands for the west because the blue waters of the pacific are in that direction. red is the sign of the south, for that is the region of summer and the red sun. white represents the east, for the sky grows white in the east at the rising of the sun. [illustration: a yuma woman weaving coarse baskets from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] with most tribes red is a sacred color. it is symbolical of blood, which is the life and strength of man, and is therefore the source of his success and achievement. a variety of material is used in basket-making, and by observing the kind of material used the expert collector is able to determine very closely the authorship of the basket, as well as to read from the designs the purpose for which it was created. different tribes use different materials, and, naturally, those found nearest at hand. southern california indians make use of tule and certain fine grasses found in that part of the state. the pomos, who are exceedingly adept weavers, use a tough slough-grass, capable of being split, and willow shoots. havasupais use willows and certain fibrous plants found growing in the strange cañon which is their home. the hopi indians use yucca and grasses, while the indians of northern california make use of spruce roots and fibrous barks found in that locality. the panamint indians of death valley use year-old willow shoots, stalks of the aromatic sumac, fibers of the pods of the unicorn plant, and roots of the yucca. color is gained by various methods. sometimes the bright red, green, and scarlet plumage of birds is used. natural colors are much employed. the brown designs are mostly made by the use of maiden-hair fern stalks. black is usually obtained by dyeing the material used with martynia pods; red from yucca roots and certain berries; green from willow bark; pink and various shades of red from the juice of the blackberry, and other colors and shades from various barks and fruits. basket-making has recently become a fad with white women, but the dusky woman need not fear the rivalry of her white sister. civilization has too many claims upon her, and she has too little time and strength to devote to the work to permit of her spending weeks in searching mountain, valley, and plain for the material, and toiling months in the weaving, of a single basket. even were she to do this, she could not weave into it the traditions of a race, the faith of a religion, the longings of a soul, and the poetry of a people. until this is possible, the indian basket will stand without a peer and its maker without a rival. [illustration: mojave basket-maker from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] chapter viii ships of the desert an account of the desert which omitted to make mention of the burro would be woefully incomplete. the burro has been one of the most important factors in desert exploration and development. he is far more sagacious and enduring than the horse or mule. he is to the american desert what the camel is to the deserts of the eastern hemisphere. few persons are aware that camels were once used upon the american deserts, but such are the facts. ten years after the pathfinder, general john c. fremont, crossed the desert and traversed the golden state, and four years after marshall had thrilled the world with his discovery of gold in northern california, jefferson davis, secretary of state under president pierce, consigned to mr. l. p. redwine, of los angeles, a lot of camels, to be used in transporting supplies to government posts located in the arid regions. the camels were delivered to mr. redwine, at los angeles, in , and one of his first assignments was the transporting of a lot of supplies to the troops stationed at fort mojave at the eastern confines of the great mojave desert. then, as now, a tribe of indians dwelt in the vicinity of the fort, but, unlike the present time, they were hostile to whites, and unprotected parties fared but poorly at their hands. redwine had completed the greater part of his journey to the fort when his caravan wound around the foot of a clump of hills and came unexpectedly upon an encampment of mojave indians. it is doubtful which party was the more surprised, the indians at the sight of the strange cavalcade, or the whites at witnessing the frantic efforts of the redskins to put space between themselves and the approaching caravan. the sight of the camels was too much for them. it was the most complete rout in the history of the frontier. a little later, when the caravan reached the fort, there was another surprise. the horses and mules corraled near the fort proved as timid as the indians, and a general stampede ensued. the corral was broken down, and it took the soldiers several days to gather in the scattered herd. the camels forthwith became objects of hatred to the bluecoats. [illustration: the advance agent of progress from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] as a means of transportation the camels were a success. the heat and drought and sands of the desert were as naught to them, and they throve on hardships that would have proven fatal to horses or mules, but their approach to a military post was a signal for a stampede of the stock, and the camels were marked for destruction. every now and then, as opportunity offered, the soldiers would shoot down one or more of the camels till their numbers were so reduced that there were not enough for a caravan. then the remnant of the herd was turned loose in the desert, to live or die as might happen. true to instinct, the liberated animals sought an oasis, and there they began to multiply. later, however, hunters shot them for sport, and, so far as is now known, they have become extinct. redwine, the man who introduced the camels to the deserts of california, closed his earthly career in the desert town of imperial in july, . much of mr. redwine's life was spent in the deserts of the great west, and this region of mystery, so terrifying to most men, seemed to possess for him a peculiar charm, and when the desert city of imperial was started he left his comfortable home in phoenix, arizona, to take part in the founding of this town. when the camel project came to an end, the burro came to the front and has since held the foremost place as a means of desert transportation in localities not reached by the railroads. the burro is a native of spain, and he came to america at the time of the spanish conquest. he carried the accoutrements of cortez through mexico and into the montezumian capital. he was with de soto when he journeyed into the heart of the american continent. de balboa was indebted to him for the opportunity to discover the greatest of oceans. the padres who planted the chain of missions through mexico, and who three hundred and fifty years ago reared the walls of the mission of san xavier del bac, in arizona, had the assistance of the burro. the franciscan fathers, who more than a century ago dotted the coast of california with another chain of missions, depended upon the burro for aid, and he did not disappoint them. and so for more than three centuries he has been in the procession of progress and has marched at its head. [illustration: ships of the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the fortunes of the spaniard have fluctuated, but the burro has known no rise nor fall in his prospects. he came as a beast of burden, and as such he has remained. it is all one with him--spain or america. if he has a little to eat, a few hours for slumber, and is not too heavily burdened, he will patiently and contentedly perform his work and offer no complaint. he clambers up the mountain trail where the horse could find no footing, carrying upon his back twice his own weight, and he picks his way along the brow of the mountain or the edge of mighty precipices as unconcernedly as though he were treading the pavement of a boulevard or the soft turf of green meadows. if his owner places too heavy a load upon him he makes no complaint. not he! he simply lies down till the burden is made lighter. there is no arguing the question with him. he is indifferent alike to blows and pleadings. not an inch will he stir till matters are adjusted. he knows his capacity, and his load must conform to it. few mines have been discovered in the mountainous or desert regions of the west without the assistance of the burro. the steel tracks of the locomotive which wind in and out of the cañons and passes and over the mountains were led thither by the burro. the explorer has thrown the burden of his efforts upon him, and the prospector deems him indispensable. he is the veritable "ship" of the western desert, and many a man owes his life to his burro. he will live longer without water and scent it farther than any known animal save the camel. as an example of the keen scent of the burro for water may be related the experience of two prospectors named peterson and kelley, who a few years ago attempted to cross the great mojave desert on foot. they had with them, to carry their supplies, a burro. in passing from oasis to oasis they lost their way and the supply of water became exhausted. to be lost in the desert is a terrible thing, and the anxiety, coupled with the torturing thirst and the intense heat, drove peterson insane. he left his companion and fled shrieking across the plain. kelley picketed the burro and went after peterson to bring him back, but he was unable to overtake him. he returned to the trail to find that his burro had broken his tether and was moving across the desert at a leisurely pace. he followed, but the animal was so far in the lead, and he was so exhausted from his efforts to overtake peterson, that he could not come up to him. [illustration: bearing the redman's burden from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] night came upon him, and it soon became so dark that he could not distinguish the burro and he had to follow him by the footprints in the sand. when it became too dark to distinguish them he still staggered on in sheer desperation. by and by his heart gave a great throb. before him, outlined against the sky and seemingly suspended in the air, was a form which he knew to be either his burro or an apparition. he hurried forward and lo! standing upon a sharp rise of ground and facing him was his lost burro, who seemed to be awaiting him for a purpose, for when he came up to him the animal turned and led the way down the incline to a spring of living water. kelley gave a shout of joy and plunged bodily into the spring. after he had soaked his parched skin and moistened his lips and throat, he crawled out and went to his burro, which was browsing upon the green herbs growing about the place. throwing his arms about the neck of the animal he gave the creature a hearty hug and a kiss. if this mark of affection surprised or touched the burro he made no sign. he merely nipped another mouthful of the herbage and continued chewing. when kelley had taken a fresh supply of water he retraced his steps to the point where the burro had broken away. it was fully ten miles. there is no doubt but the animal had scented the water all that distance, and his eagerness to get to it had led him to strain at his fastenings till he broke loose. poor peterson did not survive. kelley found his dead body the next morning four or five miles from the point where he had left the trail. the burro draws no color line. he affiliates as readily with the mexican and the indian as he does with the whites. the desert tribes have little success with horses, and even the rugged bronchos cannot endure the heat and thirst incident to life in that region, but the burro is as much at home and seemingly as contented there as are his brethren who live and labor in the alfalfa meadows of the fertile belt. the burro is never vicious. unlike his cousin, the mule, he knows no guile. as a playmate for children he has no rival. he humors them, bears with them, and lets them work their own sweet wills with him. he requires little care, asks little to eat, and seems simply to crave existence. [illustration: taking on the cargo from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] let the artist in search of a model for contentment go to the burro. there he will find contentment personified. he does not sigh and moan that he, alas, is but a mongrel, neither horse nor ass. content that being neither, he may do his work and live as nature meant him to. chapter ix the story of a streak of yellow if "the love of money is the root of evil," it is, as well, the germ of progress. it was the imaginary glitter of the yellow metal that lured de soto across the continent to the mississippi and beyond; it enticed de balboa to the shores of the pacific, led cortez through the land of the aztecs, and its magnetism drew alvarado down into central america and carried pizarro to the conquest of peru; it dragged coronado across the arid plains of mexico, new mexico, and arizona in search of the fabled land of cibola, and, in fact, its gleaming has explored and exploited the americas from alaska to cape horn. it has led man to brave the perils of the desert, and as the result prosperous towns have sprung up in that dread region, and millions of dollars of wealth have been wrested from its treasure-house. just what this continent would now be, had it not been for the glitter of the yellow dust, it is hard to estimate. it is probable that the dusky savage would still hold dominion over the land. [illustration: the prospector sets forth from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the prospector is the advance agent of progress, civilization, and prosperity. he has spied out the country,--with the aid of his faithful burro,--and has marked every trail, preceded every stage route and railroad, and founded the greater number of towns on the western half of this united states. he it is who has unlocked the treasure-house of the continent and poured into the coffers of this republic the golden stream which has made her the first nation on the globe. it is for the sight of a yellow streak in his pan that he has been tempted to endure the fatigue, cold, and hunger of the mountains, and the heat, thirst, and horror of the desert. the prospector is a man of small pretentions, of peaceful disposition, indomitable will, boundless perseverance, remarkable endurance, undoubted courage, irrepressible hopefulness, and unlimited hospitality. he is the friend of every man till he has evidence that the man is his enemy, and he is the most respected man in the mining regions of the west. of what does the prospector's outfit consist? that is a question the writer put to one of the ilk who was just starting out for the desert. "plenty of bacon, son," said he, "for that's whar ye git yer grease fer to fry yer flap-jacks, yer stock fer soup, an' it gives ye rines fer the burro to chaw. next ye takes rice, fer it don't take up much room an' it swells like all-git-out when ye gits it in the pot. comes mighty handy in yer soup, too. half a dozen onions an' a few taters--not many, fer ye can't tote 'em--them's fer soup, too, an' then the flour. flour's the principal thing in the grub line. a few beans is good an' they swells like the rice. then thar's the tent canvas an' the blankets an' the pick an' shovel an' pan, fer washin' dirt, the mortar an' chemicals fer testin' rock, an' the cookin' outfit. there's a knife, a fork, a spoon, a tin plate an' cup an' the fryin' pan, an' thar ye are." the prospector no longer deems it necessary to seek entirely new territory in which to prosecute his search for the precious metal. he has learned that good results are obtained on ground many times prospected. it takes sharp eyes to detect traces of the precious stuff--not only that, but keen judgment and technical knowledge coupled with experience. [illustration: an aged prospector at mouth of his mine from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] in the early days of mining in this country it was in the placer fields that the prospector reaped his fortune. in california, successive ages of erosion had worn away portions of the gold-bearing veins of the sierras, and the rains and brooks and rivers had distributed the metal along the valleys and plains where it but awaited the test of the pan to disclose its whereabouts. in ten years after the prospector began his wanderings through the state there were taken from the placer diggings more than $ , , worth of gold. in the year , $ , , worth were washed from the sands of california gulch alone. when the placer fields were practically worked out the prospector began looking for "mother lodes," as they termed the veins which had furnished the dust and yellow lumps they had been gathering from the sands in the placer diggings. in this search the real skill of the prospector comes into play. gold is found in a variety of rocks. its usual home, however, is in quartz, although a few of our richest mines have been found in other rocks. the prospector must be able to read the book of nature closely. he starts from the placer fields to search for the mother lode. he must determine in what direction to prosecute his search. the fine particles of gold which have been disseminated through the soil must originally have come from higher ground. one thing to determine is whether, since the gold has been laid down, there has been displacement or upheaval. if not, it is evident that somewhere upstream he must look for the vein, but the question is: where. there are mountains and valleys upon every side, and in any one of these may lie the object of his search. he circles about, looking for "float," as the small pieces of disintegrated quartz or rock are called. if he finds one piece he seeks a second and a third, that he may get a line or trail to the point from which they came. we will suppose that he finds several pieces of float at intervals on a certain line. he follows these to a point where two cañons or valleys join. here is another puzzle. he must again turn to the book of nature and closely scan her pages. his mode of reasoning will be something like this: "here are three pieces of float. one i found back at the mouth of this valley. another i picked up forty rods back, and here, where the cañon splits, i find the third. now from which branch did they come? they could not have come from the sides of this cañon, for they bear away from both sides where i found this last piece. now, if they had come from the left branch they would have landed over against the right side of the valley, for there is where the débris from that gulch has piled up. the float was on the left side and therefore must have come from the gulch on the right. they did not come from far, for the edges have not been worn smooth by the action of the water and by friction with other pebbles. then, too, this last piece is too large to have been carried any great distance." [illustration: an anxious moment--looking for the yellow streak from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the prospector then takes the right-hand gulch and soon finds other pieces of float and knows that he is on the right trail. by and by he finds his quartz vein outcropping, or he has the good luck to uncover it. he examines the rock carefully and obtains some promising specimens and proceeds to test them. in his mortar he grinds the specimens to a fine powder. this powder he roasts in a big iron spoon till it is cherry red. he finds that the ore fuses, indicating a metal of some kind, so he drops a bit of blazing paper into it and notes that the flame burns brighter. that indicates the presence of nitrates and chlorides. then he takes some of the oxidized ore and puts it into a tin cup and covers it with iodine. after it has stood two or three hours he soaks a piece of filter paper in the solution and sets fire to it. if it gives out a purple color in burning he knows there is gold in it. how much must be determined by assay, but it is encouragement enough to lead him to select the most promising location and stake his claim thereon. then he loads his burro with specimens of his ore and returns to civilization to seek an assayer. if the assayer finds large proportions of gold in the ore the prospector has little trouble in finding capital to interest itself in his property to the extent of developing it for an interest, and perhaps his fortune is made. on the other hand, the assay may prove unfavorable and show returns so small as to make it unprofitable to mill the ore, and the matter ends there. the prospector then starts out after another will-o'-the-wisp. with many it is a lifelong chase, with a pauper's grave at the end of the course. it is a fascinating life, however, and once a prospector is, in most cases, always a prospector. to some, fortune comes on the brink of the grave, to some never, and now and then the most inexperienced "tenderfoot" stumbles upon wealth at the very outset of his search. there was the notable case of dave moffatt. he had no technical knowledge of mining and absolutely no experience. he started out in the hills prospecting and chanced upon a deer's horn lying upon the ground. [illustration: an aËrial ferry--prospectors crossing colorado river from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "that's a sign of good luck," reasoned he, and he fell to digging where had lain the horn. he struck it rich, named his claim the "deer's horn," sold out for forty thousand dollars--and got cheated. even the most experienced prospector believes in luck. they believe that experience counts for little if a man is not naturally lucky. they still refer to the late multi-millionaire stratton as an example of the lucky man. he found his famous independence mine where hundreds of experienced prospectors had repeatedly looked over the ground. they tell how the cows once cropped the grasses over the richest mines of cripple creek, while their owners cursed their luck for not being able to strike pay. no amount of hard luck, however, will convince the prospector that his good luck is not waiting just ahead, so he totes his pick and pan over mountain and plain, out into the heart of the desert, up and down the face of the earth, till he stakes his final claim--six feet of earth--where the lucky and unlucky are on an equal footing. many rich strikes of gold have been made in the colorado and mojave deserts. the possibilities of these deserts are not exhausted, however. prof. g. e. bailey of san francisco, who was one of a party of government surveyors who recently made an exhaustive study of the mojave desert, says: "we have heard a great deal about alaska as a gold-producer, but the mojave desert is now more talked about in the financial centers of the east than alaska, and the day is not far off when there will be a greater rush to this desert than ever there was to the northern zone. "take the desert as a mineral-bearing region, and we have not begun to discover its vast wealth. there are gold-fields here which will astonish the world. every little while some prospector brings in float rock, sparkling with the precious metal which has been broken from a ledge as rich, but that ledge has been hunted for in vain. the day will come when these rich ledges will be located and contribute to the world's wealth of gold." speaking of the recent placer strike near the town of needles he says: "the real wealth of the ground has not been determined, but gold, coarse gold and nuggets of good size, have been discovered. the real story of the strike is about like this: "'the clark road is building down a cañon between needles and goff, and the men had occasion to drive several piles. one of the piles was split and was withdrawn, when several nuggets were found imbedded in the pine. word of the strike was sent quietly to san francisco, and several well-known men from there came down and located. i believe the field is to develop into a permanent one, and may yet grow to large proportions.'" the randsburg district was discovered in , and it has developed into an extensive gold-producing district of which randsburg and johannesburg are the chief towns. that field has yielded millions of dollars of gold and is yet in an early stage of development. chapter x desert borax mines in the most desolate, dangerous, and terrifying locality in the united states, if not in the whole world, lie the largest known deposits of borax in the universe. death valley is the repository of more mineral wealth than has ever been brought out of the klondike, but death stands guard over the hoards of gold, silver, copper, salt, niter, borax, and precious stones known to abound there. every year prospectors brave the terrors of the desert and enter the dread portals of the gateway to the valley. this gateway is through a range of mountains to which have been given the most appropriate name of funeral mountains. every year new tragedies are enacted in the valley and new graves are made under the shadow of these mountains, or else the victims, finding no grave, lie upon the burning sands and stare with sightless eyes at the mountains which bound the valley. [illustration: a traction engine hauling borax from death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] where fortunes are to be made lives are held cheap, and natures great deposits of wealth in the valley have tempted man to pit his ingenuity, strength, and endurance against the powers of the great destroyer. in the united states the supply of borax is limited to the states of california, oregon, and nevada. until within the last ten or twelve years the supply of borax in this country was derived from evaporating the water of clear lake and several alkaline marshes in california and nevada. in , it was discovered that the crust of borax which formed in such places was but a secondary deposit from the main body of the mineral drug stored below. then began the real history of the borax industry in this country. it is said that borax is never found in nature except in craters of extinct volcanoes. be that as it may, certain it is that in california all the deposits yet discovered lie at the bottom of those bowl-shaped valleys which are known to have been once the outlet for the vomitings of prehistoric pélées. the presence of borax is indicated by the snowy appearance of the valley bottoms, and to the uninitiated these white stretches, when seen from a little distance, might well be mistaken for snow-fields. many a life has been lost in attempting to cross these snowy plains, for beneath the thin shell of salts lie fathomless depths of poisonous waters, for the funnels of those extinct volcanoes are filled with solutions of a multitude of mineral drugs such as were never brewed in chemist's laboratory. in death valley thirty thousand acres of borax, niter, soda, and salt deposits have been located. the valley is literally a vast chemical laboratory where nature has compounded and stored drugs by the millions of tons. it is the drug store of the universe. there are several different forms in which borax occurs in nature. it is found in solution in some of the lakes and pools, from which it is obtained by evaporation; in salts or crystals known as boreat, which require no other treatment than to be dissolved in vats of boiling water and then allowed to crystallize again, and it is found in the form of "cotton balls," as the round masses of ulexite are called, masses varying in size from a rifle-ball to a bushel basket. the finest borax on the market is made from the "cotton balls." these balls, when broken, are fibrous and woolly in appearance, hence the name. [illustration: the painted desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] when it was discovered that the real deposits of borax lie beneath the surface deposits, a genuine borax mine was located and developed at what is now known as boreat, twelve miles north of daggett, on the line of the santa fé railroad, where the reduction works are situated. the wonderful richness of this deposit has led to further explorations, and the remarkable finds in death valley have resulted. when brought to the works at daggett, the lumps of borax are fed into the mammoth iron jaws of a crusher which breaks them into lumps of an uniform size about the bigness of the average chestnut. these lumps are fed to the grinder, which reduces them to powder, and the powder, in turn, is passed through rollers like those used in the manufacture of the finest grades of wheat flour. from these rollers it comes forth as fine as the product of the wheat from which our most choice bread is made. then it is mixed with carbonate of soda, which is mined in death valley, and the mixture is thrown into vats of boiling water and agitated by means of revolving wheels till the mass is dissolved and thoroughly mixed. from this compound are precipitated two powders, one the borax of commerce, the other the well-known product styled sal soda. borax from death valley first entered the markets about twenty years ago. it was mined from deposits found in the calico mountains and from one or two sinks in the valley, and it was hauled out of the valley and one hundred miles across the desert in wagons drawn by mule teams of from eighteen to thirty-two mules each. during the five or six years following the opening of the mines, large quantities of borax were taken out and placed upon the market. then, in the spring of , the mines were closed because it was impossible to find men to work the mines or drive the mules. it became known that few men who went into the mines came out alive. at the end of six or seven months the miner succumbed to the terrific heat and the poisonous atmosphere, or else he was a broken-down invalid incapable of doing further work. it came to be considered simply a form of suicide to engage in the work, consequently the mine-owners were unable to continue operations. [illustration: a monument in the land of thirst from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the desert borax wagons are a marvel of themselves. the wagon proper is made to hold ten tons of borax. it has a bed sixteen feet long by four feet wide and sides six feet high. the hind wheels are seven feet, and the front wheels five feet, in diameter. they are fitted with tires eight inches wide and an inch thick, and an empty wagon weighs seventy-eight hundred pounds. in addition to this combined weight of wagon and load, amounting to about fourteen tons, is the trailer, as is called the water wagon, which it is necessary to attach to the train in order that man and beast may not perish of thirst on the journey. altogether, the plucky teams have to haul through the yielding sands about twenty tons--nearly or quite one ton to the beast. a traction engine is also employed in hauling the product of the mines. this is a huge concern weighing hundreds of tons and doing the work of several mule teams. this machine has not been found adapted to all features of the work, however, and is not destined to supersede the mule wagons. a little more than twenty years ago borax was worth, in this country, in the neighborhood of one dollar per pound. it is now being mined,--even under the present disadvantages,--prepared, and marketed at a profit at about ten cents a pound, with a prospect of still lower figures in the near future. chapter xi other minerals found in the desert gold and borax, which have been given chapters in this work, are by no means all the minerals found in the california deserts. the deserts have tempted the prospector ever since california became known as a mineral field. for a time gold was the prime object of his search, but later it became known that other minerals were capable of yielding profits quite as great as the yellow metal, and he has become more critical in his observations. his care has been liberally rewarded. borax was one of the first of the mineral products to attract his attention. the discovery of large deposits of this in death valley was followed by the discovery of immense beds of niter, of sulphate of soda, nitrate of soda, and other mineral drugs in the same vicinity. [illustration: a typical desert mining town from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the gold belt of the mojave desert has been traced from the town of mojave to death valley, a distance of one hundred and fifteen miles. the belt varies in width from two to ten miles. death valley is known to contain rich deposits of gold in other portions of the desert. all along these gold belts, silver is also more or less abundant. the silver mines of the calico district have become famous for their yield of silver bullion. these mines are about six miles north of the santa fé railroad and near the station of daggett. the belt extends in an easterly and westerly direction, and has been traced and developed for a distance of ten miles. the rocks of this region are violet or brown rhyolite, often porphyritic; green, yellow, and white tufa; greenish hornblende andesite; yellow and green breccia. copper, lead, tin, zinc, iron, manganese, baryta, gypsum, sulphur, onyx, marble, asbestos, and gem stones are also found in the deserts. the minerals are scattered over the many thousands of square miles of territory. the difficulties of transportation, coupled with the lack of water, have greatly retarded the development of the known mineral fields, as well as prevented the finding of other rich deposits which doubtless exist. the character of the mineral rocks is multitudinous. in the waterloo mines in the mojave desert, ore is found in a belt of jasper which yields more than one thousand ounces of silver to the ton. twenty-eight miles east of daggett are large bodies of iron ore--the largest known on the pacific coast. these deposits have been practically undisturbed because of the distance from railroad and the lack of water and fuel to mine and smelt the ores. when a railroad is laid to the locality this field will prove a wonderful source of wealth to those who secure possession of it. five miles south of oro grande are rich veins of copper which are found very near the surface. these deposits were discovered by the mormons who settled on the mojave river several years ago. variegated marble quarries have been opened twelve miles northeast from victor, in which are found marbles of wonderful beauty and fineness. shades of crimson and gray, cream, rose, white, pale blue, black, chocolate, and yellow are mined from these quarries, the ledges of which outcrop and stand above the surrounding lands. some of these marbles approach in beauty that of the finest onyx. the colorado desert contains numerous valuable gold mines, as well as silver, copper, tin, and other important minerals. cement and asbestos are found in abundance in certain sections. rich deposits of the latter mineral are found in the vicinity of indio and at palm springs. lithia rock and fine clay are mined in certain sections and in the richest known tourmaline deposits in america were found at mesa grande. there is an interesting story connected with the finding of these gems. mesa grande is an elevated plateau or tableland. on the lower adjacent lands water is found, and ranchers--mostly mexicans--have established themselves. ever since the valley became settled the tableland has been a favorite playground for the children. a portion of the mesa is scantily covered with loam, where grow cacti and other specimens of dry-weather plants. a large portion of the mesa, however, is barren and the rock lies exposed, gray, mottled, or white beneath the glaring sun which shines ever from a cloudless sky. here and there the granite and gneiss show a belt of snowy white quartz which gleams in the sunlight, forming a pleasing contrast to the darker rocks in which it is set. one day, while playing among these rocks, one of the children found a delicately tinted transparent pebble. when held up to the sun it emitted brilliant reflections and sparkled and scintillated like living flame. a cry of delight brought the other children to the spot, and then began a search for more of the pretty stones, with the result of the gathering of a dozen or more of the sparkling stones that afternoon. after this, frequent trips were made to the mesa in search of the pretty pebbles, and scarcely a house in the vicinity but contained collections of the beautiful playthings. one day a professional gem-cutter chanced to visit the valley under the mesa and in a basket of playthings he saw some of the bright pebbles. he examined the stones and learned where they had been found. then he prospected the locality and found the gem-bearing ledges and staked claims covering the richer portions of the field. since then some rare and valuable stones have been taken from the mines, gems equal to those of ceylon, brazil, or siberia, which countries have heretofore supplied the world with these gems. the gem-bearing ledges extend over two or three hundred acres. salt is another valuable mineral found in both the mojave and colorado deserts. the famous salt-fields of salton are in the latter desert, but they have a story all their own, which will be told in another chapter. chapter xii a remarkable harvest-field the most remarkable harvest-field in the united states, if not in the whole world, is located in the heart of the colorado desert. the spot is known as salton, and it lies feet below the level of the sea. the crop which is harvested is salt. so plentiful is the natural deposit of this necessary article that it is plowed with gang-plows, is scraped into windrows as hay is raked in the field, and, like hay, it is stacked into heaps from the windrows and is then loaded into wagons and later into cars to be carried to the reduction works three miles away. there are about one thousand acres in this saline field. when one looks upon this glittering, sparkling, and scintillating field, which lies like a great patch of snow dropped down into the midst of the burning sands of the plain, he is reminded of that passage of scripture which says: "lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest." [illustration: plowing salt in colorado desert] this field is literally white to harvest and a most phenomenal harvest it is. over a briny, oozy marsh lies a crust of salt six to sixteen inches thick. as often as removed, the crust quickly forms again, so that crop after crop is taken from the same ground. in fact, although these harvests have been going on nearly twenty years, and two thousand tons of marketable salt are annually taken from the beds, but ten acres of the one-thousand-acre field have been broken. the laborers employed in breaking up the salt crust, in loading the salt onto the wagons and taking it to the mills, in cleaning and preparing it for the market, are mostly japanese and indians. in the summer season the temperature reaches to degrees at salton, and white men are unable to endure the work exposed to the burning rays of the sun. the ease with which the salt is procured in this field makes it a valuable one. at very little expense the salt is made ready for market, and it brings from six to thirty-six dollars per ton, according to the grade. the coachella valley, in which this great field of salt lies, is ninety miles long and from ten to thirty miles wide. its one thousand six hundred square miles of territory lie wholly below the level of the sea, its greatest depression being feet. the southern portion of the valley is devoid of vegetation, save where irrigation has been introduced, but about the northern portion of the valley the sage and mesquite have obtained a foothold in the sandy soil. near indio, in the northern portion of the valley, an artesian well was drilled a few years ago and a copious supply of water was obtained. now more than two hundred and fifty of those wells are pouring their waters over the thirsty soil, and a large tract of land has been brought into a high state of cultivation. the lands about the salt-fields, however, are too strongly impregnated with salts and alkali to offer any inducements to the rancher now or in the future. the constant harvest of salt, however, is a rich enough return for the lands thus unfitted for agriculture. this desert salt is remarkable for its fine quality. an analysis made in san francisco shows its constituents to be as follows: chloride of sodium, . per cent.; calcium sulphate, . per cent.; water, . per cent.; magnesium sulphate, . per cent.; sodium sulphate, . per cent.; total, per cent. until , the title to the salton lands was vested in the government, and the company which was reaping the harvest had no title to the property and no legal right thereto. there is an interesting story connected with the change of title. this concern, the liverpool salt company, had a competitor for the salt trade of the pacific coast in the standard salt company. the salton fields are reached by means of the southern pacific railway, which road has the handling of all the product of the salt-fields. the standard company alleged that the railroad people discriminated against it in the way of freight rates, excluding the standard people from the coast markets, and thus securing a monopoly of the trade for the liverpool company. this led the managers of the standard company to look into the titles of the salt-fields. it was then discovered that the company operating was without title, and that the lands were unallotted government lands. the attention of the government officials was called to the fact that the liverpool people were trespassers, and an order was issued for the company to vacate. a bill was then introduced in congress providing for filing claims upon saline lands, and the bill passed the senate january , . it yet required the signature of the president to make it a law, however, and it was then that matters became interesting in the desert. both companies congregated men on the lands adjoining the salt-fields, prepared to race to the choice portion of the field to stake claims the moment the wire should apprise them of the signing of the bill. each company had an agent in washington ready to telegraph the news the instant it became known, and each company had a man at the telegraph station at salton, three miles from the field, to take the message to the men the moment it came. the liverpool company felt confident of winning the race, for the company owned a spur track from the main line of the railroad to the salt-fields, and upon this line was placed a hand-car, manned ready to pull for the fields the instant the dispatch should arrive. this car could easily outstrip the fleetest horse, the yielding sands making it impossible for a steed to make rapid progress. the manager of the standard company, however, did not depend upon horse speed, mule speed, or car speed. there are in southern california an average of cloudless days each year. he pinned his faith to the weather, and his confidence was not betrayed. at . o'clock, the afternoon of january st, two telegrams arrived at salton at about the same time. one was for the manager of the liverpool salt company and the other was for the manager of the standard salt company. the contents of the telegrams were identical. they told that the president had signed the bill which opened the lands in the salt-field to entry. in a moment the hand-car was off, the men pumping for dear life. before they had gone a dozen rods there shot from the station a blaze of light--a message flashed by mirrors held in such a manner as to catch and reflect the rays of the sun. to the watchers three miles away, who were waiting for the signal, which had been prearranged, it was as though the station had burst into flame. at the sight of this signal the men rushed to the salt-fields and set the stakes and posted the notices required by law. when the hand-car men arrived it was all over, and there was nothing for them to do but to return and swallow their chagrin. after the triumph of the standard company in this peculiar race, a compromise was effected whereby the liverpool company, which owned the mills and apparatus and the spur track, and all other equipments for the operating of the field, resumed the ownership of the field, and the standard company was granted concessions which placed them on an equal footing with their competitors in the markets on the coast. in june, , the laborers at salton were treated to a surprise. they found the country filling up with water from an unknown source. a great deal of apprehension was felt, as it was thought that the water undoubtedly came from a crevasse which had been opened communicating with the sea. if such were the case it was to be expected that salton would soon be feet under water, for water seeks its level. the flow of water continued till an area ten miles wide by thirty miles long was covered to a depth of six feet; then it was ascertained that the water was coming in from the colorado river, which had risen above its banks and was cutting a channel across the desert, threatening to convert a large section of the coachella valley into an inland sea. this inundation was caused by the co-equal rise of the head waters of the colorado and gila rivers. the waters of the lower colorado rose five feet above high-water mark and continued to pour its waters into the desert till the flood subsided. after the flood had abated, the sands of the desert and the fiery sun soon drank up the lake thus suddenly formed. inquiry brought forth the information that a similar inundation had taken place in . at that time, however, the waters subsided before so large a lake had been formed. it was these inundations which gave birth to the idea of converting a part of the waters of the colorado into an irrigating canal for the purpose of reclaiming the lands of the valley. chapter xiii death valley of the , square miles of territory which comprise the state of california, , square miles are desert. of this area more than two thousand square miles lie below the level of the sea. the lowest point in all this submarine field is found in death valley, the most terrifying and forbidding region in the world. death valley has been rightly named. it was christened with blood and has ever lived up to its title. sixty-eight out of the seventy mormon emigrants who wandered into that dread region, in , gave their lives to the christening. the story of their terrible death from tortures of thirst and agonies of heat is too horrible to print. they came into a nameless region and their bodies were there consigned to unmarked graves. there lie to-day the remains of all that party save two. these two, when they came away, left behind them a region with a name--death valley. [illustration: teaming in death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] since then other names have been given to localities within this terrible region, and they have been, for the most part, names in keeping with the awfulness of the place. the mountains which tower above the fearful sink, shutting it off from the great desert outside, have been named "funeral mountains." there is "furnace creek," whose waters, bitter, poisonous, and unpalatable, flowing through burning sands, become heated as though literally flowing from a glowing furnace. there are "ash meadows," a plain strewn with scoriac débris--a sodom of the western world. there is the "devil's chair," a gigantic and realistic throne worn by erosion from the huge bluffs which form the portals to the valley, a seat appropriate to his satanic majesty were he to choose a throne upon earth. indeed, according to a notice posted by a government surveying party in the pass into the valley, the home of the chief of imps is not far distant. the notice reads thus: dry place please keep off the grass saratoga springs soda, borax, and niter mineral monument death valley, feet below sea-level miles to randsburg miles to daggett miles to evans' ranch miles to resting springs miles to owl springs miles to salt springs miles to coyote holes erected by the bailey geological party christmas day, miles from wood miles from water feet from hell god bless our home the pool known as saratoga springs, where this monument is erected, is one of the wonders of the valley. from the bottom of the circular crater-like basin, which is about thirty feet across, bubble several springs whose tepid waters are strongly impregnated with sulphur. these springs keep the basin full and overflowing, and the waste waters seek a natural depression near and form a lake several acres in extent. the waters are not fit for use, however, being rank with alkali and other mineral substances. death valley has an area of nearly five hundred square miles. it is fifty miles long and varies in width from five to ten miles. its greatest depression is feet below sea-level. in this limited area more men have perished than upon any other similar area in the world, the great battle-fields excepted. the remarkable mineral wealth of the region has been a glittering bait to lure men to destruction. there are in the valley golden ledges, the ores of which run in value to fabulous sums per ton. there are vast beds of borax, niter, soda, salt, and other mineral drugs. there is a single salt-field in the valley thirty miles long and from two to four miles wide, where salt lies a foot or more deep over the entire field. turquoises, opals, garnets, onyx, marbles, and other gems and rocks of value exist in abundance. the valley is a storehouse of wealth, the treasure-vault of the nation, the drug-store of the universe, but death holds the title. although death valley is the most formidable spot in all the desert region, it is not wanting in beauty. color effects such as artist never dreamed of are here to be seen. it is not the coloring given by vegetation, however, for verdure is lacking. there are no velvety green meadows, neither are there fields of blooming flowers. the coloring of the mountains and plains of this region are penciled in unfading and unchanging colors. these colors are mineral and chemical and are blended in rare harmony--laid by the master hand which carved this remarkable region out of the edge of the western continent. green and blue of copper, ruddiness of niter, yellow of sulphur, red of hematite and cinnabar, white of salt and borax, blend with the black and gray of the barren rocks and the dark carmine and royal purple and pale green of the mineral-stained granites. heat and thirst are not wholly responsible for death in this valley, for some have frozen and some have drowned within its confines. thermometers register as high as degrees in the valley, but towering above the region are snow-clad mountains, and it sometimes happens that the winds, which in the day waft waves of furnace-like heat through the valley, bring down, by night, the frigidity of the upper region, chilling to death the unprotected prospector who may chance to be below. again, in this thirst-cursed region, which knows not the blessing of the shower, sometimes occur terrible cloudbursts which send solid walls of water tearing down the mountain-sides, carrying death and destruction in its wake. [illustration: indian chief lying in state from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] nor are these all of the possible dangers. in this great drug warehouse arise deadly vapors, and the passing winds whirl clouds of poisonous dust through the air, which, if inhaled, will eat the vitals and eventually rob one of life. notwithstanding the terrible character of this valley, there is an instance where two persons sought it for the express purpose of cheating death. a brooklyn lawyer named whittaker, and his wife, were both stricken with consumption. by advice of their doctors they sought the pacific coast, going to los angeles. physicians there advised them to seek a drier climate; therefore, in a wagon equipped with a camping outfit and a supply of the necessities of life, they sought the great mojave desert. here, indeed, was air dry enough for their purpose. they drove from oasis to oasis, and soon found themselves growing better and stronger, notwithstanding the privations they were forced to endure. they determined to make their home somewhere in that vast solitude, but where was a question yet to be decided. they continued to wander over the barren wastes till one day they came to the gateway to the terrible valley of death. it is not certain that they were aware of the identity of the locality. be that as it may, the horses were directed valleyward and they passed through the portals which have admitted so many and discharged so few. inside the valley they found a man guarding a borax mine which had been closed down because men could not be found to brave the perils of the valley to operate it. here whittaker and his wife rested a few days and then they pressed on into the valley. their host tried to induce them to turn back, but they would not heed him. onward they journeyed till they found a little cañon in the side of the mountain which formed a portion of one of walls of the valley, and this spot they named home and made there a permanent camp. this was in or . seven years later the woman died. whittaker continued to live in the old home, but the loss of his wife, coupled with the solitude, the heat, and the poisons of the atmosphere, was too much for his reason and he went mad. in this condition he was found by a prospector--mad, but rich, for the floor of his cabin was thickly littered with golden nuggets. a great railroad, the san pedro, los angeles and salt lake road, is now spanning the desert. this line will pass within a few miles of the entrance to the valley, and when it is completed the real conquest of the valley will begin. it is predicted that a branch road will shortly be built into the valley from this road. when this is done, and pure water has been piped into the valley, towns and perhaps cities will spring up in the midst of the dread region, even as they are now springing up in the great submarine region of the colorado desert. then, from a region of terror and death, it may become a valley of life, activity, and prosperity. chapter xiv the mouth of hades "the volcanoes" is the name given to a most peculiar and terrifying region in the lower colorado desert. its character is such as to lead certain of the indians who inhabit the desert to believe it to be the gateway to the land of evil spirits. indeed, it would seem to be the very gateway to hades, and one is reminded, upon visiting the region, of john bunyan's description of the "valley of the shadow of death" through which christian is forced to pass. "about the midst of this valley i perceived the mouth of hell to be," he writes, "and it stood also hard by the wayside. and ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such abundance, with sparks and hideous noises." one can almost imagine that bunyan wrote those lines from the colorado desert, after viewing the "volcanoes." over an area of more than a mile square are scattered hundreds of cone-like mounds, from one foot to one hundred feet in diameter and of various heights, all of which are busily engaged in spitting forth sulphurous vapors, black ooze, boiling mud and water, and other volcanic matter. over the region eternally hang dense clouds of steam and hot vapors, and strange sounds emanate from this diabolical region. there are hissings, as of monster serpents; strange and ominous rumblings which come from the bowels of the earth; sharp explosions, singly or in multitudinous concert, like the running fire of armies engaged in battle; moaning noises, as of animals or human beings in distress; thuds and jars, as of heavy bodies falling,--all these and a multitude of other unusual and unnatural sounds are not reassuring to timid hearts. the region is treeless and herbless. sulphurous soil and sulphurous air have proven fatal to vegetable life. not even the cactus or desert sage can survive the poisons of the soil. animal life is equally scarce, and the very birds of the air avoid the locality. there is a peculiar sensation experienced upon entering this volcanic region after hours of travel over the desert in the glare of the sun, which here ever shines from a cloudless sky. as one approaches the eruptive cones he passes into a shadow which is almost startling after the brightness so long experienced. the steam-clouds shut out the sun from this mile of gruesome region, but the heat from the numerous craters more than makes up for the absence of the fiery rays of the sun. in one portion of the volcanic territory is a body of water a quarter of a mile long, which is known as lake juala or black lake. its waters, which are extremely warm, are inky-black, and the hands, when dipped therein, are stained. it is not known what minerals or chemicals are held in solution. it is probable that the waters are poisonous. it may be, however, that they have wonderful medicinal properties, and that they are destined to heal the ailments of humanity. however that may be, this somber sea is in keeping with the region--a fitting lake for the suburb of hades. earthquakes are of frequent occurrence in the vicinity of the "volcanoes." they are in line of the so-called "earthquake belt," which extends up and down the coast, california being the most frequently disturbed of the coast states. since , when the record of these disturbances was begun, more than four hundred shocks have been felt in the state. some of these have been slight and others have been severe. the earthquake, christmas evening of , destroyed the village of hemet over against the western side of the desert and caused the death of six persons. in the year , the mission of san juan capistrano was destroyed by an earthquake, and half a hundred lives were lost. certain changes are taking place in this region. some portions of the land are slowly sinking and other points are rising. the same subterranean fires which keep active the hundreds of miniature volcanoes heat the waters of the caliente and matajala hot springs, and are doubtless responsible for the frequent shiverings of mother earth. there was a time in the history of the earth--long before man was here to record the history--when a chain of volcanoes extended from alaska on the north to mexico and beyond, on the south. these monster spouters left their ineffaceable record upon the continent in the way of vast beds of lava and numerous craters, which the centuries have not been able to hide. the region known as the "volcanoes" may be the remnant of that mighty volcanic period, or it may be the dawning of a new eruptive season. it is, in either case, a locality to be shunned. chapter xv desert miscellany--unusual and peculiar features there are several localities in the deserts, about which cling stories and traditions of unusual interest. superstition mountain, situated in the southwestern portion of the colorado desert, is one of these. this mountain is nearly in the line of the old trail taken by the early overland pioneers on their way to the coast by the way of yuma. the mountain is remarkable in one respect--it scarcely ever presents the same appearance twice. its contour is constantly changing, owing to the fact that it is bordered by gigantic sand-hills, which are carved and whittled and shaped by the fierce winds which sweep across the plain. if one notes some point or pinnacle as a landmark to-day, to-morrow he will have lost his bearings, for the outlines will have been changed. this peculiarity of the mountain has awakened the fears of the cocopah indians, who inhabit that region, and who are naturally superstitious, and they shun the locality. nothing will induce them to mount the eminence, and they even avoid that section of the plain. it is to them the abode of evil spirits. among other evil spirits who, they believe, inhabit the mountain, is one which bears a strange resemblance to the gaelic "banshee." the old folks of the irish peasantry to this day tell of the banshee, a little, old weazened woman, who is said to appear to persons, clapping her hands and wailing, as a warning of approaching death. the cocopahs have precisely the same superstition, save that the banshee is a little old man, "wah dindin," who is supposed to come down from superstition mountain to bring death to the one to whom he appears. the cocopahs are very much averse to being photographed, and the sight of a camera is a signal for them to throw themselves face downward upon the earth. they believe that their pictures, if taken, are transmitted to the evil spirits in the mountain, and that, by means of this picture, the little old man of death--the cocopah banshee--will be able to trace them and bring them death. some of the more enlightened and more avaricious, however, upon being bribed with silver, so far overcome their fears as to allow themselves to be photographed. [illustration: a desert pottery factory] white men are not so loath to visit the locality. it is believed that this mountain or some of the adjacent hills holds the famous lost "pegleg" gold mine. in , a one-legged man named smith found a mine of wonderful richness in the colorado desert. he was piloting a party over the desert from yuma, when he came to three hills which rose out of the plain. not being sure of his bearings, he mounted the taller of the hills to get a view of the surrounding country. upon this hill, which seemed to be composed of black quartz or rock, he found out-cropping ore fairly sparkling with the precious metal. he took specimens away with him and learned, upon reaching his destination, that the metal was really gold. the mine became known as the "pegleg mine" from the fact that smith wore a wooden leg and was known as "pegleg."[ ] after conducting his party safely to los angeles, smith returned to the desert to investigate his find. he could not locate it. he could not even find the hills which had been the landmark upon which he depended. in or , a prospector passed over the trail from yuma to los angeles. in the colorado desert he chanced upon three hills, and upon the larger one he discovered gold. he reached los angeles with $ worth of gold nuggets. he told of his find and described the location. it tallied with the description given by smith of his find. a party was formed for the exploiting of the mine, and the prospector was preparing to guide his associates to the spot when he was taken ill and died. the mine was again lost and has never been found. from time to time expeditions have gone forth to look for the lost pegleg mine, but their searches have been fruitless. scores of lives have been lost in the quest. to this day skeletons are frequently found in that section of the desert, grewsome reminders of the tortures of that terrible region. one of the last of these search parties consisted of tom clover of los angeles and a man named russell, of san bernardino. the latter still lives in san bernardino, but tom clover left his bones upon the desert. he ascended superstition mountain to take observations while russell remained upon the plain. they agreed to meet on the opposite side of the mountain. russell kept the appointment, but clover was never seen again. in the midst of the colorado desert, where, previous to the bringing in of water by the imperial canal system, neither man nor beast could find means of subsistence, are found many earthen ollas of indian make and of ancient pattern. nearly every settler in the imperial valley has one or more of these relics, some chipped and broken, but many in a perfect condition. these ollas are not found in groups and collections, but in ones and twos at various intervals in the interior of the desert. they have a story to tell of conditions in the dim past and explain how it happened that certain tribes chose so forbidding a region as a dwelling-place. in ancient times, before the white man--the most formidable foe the redman has known--came to this continent, the various tribes warred with each other. the strong wrested the choice portions of the land from the weaker tribes, and the latter were forced to choose between the desert with possible death or certain annihilation at the hands of their foes. they chose the desert. as was natural in the case, those who dared the desert made their abiding-place at the oases of the desolate region. here, after a certain manner, they lived and accumulated more or less of the things which represented, to the savage mind, wealth. but even here they were not yet free from their oppressors, who occasionally bore down upon them to give them battle. in the very heart of the desert, far from food or water, these persecuted indians finally found refuge. they learned that their enemies dared not brave the perils of the desert wastes, therefore, in times of peace, they carried deep into the desert supplies of food and water, the latter in the large earthen ollas, and cached them in the sands. each warrior attended to the supply for himself and family. they did not store the supplies of the tribe together, but purposely scattered them. when an attack was made upon them, each man sought his own cache, and there he stayed till food and water were exhausted. by that time the zeal of the foe would have cooled off, no doubt, and they could return in safety to their homes. [illustration: black buttes--phantom ship of the desert] the indians thus persecuted have long since passed away, but the story of their tribulations is brought down to us in those ollas scattered over the burning plain. before irrigation made habitable a portion of the colorado desert, persons who visited the dread region came back to civilization with strange tales of a phantom ship which was seen to sail upon a spectral sea. sometimes this ship took the form of a full-rigged three-master; again it was a monster war-ship, with conning-towers and turrets, and great guns projecting fore and aft. the phantom vessel always appears in a certain portion of the desert and, instead of sailing slowly into sight and passing steadily on out of range of vision, as a well-regulated ship should do, it has the remarkable faculty of rising suddenly from the mystic sea and as suddenly sinking out of sight again. when the imperial settlements were established in the land of mirages the mystery of the phantom ship was solved. about thirty miles south of the international line, in the republic of mexico, rising out of a level plain, is a triple-peaked mountain known as the black buttes. when the atmospheric conditions are favorable, which is frequent, the buttes, which from the imperial settlements are below the horizon, are lifted by refraction into view, and under the transforming power of the mirage they appear like a great ship sailing upon a vast sea. sometimes the three peaks are elongated and appear to be masts, while the solid granite bulk of the pile takes on the form of sails, seemingly set to catch the winds of the specter sea. again the peaks are less elongated, and they appear like the heavier masts of a war-ship, and the sails are transformed into turrets and towers. the mirage eats into the sides of the mountains, leaving exposed several projecting points, which look like the heavy guns of a battle-ship. then, perhaps, while the watcher strains his eye to catch the strange vision, it suddenly disappears from sight. at times the transformation from three-master to war-ship, or from war-vessel to three-master, takes place before the watcher's eyes, as though some mighty wizard were doing the "presto, change!" act for the gazer's benefit. then, very likely, the buttes lose all resemblance to ocean craft and assume their natural shape, but appear to be surrounded by water--a granite isle in a placid sea. so vivid is this picture that the mountain casts a perfect inverted shadow of itself in the waters which apparently surround it, but which actually do not exist. there are other peaks and mountains which are worthy of mention among the features of the colorado desert. one of these is pilot knob, and signal mountain is another. these two mountains are landmarks which serve to guide those who have occasion to cross the forbidding region. pilot knob, in the southeastern part of the desert, is the point toward which eastern-bound travelers shape their course. the peak can be seen more than a hundred miles, and it stands out so distinctly from other mountains in that quarter of the desert that its identity is not easily lost. signal mountain rises abruptly from the level plain near the western side of the desert at the international line. it is visible from all points in the desert, and has served to guide many a traveler to safety who otherwise would have perished in the desert wastes. the mountain is pyramidal in form, and is distinctive from all other peaks of that region. along the eastern rim of the desert stretches a long line of hills two or three hundred feet in height, which are known as the "walking hills." they are gray and barren but not lacking in picturesqueness, for many strange and fantastic shapes may be traced in their outlines. these hills are constantly changing both shape and position, and that is the reason they have received the name of walking hills. east of these hills run the trains of the southern pacific railroad. the road was built a little more than a quarter of a century ago, and at that time the tracks were from one fourth of a mile to two miles west of the hills. now the latter are encroaching upon the road and threaten to bury it beneath millions of tons of sand. the tracks of the road must either be moved farther east, or else they must swing in to the west of the hills to escape being engulfed by the sandy billows. the hills are composed of fine particles of sand which have been carried before the winds which sweep a hundred miles across a level and barren plain. what first caused the sand to pile up will never be known, but once a barrier was formed, all the sand which fled before the winds piled up, raising the barrier each year. the winds, which always blow from the west, are continually beating against the base of the hills, lifting the sands there, sliding them up the sloping sides and dropping them over the other side. thus, as the westward slope is eaten away, the eastern side of the hills is added to and they slowly advance toward the east. [illustration: digging the imperial canal] the range has yet an open field many miles before it comes to the colorado river. when the hills reach that point they will disappear, for the waters of that mighty stream will bear the shifting sands away toward the sea. in the southwestern portion of the desert, one hundred miles across the plain from the walking hills, nature has dealt in geometrical figures on an extensive scale. the plain, at this point, is composed of claylike soil, very hard and firm, unlike that of the surrounding desert, which is loose and sandy. the clay section is smooth as macadam, and is level save for the geometrical figures which are found thereon in relief. from beyond the clay-paved section the winds have brought the light, loose particles of soil and have piled them up in crescent-shaped hills at various places about the plain. the hills vary in size but not in shape. each mound is as true a crescent as is the new moon, or as could be constructed by the most skillful landscape gardener. the proportions are carefully preserved in the various mounds. the horns of the crescents all point eastward. the winds all blow from the west. like the walking hills, they travel slowly across the plain, preserving their shape and proportions but growing a little taller, a little broader, and a little thicker as they go, because of the new material which is continually being brought across the plain by the constructive winds. there is, no doubt, some good and sufficient natural cause for this peculiar construction. some unalterable law of nature is probably being followed in the shaping of these sand-heaps, but thus far no one has been able to offer an explanation for this remarkable freak of the winds. [illustration: imperial church--first wooden building in lower colorado desert] [footnote : "pegleg" smith was a brother of the famous trapper, jedediah smith.] chapter xvi journalism below sea-level the printing-press has sought many strange corners in the universe. it has, in these modern times, led rather than followed civilization. in the new west it usually is, first the printing-press, then the town. one of the most peculiar phases of journalism is found in the desert region of california. there are, in the two great deserts of the state, four weekly papers, two in each desert. in the mojave desert are the _randsburg miner_, published in the gold-mining town of randsburg, in the northern part of the desert, and the _needles' eye_, issued from the town of needles on the eastern confines of the sandy waste. the needles is the metropolis of the upper desert country, and the _needles' eye_ is the larger of the two papers published in this desert. the town has a peculiar history, inasmuch as in the first fifteen years of its existence it stood upon borrowed ground. in size the township is one and a half times as large as the state of vermont. the village of needles is about eight miles west of the colorado river on the line of the santa fé railroad. the main part of the village is situated upon section of the township, which is one of the sections included in the railway grant to the southern pacific railroad company. the town grew naturally about the station, which was established at the time of the building of the santa fé road, and little thought was given to titles at that time. in time the town grew to the dignity of brick blocks, and still the titles remained with the railway company. some ineffectual efforts were made on one or two occasions to secure titles to the lands from the railway people, but it was not until that a deal was made whereby the townsmen, in consideration of $ , , secured deeds to the lands upon which stand their homes and business blocks. needles has a population of two thousand souls. it is a mine outfitting town, furnishing supplies for a large and rich gold-mining district north of that locality. the _needles' eye_, which is an eight-page journal, is a wide-awake organ owned, printed, and edited by l. v. root, a native of michigan, but a resident of the southwest since . he formerly edited the _new mexico gleaner_ and is familiar with frontier journalism. his paper is devoted to the local interests of the town and to the mining districts of that region. [illustration: year-old willow trees at international line] randsburg is a typical mining town with desert accessories. it is the chief town of the gold-mining district known as the "american rand," and has but one rival in the district, johannesburg, which is close to it in size and importance, but which has not yet arrived at the dignity of a newspaper. the _miner_ is a four-page weekly devoted to the news of the mines and to local items. it has few features of interest outside the locality in which it is published. in the colorado desert journalism attains an unusual degree of uniqueness. both papers published in that region are printed below the level of the sea. the _submarine_ has the distinction of being the first paper in the world to be printed below the level of the sea. it is still unique in that it is the "lowest down" of any paper in the world. in order to hold this record the editor and proprietor, randolph r. freeman, was obliged to move to a new locality a few months after establishing his paper in the desert. in , the first paper to be printed below sea-level was issued by freeman at indio, a station in the desert on the line of the southern pacific railroad. indio has a depression of twenty-two feet below the level of the sea. later, the imperial irrigation canal was started across the desert from the colorado river, and the town of imperial had its birth. then the _press_ sprang into existence and was printed in an office situated sixty-five feet below the ocean's level. the _submarine_ thus lost double prestige, for it was no longer the only paper published below the level of the sea, neither was it the "most low down newspaper on earth," as the publisher announced in his prospectus. the editor, in informing his readers of his move, did so in the following language: "we have dropped from twenty-two feet below sea-level to seventy-six feet below sea-level. we hit coachella with a dull yet raucous thud. the low, rumbling noise you heard last tuesday was caused by our printing-office taking the drop. it may be truly said that the _submarine_ is the lowest down, or the lowdownest, or the most low down newspaper on earth. as nearly as we can compute the distance, hades is about two hundred and twelve feet just below our new office. the paper will continue to advocate the interests of all the country below sea-level and we want you to fire in all the news you know." the _submarine_ is nothing if not consistent. it is an eight-page weekly, printed upon paper of a "submarine blue" tint. its local paragraphs are run under the caption of "along the coral strand." it has a humorous department conducted by "mcginty," the man who fell to the bottom of the sea. there is still another department entitled, "the undertow." the editor owns a span of fine horses, the names of which are "sub" and "marine." in fact there is a flavor of the locality in everything connected with the establishment. the imperial _press_, owned, edited, and published by edgar f. howe, is conducted strictly on journalistic principles. the paper is somewhat larger than the _submarine_. it is an eight-page weekly devoted to the interests of irrigation and of reclamation of the desert lands, and to general and local news. howe has been connected with various california newspapers, and has a wide reputation as a commercial editor and an oil expert. he confesses that the imperial publishing business has introduced him to decidedly new experiences. one of the chief difficulties in printing a paper in so torrid a region is that it frequently occurs that the ink-rollers melt and the paper is delayed from issuing till other rollers can be obtained from los angeles, nearly three hundred miles away. summer temperature in imperial ranges from to degrees in the shade and from to degrees higher in the sun. a double set of rollers is kept on hand when possible, but it frequently happens that rollers collapse about as fast as they can be adjusted, and the paper is hung up till a new lot gets in, or till the weather cools off a bit. howe has a device of his own invention for the keeping of the rollers when not in actual use. it is a cupboard with a ventilator in the top and a box of sawdust in the bottom. the rollers are set in a rack midway. the sawdust is kept wet, and the rapid evaporation keeps the cupboard moderately cool. in one feature the _press_ and _submarine_ are peculiar. each of the papers has a circulation three or four times larger than the entire population of the towns in which the papers are published. another feature not common with rural publications is that all subscriptions are paid in advance and in cash. there are no delinquent subscribers, for the paper is stopped when the subscription expires. neither are subscriptions payable in cordwood, for that is a commodity unknown to desert towns. twelve miles north of imperial, and near the end of the imperial canal, there was completed, january , , a single board building twelve by sixteen feet. when the writer visited the place in the following june he found thirty-six buildings completed and others in the course of construction. this was the town of brawley, one hundred and twenty-five feet below sea-level. one of the first objects to greet his eye was a printing outfit, the presses, cases, and accoutrements being stacked upon the sands beside a street of the town and near a tent in which resided the owner of the outfit. this was the nucleus of a new newspaper, to be started as soon as a building could be erected for its occupancy. this paper is destined to be the "lowdownest," unless one of the other papers moves still deeper into the great sink. it is among the possibilities of the future to have a paper published three hundred feet below sea-level, for this depression may be reached in the center of the basin known as the "salton sink." chapter xvii the end of the desert there must be, we are told, an end to everything, and the beginning of the end of the desert is at hand. already two hundred thousand acres of the great colorado desert has been taken from it and placed with the productive acreage of the state. this is but a fraction, to be sure, of the vast amount of arid land in the state and but about one five-hundredth part of the arid area in the united states, but it is a beginning, and when it is considered that it is the work of only two years it will be conceded that it is a marvelous beginning. irrigation, to be sure, is not new to the western country, but reclamation on a gigantic scale is new. farming was carried on by irrigation in the west before the first white man visited this continent. in arizona and new mexico are to be traced to-day vast irrigation canals and reservoirs used by a race that had been forgotten when the first white man visited the region. some of these ancient canals are now being used by both indians and white men in those territories. [illustration: irrigating desert land] the national irrigation idea had its birth in los angeles in , when the business men of that city met and opened a campaign for securing a government system. nearly six thousand letters were written and mailed to representative men of the country with the result that the idea took root and national irrigation became an accomplished fact. before the government passed laws whereby irrigation became a national charge, private enterprise had taken hold of the matter, and the imperial canal had been started out into the colorado desert. this canal has had marvelous development, and two years from the time work was begun upon it more lands had been reclaimed than by any other single irrigation system in the world. the work of reclaiming the colorado desert was begun in . not far from the mexican line, at hanlon's crossing, the river left a convenient place for the headworks of the great canal. here is where the river was tapped. about a mile from the headworks the river, which in the bygone ages laid down the sixty-mile barrier between the gulf and the desert, also left a channel whereby to aid in reclaiming the desert. the first ten miles of this natural channel required some deepening, and then for some sixty miles across the mexican border and back to the international line the canal was ready-made. from the point where the canal leaves the colorado to where it returns to the international line, after circling through mexican territory, there is a fall of one hundred and fifteen feet, less than two feet to the mile. this, however, is sufficient for the purposes of irrigation. one of the first questions to be settled, when the project for leading the river out into the desert was considered, was the character of the water. not all water found in the arid regions is good for irrigation. much of it is so impregnated with alkali as to be injurious rather than helpful to the soil. the university of arizona made daily analysis of the waters of the river for a period of seventeen months. this analysis showed that the waters contained no injurious substances, but, on the contrary, much that is nutritive to the soil. [illustration: desert sorghum] the waters of the colorado carry in suspension one-fourth of one per cent. of solid matter. the color of the water is about like that of lemonade. the analysis shows that this matter in suspension is composed of clay, lime, phosphoric acid, available potash, and nitrogen. the fertilizing value of these substances is about cents per acre-inch of water. as from twenty-four inches to thirty-six inches of water are used in the course of the year for each acre irrigated, it will be seen that the fertilizing value of the water is from $ to $ per acre per year. this means that the land will never wear out but will produce abundant crops so long as worked and irrigated. another question which came up for settlement was the permanence of the water-supply. the answer to this was equally satisfactory. the mean flow of the river is found to be forty thousand cubic feet per second, an amount of water ample to irrigate territory eight times as large as the colorado desert. the volume of water in the lower colorado river is greater in the summer, or dry season, than in the winter, or rainy season. this is because the river has its source in the great mountainous region in the north, where the melting snows on the mountain-tops during the summer season furnish large quantities of water to the streams which make up the river. this brings the greatest amount of water at the season of the year when the farmers use the most, a condition most satisfactory to the projectors of the irrigation system. the main canal, which was begun in , at the beginning of had grown to be one hundred miles long. this canal is seventy feet wide and eight feet deep, and supplies more than three hundred miles of lateral canals with water. the first season that water was turned into the canal, six thousand five hundred acres of crops were raised where for ages had been nothing but barren desert lands. the second season forty thousand acres were raised, and at the end of the season one hundred and twenty-five thousand acres of land had been broken ready for seeding. the great sandy wastes have given way to green fields of waving grain, verdant seas of billowy maize and millet, broad meadows of rich green alfalfa, and wide pastures where thousands of cattle dot the plain. in addition to this, new cities are springing up where desolation so recently reigned, and a railroad has crept down toward the mexican line, and is destined to go on to the line and over, even to the great gulf which ages ago retreated from the land now being turned into a paradise. [illustration: milo maize on reclaimed desert land near heber] one of the first towns a man hears of now, when he enters the desert region, is calexico, the most remote of the settlements in the desert north of the mexican line. it is noted for two things, both of which have to do with the hotel, one of the half-dozen buildings which compose the town. when the visitor steps from the train at old beach, in the very heart of the desert, he is apt to be greeted with this question: "going down to calexico? "waal, ye'll git the best meal there of any place in the desert, an' they've got a shower-bath at the hotel there, too," is the information vouchsafed when the visitor announces calexico as his destination. these are the things which have given calexico fame. it was nine o'clock in the evening when the writer and his party arrived at calexico in june, , after a two-days drive across the dusty, burning plain. "this way," said the landlord who answered our hail, showing us into a side room in the adobe structure. "drop your luggage here. you can wash over there. and right in here," said he, proudly pointing the way, "is a shower-bath. help yourselves." a shower-bath in the very heart of the desert! it is no wonder the landlord is proud of it, for there is not another within two hundred miles. calexico is a town with a future,--like most of the desert towns,--in fact, it is nearly all future as yet. it has streets and public squares, but it lacks the buildings. they will follow, however, for the railroad is coming, and a rich farming region will center there. the town is laid out beside the irrigation canal which there forms a portion of the international boundary. over this ditch, in mexico, is the embryo town of mexicala, which consists of a single row of thatched huts and adobes strung along beside the canal. nearly every building is a saloon or gambling den, or both. the town boasts of a population of three hundred souls, with but a single white man. none of the towns in the imperial country on this side of the line sell intoxicating liquors. this makes mexicala the mecca for the "spirituously" inclined. the liquor obtainable there is of a brand known as mescal, and there is murder in every glass. in proof of this assertion, just before we arrived there a mexican took four drinks and then shot four persons. [illustration: adobe hotel, calexico, which has the only shower bath in the desert] silsbee, twelve miles north of calexico, is a very young city. there are three or four tents among the mesquites which border blue lake, and there is a general store, post-office, and dwelling combined. the building, as well as the business thereof, is composite. it is made partly of boards, partly of tent cloth, and partly of poles, thatched with greasewood boughs. the proprietor of the establishment, dan browning, is a red-faced frontiersman who has faith in the future of his city, and he is in on the ground floor. he will point out to the visitor "main street," "the park," "the hotel site," and other attractions, and he sees them all in his mind's eye. to the visitor, however, all these metropolitan wonders appear to be simply desert. imperial has the one church of the desert. it is a small wooden structure--the first wooden building in the valley--which is whitewashed on the outside. imperial is ancient. it has two years the start of its sister towns and it looks down upon them with disdain. some of the infant cities have designs upon their big sister, however, and they mean to outstrip her in the near future. brawley is one of these ambitious towns. heber is another and holten is still another. plans have been perfected for the construction of a grand boulevard which will pass from the northern limit of the imperial canal system to the international line at calexico. this street will be one of the wonders of the state when completed. it is to be one hundred feet wide and thirty-five miles long, and will be so level that it cannot be determined with the eye which way the street inclines. along either side of the way and down through the center of the thoroughfare will be rows of trees to shut off from the street the glare of the desert sun. also on either side will be small canals of running water which will serve, not only to irrigate the trees but will be utilized to lay the dust of the street. when completed it will require but two men to keep the entire street in order. with this glimpse of the work of reclamation which is taking place in the desert thus afforded the reader, i will drop the subject and bring the final chapter to an end. the death of the desert will be a beautiful one. there will be no lack of flowers to lay upon its bier. its grimness and fierceness and terrors will have given place to peace, plenty, and prosperity. the region of death will be transformed into a kingdom of life. index alkali, , _allenrolpea occidentalis_, andesite, arizona candle, arsenic spring, asbestos, ash meadows, banning, baryta, basket-making, - birds, , bitter sage, black buttes, , black lake, black rock desert, borax, , - , brawley, , breccia, bull snake, burial customs, , - burro, - cactus blossoms, cactus, grape, cactus rat, calexico, camels, , , , centipede, _cereus giganteus_, chaparral, chemehuevi indians, _chlorogalum pomeridianum_, cinnabar, _clistoyucca arborescens_, coachella valley, cocopah indians, , , colorado desert, , , , , , , , - , , - colorado desert, how formed, colorado river, , , , - copper, - coyote, creosote bush, crescent hills, _crotalus cerastes_, daggett, death valley, , , , , , , , , - desert journalism, - deserts, black rock, ; colorado, , , , , , , , - , , - ; great american, , ; mojave, , , , , , , , , , ; nevada, ; painted, ; smoke creek, deserts, extent and origin, devil's chair, early navigators, earthquakes, , _ephydra californica_, funeral mountains, furnace creek, gila monster, , , , , gila river, gold, , gold districts, , , , gold mine, pegleg, grand cañon, greasewood, , great american desert, , gulf of california, gypsum, hanlon's crossing, heber, _heloderina horridum_, hematite, holton, hopi indians, , horned toad, human bones, , imperial, - imperial canal, - imperial press, - indio, iron, irrigation, - jasper, journalism, - koochabee, lake juala, lead, lithia, maguey, manganese, map ancient california, , marble, , mcpherson, john f., desert experiences, - mescal, mesquite, mexicala, mirage, mojave desert, , , , , , , , , , mt. grayback, mt. san jacinto, needles, - needle's eye, - nevada desert, niter, , nopal, oases, old beach, ollas, , onyx, owen's lake, padre junipero serra, painted desert, palo-verde, panamint indians, , , pectis, pegleg gold mine, , phantom ship, _phrynosoma_, pilot knob, pomo indians, prickly pear, prospector, - randsburg, _randsburg miner_, - rattlesnake, , , rhyolite, sage, sahuaro, salt, - , salton, , - saratoga springs, scorpion, , serra, padre junipero, side-winder, signal mountain, silsbee, silver, smoke creek desert, snakeweed, soap plant, soda, , spanish bayonet, submarine, - sulphur, , sutuma, - tarantula, , temperature, , thirst, tortures of, , tin, tortoise, , tourmaline, tufa, tuna, turquoise, volcanoes, , , - walking hills, , water, - water wells, , well of the desert, yucca, , , yuma indians, zinc, old paths _and_ legends of new england _with many illustrations of massachusetts bay, old colony, rhode island, and the providence plantations, and the fresh river of the connecticut valley_ by katherine m. abbott _ ^o, very fully illustrated, net. $ . . (by mail, $ . .)_ the idea for this book grew out of the fact that miss abbott's little paper-bound _trolley trips_, describing the old new england neighborhoods that may now be reached by the trolley, have met with an astonishingly wide demand. in this more pretentious work miss abbott has utilized her fund of material to draw a delightful picture of the quaint byways of new england. but in this case her wanderings are not limited by gaps in the trolley circuit, or by daylight or car-fares. historic spots of national interest, curious or charming out-of-the-way places, indian legends and yankee folk-lore find full justice in miss abbott's entertaining pages. fiction could never interpret new england so honestly as does this volume. g. p. putnam's sons new york london the romance of the colorado river a complete account of the discovery and of the explorations from to the present time, with particular reference to the two voyages of powell through the line of the great canyons. by frederick s. dellenbaugh, member of the u. s. colorado river expedition of and , author of "north americans of yesterday," etc. ^o. fully illustrated. $ . net. by mail, $ . . ever since the day of its discovery by alarçon in , the colorado river of the west has been of romantic interest. bound in for more than one thousand miles of its course in the stupendous canyon which was and always will be one of the wonders of the natural world, it defied for centuries full exploration. the first descent of major powell through its magnificent gorges, in , and his second in - , giving to the world a complete knowledge of the unknown river, form together one of the most interesting pages of our history. the volume is well illustrated by photographs, taken on the expedition, by new maps, and by drawings made by the author and by others. the hudson river from ocean to source historical--legendary--picturesque. by edgar mayhew bacon, author of "chronicles of tarrytown," etc. ^o. with over illustrations. net $ . . (by mail, $ . .) no stream in america is so rich in legends and historic associations as the hudson. from ocean to source every mile of it is crowded with the reminders of the early explorers, of the indian wars, of the struggle of the colonies, and of the quaint, peaceful village existence along its banks in the early days of the republic. before the explorers came, the river figured to a great extent in the legendary history of the indian tribes of the east. mr. bacon is well equipped for the undertaking of a book of this sort, and the story he tells is of national interest. the volume is illustrated with views taken especially for this work and with many rare old prints now first published in book form. new york--g. p. putnam's sons--london transcriber's notes page : changed "cyclindrical" to "cylindrical." (orig: a cyclindrical-shaped green plant) page : changed "indisspensable" to "indispensable." (orig: the prospector deems him indisspensable) page : removed duplicate "a." (orig: information that a a similar inundation had taken place) page : changed "oufit" to "outfit." (orig: first objects to greet his eye was a printing oufit,) page : changed page to . (orig: gold districts, , , , ) page : changed "mexacala" to "mexicala." (orig: mexacala, ) page : changed page to . (orig: thirst, tortures of, , ) images of public domain material from the google books project.) transcriber notes text emphasis id denoted as _italics_ and =bold=. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | the | | | | scarecrow of oz | | | | | | | | by | | | | l. frank baum | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration] ===== the famous oz books ===== since , when l. frank baum introduced to the children of america the wonderful wizard of oz and all the other exciting characters who inhabit the land of oz, these delightful fairy tales have stimulated the imagination of millions of young readers. these are stories which are genuine fantasy creative, funny, tender, exciting and surprising. filled with the rarest and most absurd creatures, each of the volumes which now comprise the series, has been eagerly sought out by generation after generation until to-day they are known to all except the very young or those who were never young at all. when, in a recent survey, the =new york times= polled a group of teen agers on the books they liked best when they were young, the oz books topped the list. the famous oz books ------------------- by l. frank baum: the wizard of oz the land of oz ozma of oz dorothy and the wizard in oz the road to oz the emerald city of oz the patchwork girl of oz tik-tok of oz the scarecrow of oz rinkitink in oz the lost princess of oz the tin woodman of oz the magic of oz glinda of oz chicago the reilly & lee co. _publishers_ [illustration: the scarecrow _of_ oz] dedicated to "the uplifters" of los angeles, california, in grateful appreciation of the pleasure i have derived from association with them, and in recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. they are big men all of them and all with the generous hearts of little children. l. frank baum [illustration] +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | the | | | | =scarecrow of oz= | | | | | | by | | | | l. frank baum | | | | author of | | | | the road to oz, dorothy and the wizard in oz, the emerald | | city of oz, the land of oz, ozma of oz. the patchwork girl | | of oz, tik-tok of oz | | | | | | | | [illustration] | | | | | | | | illustrated by | | john r. neill | | | | | | =the reilly & lee co= | | chicago | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | copyright | | | | by | | | | l frank baum | | | | all | | | | rights reserved | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration] 'twixt you and me the army of children which besieged the postoffice, conquered the postmen and delivered to me its imperious commands, insisted that trot and cap'n bill be admitted to the land of oz, where trot could enjoy the society of dorothy, betsy bobbin and ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade of the tin woodman, the shaggy man, tik-tok and all the other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland. it was no easy task to obey this order and land trot and cap'n bill safely in oz, as you will discover by reading this book. indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the scarecrow, to save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them happily located in ozma's splendid palace and dorothy has promised me that button-bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future, some marvelous adventures in the land of oz, which i hope to be permitted to relate to you in the next oz book. meantime, i am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued enthusiasm over the oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me, all of which are lovingly cherished. it takes more and more oz books every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed many "oz reading societies," where the oz books owned by different members are read aloud. all this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more oz stories. when the children have had enough of them, i hope they will let me know, and then i'll try to write something different. l. frank baum "royal historian of oz." "ozcot" at hollywood in california, . [illustration] list of chapters the great whirlpool cavern under the sea the ork daylight at last! the little old man of the island the flight of the midgets the bumpy man button-bright is lost, and found again the kingdom of jinxland pon, the gardener's boy the wicked king and googly-goo the wooden-legged grasshopper glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz the frozen heart trot meets the scarecrow pon summons the king to surrender the ork rescues button-bright the scarecrow meets an enemy the conquest of the witch queen gloria dorothy, betsy and ozma the waterfall the land of oz the royal reception [illustration] [illustration] [illustration: cap'n bill] chapter the great whirlpool "seems to me," said cap'n bill, as he sat beside trot under the big acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, trot, as how the more we know, the more we find we don't know." "i can't quite make that out, cap'n bill," answered the little girl in a serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "seems to me that all we learn is jus' so much gained." "i know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head; "but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble big world this is. it's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git more'n a few dips o' the oars of knowledge." trot didn't answer. she was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an earnest, simple manner. cap'n bill had been her faithful companion for years and had taught her almost everything she knew. he was a wonderful man, this cap'n bill. not so very old, although his hair was grizzled--what there was of it. most of his head was bald as an egg and as shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. his eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was rugged and bronzed. cap'n bill's left leg was missing, from the knee down, and that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. the wooden leg he wore was good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take trot out for a row or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to "runnin' up aloft" or performing active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. the loss of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting himself to the education and companionship of the little girl. [illustration: the old sailor devoted himself to the education of the little girl.] the accident to cap'n bill's leg had happened at about the time trot was born, and ever since that he had lived with trot's mother as "a star boarder," having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly "keep." he loved the baby and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on cap'n bill's shoulders, for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures together. it is said the fairies had been present at trot's birth and had marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to see and do many wonderful things. the acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a zigzag way to the water's edge, where cap'n bill's boat was moored to a rock by means of a stout cable. it had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air stirring, so cap'n bill and trot had been quietly sitting beneath the shade of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row. they had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. the caves were a source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to explore their awesome depths. "i b'lieve, cap'n," remarked trot, at last, "that it's time for us to start." the old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat. then he shook his head. "mebbe it's time, trot," he answered, "but i don't jes' like the looks o' things this afternoon." "what's wrong?" she asked wonderingly. "can't say as to that. things is too quiet to suit me, that's all. no breeze, not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottest day o' the year. i ain't no weather-prophet, trot, but any sailor would know the signs is ominous." "there's nothing wrong that i can see," said trot. "if there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about it; but--look, cap'n!--the sky is as clear as can be." he looked again and nodded. "p'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed, not wishing to disappoint her. "it's only a little way out, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, trot." together they descended the winding path to the beach. it was no trouble for the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but cap'n bill, because of his wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself from tumbling. on a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill or down required some care. they reached the boat safely and while trot was untying the rope cap'n bill reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his "sou'wester." this sou'wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all occasions--when he wore a coat at all--and the pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even trot wonder where they all came from and why cap'n bill should treasure them. the jackknives--a big one and a little one--the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. but bits of shell, and tin boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around. that was cap'n bill's business, however, and now that he added the candles and the matches to his collection trot made no comment, for she knew these last were to light their way through the caves. the sailor always rowed the boat, for he handled the oars with strength and skill. trot sat in the stern and steered. the place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were located, right at the water's edge. they were nearly a mile from shore and about half-way across the bay when trot suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: "what's that, cap'n?" he stopped rowing and turned half around to look. [illustration] "that, trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty like a whirlpool." "what makes it, cap'n?" "a whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. i was afraid as we'd meet with trouble, trot. things didn't look right. the air was too still." "it's coming closer," said the girl. the old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with all his strength. "'tain't comin' closer to us, trot," he gasped; "it's we that are comin' closer to the whirlpool. the thing is drawin' us to it like a magnet!" trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she grasped the tiller firmly and tried to steer the boat away; but she said not a word to indicate fear. the swirl of the water as they came nearer made a roaring sound that was fearful to listen to. so fierce and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew the surface of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting downward toward the center, where a big hole had been made in the ocean--a hole with walls of water that were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air. the boat in which trot and cap'n bill were riding was just on the outer edge of this saucer-like slant, and the old sailor knew very well that unless he could quickly force the little craft away from the rushing current they would soon be drawn into the great black hole that yawned in the middle. so he exerted all his might and pulled as he had never pulled before. he pulled so hard that the left oar snapped in two and sent cap'n bill sprawling upon the bottom of the boat. he scrambled up quickly enough and glanced over the side. then he looked at trot, who sat quite still, with a serious, far-away look in her sweet eyes. the boat was now speeding swiftly of its own accord, following the line of the circular basin round and round and gradually drawing nearer to the great hole in the center. any further effort to escape the whirlpool was useless, and realizing this fact cap'n bill turned toward trot and put an arm around her, as if to shield her from the awful fate before them. he did not try to speak, because the roar of the waters would have drowned the sound of his voice. these two faithful comrades had faced dangers before, but nothing to equal that which now faced them. yet cap'n bill, noting the look in trot's eyes and remembering how often she had been protected by unseen powers, did not quite give way to despair. the great hole in the dark water--now growing nearer and nearer--looked very terrifying; but they were both brave enough to face it and await the result of the adventure. [illustration] chapter the cavern under the sea the circles were so much smaller at the bottom of the basin, and the boat moved so much more swiftly, that trot was beginning to get dizzy with the motion, when suddenly the boat made a leap and dived headlong into the murky depths of the hole. whirling like tops, but still clinging together, the sailor and the girl were separated from their boat and plunged down--down--down--into the farthermost recesses of the great ocean. at first their fall was swift as an arrow, but presently they seemed to be going more moderately and trot was almost sure that unseen arms were about her, supporting her and protecting her. she could see nothing, because the water filled her eyes and blurred her vision, but she clung fast to cap'n bill's sou'wester, while other arms clung fast to her, and so they gradually sank down and down until a full stop was made, when they began to ascend again. but it seemed to trot that they were not rising straight to the surface from where they had come. the water was no longer whirling them and they seemed to be drawn in a slanting direction through still, cool ocean depths. and then--in much quicker time than i have told it--up they popped to the surface and were cast at full length upon a sandy beach, where they lay choking and gasping for breath and wondering what had happened to them. trot was the first to recover. disengaging herself from cap'n bill's wet embrace and sitting up, she rubbed the water from her eyes and then looked around her. a soft, bluish-green glow lighted the place, which seemed to be a sort of cavern, for above and on either side of her were rugged rocks. they had been cast upon a beach of clear sand, which slanted upward from the pool of water at their feet--a pool which doubtless led into the big ocean that fed it. above the reach of the waves of the pool were more rocks, and still more and more, into the dim windings and recesses of which the glowing light from the water did not penetrate. the place looked grim and lonely, but trot was thankful that she was still alive and had suffered no severe injury during her trying adventure under water. at her side cap'n bill was sputtering and coughing, trying to get rid of the water he had swallowed. both of them were soaked through, yet the cavern was warm and comfortable and a wetting did not dismay the little girl in the least. she crawled up the slant of sand and gathered in her hand a bunch of dried seaweed, with which she mopped the face of cap'n bill and cleared the water from his eyes and ears. presently the old man sat up and stared at her intently. then he nodded his bald head three times and said in a gurgling voice: "mighty good, trot; mighty good! we didn't reach davy jones's locker that time, did we? though why we didn't, an' why we're here, is more'n i kin make out." "take it easy, cap'n," she replied. "we're safe enough, i guess, at least for the time being." he squeezed the water out of the bottoms of his loose trousers and felt of his wooden leg and arms and head, and finding he had brought all of his person with him he gathered courage to examine closely their surroundings. "where d'ye think we are, trot?" he presently asked. "can't say, cap'n. p'r'aps in one of our caves." he shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't think that, at all. the distance we came up didn't seem half as far as the distance we went down; an' you'll notice there ain't any outside entrance to this cavern whatever. it's a reg'lar dome over this pool o' water, and unless there's some passage at the back, up yonder, we're fast pris'ners." trot looked thoughtfully over her shoulder. "when we're rested," she said, "we will crawl up there and see if there's a way to get out." cap'n bill reached in the pocket of his oilskin coat and took out his pipe. it was still dry, for he kept it in an oilskin pouch with his tobacco. his matches were in a tight tin box, so in a few moments the old sailor was smoking contentedly. trot knew it helped him to think when he was in any difficulty. also, the pipe did much to restore the old sailor's composure, after his long ducking and his terrible fright--a fright that was more on trot's account than his own. the sand was dry where they sat, and soaked up the water that dripped from their clothing. when trot had squeezed the wet out of her hair she began to feel much like her old self again. by and by they got upon their feet and crept up the incline to the scattered boulders above. some of these were of huge size, but by passing between some and around others, they were able to reach the extreme rear of the cavern. "yes," said trot, with interest, "here's a round hole." "and it's black as night inside it," remarked cap'n bill. "just the same," answered the girl, "we ought to explore it, and see where it goes, 'cause it's the only poss'ble way we can get out of this place." cap'n bill eyed the hole doubtfully. "it may be a way out o' here, trot," he said, "but it may be a way into a far worse place than this. i'm not sure but our best plan is to stay right here." trot wasn't sure, either, when she thought of it in that light.. after awhile she made her way back to the sands again, and cap'n bill followed her. as they sat down, the child looked thoughtfully at the sailor's bulging pockets. [illustration: trot] "how much food have we got, cap'n?" she asked. "half a dozen ship's biscuits an' a hunk o' cheese," he replied. "want some now, trot?" she shook her head, saying: "that ought to keep us alive 'bout three days if we're careful of it." "longer'n that, trot," said cap'n bill, but his voice was a little troubled and unsteady. "but if we stay here we're bound to starve in time," continued the girl, "while if we go into the dark hole--" "some things are more hard to face than starvation," said the sailor-man, gravely. "we don't know what's inside that dark hole. trot, nor where it might lead us to." "there's a way to find that out," she persisted. instead of replying, cap'n bill began searching in his pockets. he soon drew out a little package of fishhooks and a long line. trot watched him join them together. then he crept a little way up the slope and turned over a big rock. two or three small crabs began scurrying away over the sands and the old sailor caught them and put one on his hook and the others in his pocket. coming back to the pool he swung the hook over his shoulder and circled it around his head and cast it nearly into the center of the water, where he allowed it to sink gradually, paying out the line as far as it would go. when the end was reached, he began drawing it in again, until the crab bait was floating on the surface. trot watched him cast the line a second time, and a third. she decided that either there were no fishes in the pool or they would not bite the crab bait. but cap'n bill was an old fisherman and not easily discouraged. when the crab got away he put another on the hook. when the crabs were all gone he climbed up the rocks and found some more. meantime trot tired of watching him and lay down upon the sands, where she fell fast asleep. during the next two hours her clothing dried completely, as did that of the old sailor. they were both so used to salt water that there was no danger of taking cold. finally the little girl was wakened by a splash beside her and a grunt of satisfaction from cap'n bill. she opened her eyes to find that the cap'n had landed a silver-scaled fish weighing about two pounds. this cheered her considerably and she hurried to scrape together a heap of seaweed, while cap'n bill cut up the fish with his jackknife and got it ready for cooking. they had cooked fish with seaweed before. cap'n bill wrapped his fish in some of the weed and dipped it in the water to dampen it. then he lighted a match and set fire to trot's heap, which speedily burned down to a glowing bed of ashes. then they laid the wrapped fish on the ashes, covered it with more seaweed, and allowed this to catch fire and burn to embers. after feeding the fire with seaweed for some time, the sailor finally decided that their supper was ready, so he scattered the ashes and drew out the bits of fish, still encased in their smoking wrappings. when these wrappings were removed, the fish was found thoroughly cooked and both trot and cap'n bill ate of it freely. it had a slight flavor of seaweed and would have been better with a sprinkling of salt. the soft glow which until now had lighted the cavern, began to grow dim, but there was a great quantity of seaweed in the place, so after they had eaten their fish they kept the fire alive for a time by giving it a handful of fuel now and then. from an inner pocket the sailor drew a small flask of battered metal and unscrewing the cap handed it to trot. she took but one swallow of the water, although she wanted more, and she noticed that cap'n bill merely wet his lips with it. "s'pose," said she, staring at the glowing seaweed fire and speaking slowly, "that we can catch all the fish we need; how 'bout the drinking-water, cap'n?" he moved uneasily but did not reply. both of them were thinking about the dark hole, but while trot had little fear of it the old man could not overcome his dislike to enter the place. he knew that trot was right, though. to remain in the cavern, where they now were, could only result in slow but sure death. it was nighttime upon the earth's surface, so the little girl became drowsy and soon fell asleep. after a time the old sailor slumbered on the sands beside her. it was very still and nothing disturbed them for hours. when at last they awoke the cavern was light again. they had divided one of the biscuits and were munching it for breakfast when they were startled by a sudden splash in the pool. looking toward it they saw emerging from the water the most curious creature either of them had ever beheld. it wasn't a fish, trot decided, nor was it a beast. it had wings, though, and queer wings they were: shaped like an inverted chopping-bowl and covered with tough skin instead of feathers. it had four legs--much like the legs of a stork, only double the number--and its head was shaped a good deal like that of a poll parrot, with a beak that curved downward in front and upward at the edges, and was half bill and half mouth. but to call it a bird was out of the question, because it had feathers whatever except a crest of wavy plumes of a scarlet color on the very top of its head. the strange creature must have weighed as much as cap'n bill, and as it floundered and struggled to get out of the water to the sandy beach it was so big and unusual that both trot and her companion stared at it in wonder--in wonder that was not unmixed with fear. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the ork the eyes that regarded them, as the creature stood dripping before them, were bright and mild in expression, and the queer addition to their party made no attempt to attack them and seemed quite as surprised by the meeting as they were. "i wonder," whispered trot, "what it is." "who, me?" exclaimed the creature in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "why, i'm an ork." "oh!" said the girl. "but what is an ork?" "i am," he repeated, a little proudly, as he shook the water from his funny wings; "and if ever an ork was glad to be out of the water and on dry land again, you can be mighty sure that i'm that especial, individual ork!" "have you been in the water long?" inquired cap'n bill, thinking it only polite to show an interest in the strange creature.. "why, this last ducking was about ten minutes, i believe, and that's about nine minutes and sixty seconds too long for comfort," was the reply. "but last night i was in an awful pickle, i assure you. the whirlpool caught me, and--" "oh, were you in the whirlpool, too?" asked trot eagerly. he gave her a glance that was somewhat reproachful. "i believe i was mentioning the fact, young lady, when your desire to talk interrupted me," said the ork. "i am not usually careless in my actions, but that whirlpool was so busy yesterday that i thought i'd see what mischief it was up to. so i flew a little too near it and the suction of the air drew me down into the depths of the ocean. water and i are natural enemies, and it would have conquered me this time had not a bevy of pretty mermaids come to my assistance and dragged me away from the whirling water and far up into a cavern, where they deserted me." "why, that's about the same thing that happened to us," cried trot. "was your cavern like this one?" "i haven't examined this one yet," answered the ork; "but if they happen to be alike i shudder at our fate, for the other one was a prison, with no outlet except by means of the water. i stayed there all night, however, and this morning i plunged into the pool, as far down as i could go, and then swam as hard and as far as i could. the rocks scraped my back, now and then, and i barely escaped the clutches of an ugly sea-monster; but by and by i came to the surface to catch my breath, and found myself here. that's the whole story, and as i see you have something to eat i entreat you to give me a share of it. the truth is, i'm half starved." with these words the ork squatted down beside them. very reluctantly cap'n bill drew another biscuit from his pocket and held it out. the ork promptly seized it in one of its front claws and began to nibble the biscuit in much the same manner a parrot might have done. "we haven't much grub," said the sailor-man, "but we're willin' to share it with a comrade in distress." "that's right," returned the ork, cocking its head sidewise in a cheerful manner, and then for a few minutes there was silence while they all ate of the biscuits. after a while trot said: "i've never seen or heard of an ork before. are there many of you?" "we are rather few and exclusive, i believe," was the reply. "in the country where i was born we are the absolute rulers of all living things, from ants to elephants." "what country is that?" asked cap'n bill. "orkland." "where does it lie?" "i don't know, exactly. you see, i have a restless nature, for some reason, while all the rest of my race are quiet and contented orks and seldom stray far from home. from childhood days i loved to fly long distances away, although father often warned me that i would get into trouble by so doing. "'it's a big world, flipper, my son,' he would say, 'and i've heard that in parts of it live queer two-legged creatures called men, who war upon all other living things and would have little respect for even an ork.' "this naturally aroused my curiosity and after i had completed my education and left school i decided to fly out into the world and try to get a glimpse of the creatures called men. so i left home without saying good-bye, an act i shall always regret. adventures were many, i found. i sighted men several times, but have never before been so close to them as now. also i had to fight my way through the air, for i met gigantic birds, with fluffy feathers all over them, which attacked me fiercely. besides, it kept me busy escaping from floating airships. in my rambling i had lost all track of distance or direction, so that when i wanted to go home i had no idea where my country was located. i've now been trying to find it for several months and it was during one of my flights over the ocean that i met the whirlpool and became its victim." trot and cap'n bill listened to this recital with much interest, and from the friendly tone and harmless appearance of the ork they judged he was not likely to prove so disagreeable a companion as at first they had feared he might be. the ork sat upon its haunches much as a cat does, but used the finger-like claws of its front legs almost as cleverly as if they were hands. perhaps the most curious thing about the creature was its tail, or what ought to have been its tail. this queer arrangement of skin, bones and muscle was shaped like the propellers used on boats and airships, having fan-like surfaces and being pivoted to its body. cap'n bill knew something of mechanics, and observing the propeller-like tail of the ork he said: "i s'pose you're a pretty swift flyer?" "yes, indeed; the orks are admitted to be kings of the air." "your wings don't seem to amount to much," remarked trot. "well, they are not very big," admitted the ork, waving the four hollow skins gently to and fro, "but they serve to support my body in the air while i speed along by means of my tail. still, taken altogether, i'm very handsomely formed, don't you think?" trot did not like to reply, but cap'n bill nodded gravely. "for an ork," said he, "you're a wonder. i've never seen one afore, but i can imagine you're as good as any." that seemed to please the creature and it began walking around the cavern, making its way easily up the slope. while it was gone, trot and cap'n bill each took another sip from the water-flask, to wash down their breakfast. "why, here's a hole--an exit--an outlet!" exclaimed the ork from above. "we know," said trot. "we found it last night." "well, then, let's be off," continued the ork, after sticking its head into the black hole and sniffing once or twice. "the air seems fresh and sweet, and it can't lead us to any worse place than this." [illustration] the girl and the sailor-man got up and climbed to the side of the ork. "we'd about decided to explore this hole before you came," explained cap'n bill; "but it's a dangerous place to navigate in the dark, so wait till i light a candle." "what is a candle?" inquired the ork. "you'll see in a minute," said trot. the old sailor drew one of the candles from his right-side pocket and the tin matchbox from his left-side pocket. when he lighted the match the ork gave a startled jump and eyed the flame suspiciously; but cap'n bill proceeded to light the candle and the action interested the ork very much. "light," it said, somewhat nervously, "is valuable in a hole of this sort. the candle is not dangerous, i hope?" "sometimes it burns your fingers," answered trot, "but that's about the worst it can do--'cept to blow out when you don't want it to." cap'n bill shielded the flame with his hand and crept into the hole. it wasn't any too big for a grown man, but after he had crawled a few feet it grew larger. trot came close behind him and then the ork followed. "seems like a reg'lar tunnel," muttered the sailor-man, who was creeping along awkwardly because of his wooden leg. the rocks, too, hurt his knees. for nearly half an hour the three moved slowly along the tunnel, which made many twists and turns and sometimes slanted downward and sometimes upward. finally cap'n bill stopped short, with an exclamation of disappointment, and held the flickering candle far ahead to light the scene. "what's wrong?' demanded trot, who could see nothing because the sailor's form completely filled the hole. "why, we've come to the end of our travels, i guess," he replied. "is the hole blocked?" inquired the ork. "no; it's wuss nor that," replied cap'n bill sadly. "i'm on the edge of a precipice. wait a minute an' i'll move along and let you see for yourselves. be careful, trot, not to fall." then he crept forward a little and moved to one side, holding the candle so that the girl could see to follow him. the ork came next and now all three knelt on a narrow ledge of rock which dropped straight away and left a huge black space which the tiny flame of the candle could not illuminate. "h-m!" said the ork, peering over the edge; "this doesn't look very promising, i'll admit. but let me take your candle, and i'll fly down and see what's below us." "aren't you afraid?" asked trot. "certainly i'm afraid," responded the ork. "but if we intend to escape we can't stay on this shelf forever. so, as i notice you poor creatures cannot fly, it is my duty to explore the place for you." cap'n bill handed the ork the candle, which had now burned to about half its length. the ork took it in one claw rather cautiously and then tipped its body forward and slipped over the edge. they heard a queer buzzing sound, as the tail revolved, and a brisk flapping of the peculiar wings, but they were more interested just then in following with their eyes the tiny speck of light which marked the location of the candle. this light first made a great circle, then dropped slowly downward and suddenly was extinguished, leaving everything before them black as ink. "hi, there! how did that happen?" cried the ork. "it blew out, i guess," shouted cap'n bill. "fetch it here." "i can't see where you are," said the ork. so cap'n bill got out another candle and lighted it, and its flame enabled the ork to fly back to them. it alighted on the edge and held out the bit of candle. "what made it stop burning?" asked the creature. "the wind," said trot. "you must be more careful, this time." "what's the place like?" inquired cap'n bill. "i don't know, yet; but there must be a bottom to it, so i'll try to find it." with this the ork started out again and this time sank downward more slowly. down, down, down it went, till the candle was a mere spark, and then it headed away to the left and trot and cap'n bill lost all sight of it. [illustration] in a few minutes, however, they saw the spark of light again, and as the sailor still held the second lighted candle the ork made straight toward them. it was only a few yards distant when suddenly it dropped the candle with a cry of pain and next moment alighted, fluttering wildly, upon the rocky ledge. "what's the matter?" asked trot. "it bit me!" wailed the ork. "i don't like your candles. the thing began to disappear slowly as soon as i took it in my claw, and it grew smaller and smaller until just now it turned and bit me--a most unfriendly thing to do. oh--oh! ouch, what a bite!" "that's the nature of candles, i'm sorry to say," explained cap'n bill, with a grin. "you have to handle 'em mighty keerful. but tell us, what did you find down there?" "i found a way to continue our journey," said the ork, nursing tenderly the claw which had been burned. "just below us is a great lake of black water, which looked so cold and wicked that it made me shudder; but away at the left there's a big tunnel, which we can easily walk through. i don't know where it leads to, of course, but we must follow it and find out." "why, we can't get to it," protested the little girl. "we can't fly, as you do, you must remember." "no, that's true," replied the ork musingly. "your bodies are built very poorly, it seems to me, since all you can do is crawl upon the earth's surface. but you may ride upon my back, and in that way t can promise you a safe journey to the tunnel." "are you strong enough to carry us?" asked cap'n bill, doubtfully. "yes, indeed; i'm strong enough to carry a dozen of you, if you could find a place to sit," was the reply; "but there's only room between my wings for one at a time, so i'll have to make two trips." "all right; i'll go first," decided cap'n bill. he lit another candle for trot to hold while they were gone and to light the ork on his return to her, and then the old sailor got upon the ork's back, where he sat with his wooden leg sticking straight out sidewise. "if you start to fall, clasp your arms around my neck," advised the creature. "if i start to fall, it's good night an' pleasant dreams," said cap'n bill. "all ready?" asked the ork. "start the buzz-tail," said cap'n bill, with a tremble in his voice. but the ork flew away so gently that the old man never even tottered in his seat. trot watched the light of cap'n bill's candle till it disappeared in the far distance. she didn't like to be left alone on this dangerous ledge, with a lake of black water hundreds of feet below her; but she was a brave little girl and waited patiently for the return of the ork. it came even sooner than she had expected and the creature said to her: "your friend is safe in the tunnel. now, then, get aboard and i'll carry you to him in a jiffy." i'm sure not many little girls would have cared to take that awful ride through the huge black cavern on the back of a skinny ork. trot didn't care for it, herself, but it just had to be done and so she did it as courageously as possible. her heart beat fast and she was so nervous she could scarcely hold the candle in her fingers as the ork sped swiftly through the darkness. it seemed like a long ride to her, yet in reality the ork covered the distance in a wonderfully brief period of time and soon trot stood safely beside cap'n bill on the level floor of a big arched tunnel. the sailor-man was very glad to greet his little comrade again and both were grateful to the ork for his assistance. "i dunno where this tunnel leads to," remarked cap'n bill, "but it surely looks more promisin' than that other hole we crept through." "when the ork is rested," said trot, "we'll travel on and see what happens." "rested!" cried the ork, as scornfully as his shrill voice would allow. "that bit of flying didn't tire me at all. i'm used to flying days at a time, without ever once stopping." "then let's move on," proposed cap'n bill. he still held in his hand one lighted candle, so trot blew out the other flame and placed her candle in the sailor's big pocket. she knew it was not wise to burn two candles at once. the tunnel was straight and smooth and very easy to walk through, so they made good progress. trot thought that the tunnel began about two miles from the cavern where they had been cast by the whirlpool, but now it was impossible to guess the miles traveled, for they walked steadily for hours and hours without any change in their surroundings. finally cap'n bill stopped to rest. "there's somethin' queer about this 'ere tunnel, i'm certain," he declared, wagging his head dolefully. "here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. an' how long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows." "couldn't we walk without a light?" asked trot. "the way seems safe enough." "it does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous. in that case we'd be killed afore we knew it." "suppose i go ahead?" suggested the ork. "i don't fear a fall, you know, and if anything happens i'll call out and warn you." "that's a good idea," declared trot, and cap'n bill thought so, too. so the ork started off ahead, quite in the dark, and hand in hand the two followed him. when they had walked in this way for a good long time the ork halted and demanded food. cap'n bill had not mentioned food because there was so little left--only three biscuits and a lump of cheese about as big as his two fingers--but he gave the ork half of a biscuit, sighing as he did so. the creature didn't care for the cheese, so the sailor divided it between himself and trot. they lighted a candle and sat down in the tunnel while they ate. "my feet hurt me," grumbled the ork. "i'm not used to walking and this rocky passage is so uneven and lumpy that it hurts me to walk upon it." "can't you fly along?" asked trot. "no; the roof is too low," said the ork. after the meal they resumed their journey, which trot began to fear would never end. when cap'n bill noticed how tired the little girl was, he paused and lighted a match and looked at his big silver watch. "why, it's night!" he exclaimed. "we've tramped all day, an' still we're in this awful passage, which mebbe goes straight through the middle of the world, an' mebbe is a circle--in which case we can keep walkin' till doomsday. not knowin' what's before us so well as we know what's behind us, i propose we make a stop, now, an' try to sleep till mornin'." "that will suit me," asserted the ork, with a groan. "my feet are hurting me dreadfully and for the last few miles i've been limping with pain." "my foot hurts, too," said the sailor, looking for a smooth place on the rocky floor to sit down. "_your_ foot!" cried the ork. "why, you've only one to hurt you, while i have four. so i suffer four times as much as you possibly can. here; hold the candle while i look at the bottoms of my claws. i declare," he said, examining them by the flickering light, "there are bunches of pain all over them!" "p'r'aps," said trot, who was very glad to sit down beside her companions, "you've got corns." "corns? nonsense! orks never have corns," protested the creature, rubbing its sore feet tenderly. "then mebbe they're--they're--what do you call 'em, cap'n bill? something 'bout the pilgrim's progress, you know." "bunions," said cap'n bill. "oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions." "it is possible," moaned the ork. "but whatever they are, another day of such walking on them would drive me crazy." "i'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said cap'n bill, encouragingly. "go to sleep an' try to forget your sore feet." the ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man, who didn't see it. then the creature asked plaintively: "do we eat now, or do we starve?" "there's only half a biscuit left for you," answered cap'n bill. "no one knows how long we'll have to stay in this dark tunnel, where there's nothing whatever to eat; so i advise you to save that morsel o' food till later." "give it me now!" demanded the ork. "if i'm going to starve, i'll do it all at once--not by degrees." cap'n bill produced the biscuit and the creature ate it in a trice. trot was rather hungry and whispered to cap'n bill that she'd take part of her share; but the old man secretly broke his own half-biscuit in two, saving trot's share for a time of greater need. he was beginning to be worried over the little girl's plight and long after she was asleep and the ork was snoring in a rather disagreeable manner, cap'n bill sat with his back to a rock and smoked his pipe and tried to think of some way to escape from this seemingly endless tunnel. but after a time he also slept, for hobbling on a wooden leg all day was tiresome, and there in the dark slumbered the three adventurers for many hours, until the ork roused itself and kicked the old sailor with one foot. "it must be another day," said he. [illustration] [illustration] chapter daylight at last cap'n bill rubbed his eyes, lit a match and consulted his watch. "nine o'clock. yes, i guess it's another day, sure enough. shall we go on?' he asked. "of course," replied the ork. "unless this tunnel is different from everything else in the world, and has no end, we'll find a way out of it sooner or later." the sailor gently wakened trot. she felt much rested by her long sleep and sprang to her feet eagerly. "let's start, cap'n," was all she said. they resumed the journey and had only taken a few steps when the ork cried "wow!" and made a great fluttering of its wings and whirling of its tail. the others, who were following a short distance behind, stopped abruptly. "what's the matter?" asked cap'n bill. "give us a light," was the reply. "i think we've come to the end of the tunnel." then, while cap'n bill lighted a candle, the creature added: "if that is true, we needn't have wakened so soon, for we were almost at the end of this place when we went to sleep." the sailor-man and trot came forward with a light. a wall of rock really faced the tunnel, but now they saw that the opening made a sharp turn to the left. so they followed on, by a narrower passage, and then made another sharp turn--this time to the right. "blow out the light, cap'n," said the ork, in a pleased voice. "we've struck daylight." daylight at last! a shaft of mellow light fell almost at their feet as trot and the sailor turned the corner of the passage, but it came from above, and raising their eyes they found they were at the bottom of a deep, rocky well, with the top far, far above their heads. and here the passage ended. [illustration] for a while they gazed in silence, at least two of them being filled with dismay at the sight. but the ork merely whistled softly and said cheerfully: "that was the toughest journey i ever had the misfortune to undertake, and i'm glad it's over. yet, unless i can manage to fly to the top of this pit, we are entombed here forever." "do you think there is room enough for you to fly in?" asked the little girl anxiously; and cap'n bill added: "it's a straight-up shaft, so i don't see how you'll ever manage it." "were i an ordinary bird--one of those horrid feathered things--i wouldn't even make the attempt to fly out," said the ork. "but my mechanical propeller tail can accomplish wonders, and whenever you're ready i'll show you a trick that is worth while." "oh!" exclaimed trot; "do you intend to take us up, too?" "why not?" "i thought," said cap'n bill, "as you'd go first, an' then send somebody to help us by lettin' down a rope." "ropes are dangerous," replied the ork, "and i might not be able to find one to reach all this distance. besides, it stands to reason that if i can get out myself i can also carry you two with me." "well, i'm not afraid," said trot, who longed to be on the earth's surface again. "s'pose we fall?'' suggested cap'n bill, doubtfully. "why, in that case we would all fall together," returned the ork. "get aboard, little girl; sit across my shoulders and put both your arms around my neck." trot obeyed and when she was seated on the ork, cap'n bill inquired: "how 'bout me, mr. ork?" "why, i think you'd best grab hold of my rear legs and let me carry you up in that manner," was the reply. cap'n bill looked way up at the top of the well, and then he looked at the ork's slender, skinny legs and heaved a deep sigh. "it's goin' to be some dangle, i guess; but if you don't waste too much time on the way up, i may be able to hang on," said he. "all ready, then!" cried the ork, and at once his whirling tail began to revolve. trot felt herself rising into the air; when the creature's legs left the ground cap'n bill grasped two of them firmly and held on for dear life. the ork's body was tipped straight upward, and trot had to embrace the neck very tightly to keep from sliding off. even in this position the ork had trouble in escaping the rough sides of the well. several times it exclaimed "wow!" as it bumped its back, or a wing hit against some jagged projection; but the tail kept whirling with remarkable swiftness and the daylight grew brighter and brighter. it was, indeed, a long journey from the bottom to the top, yet almost before trot realized they had come so far, they popped out of the hole into the clear air and sunshine and a moment later the ork alighted gently upon the ground. [illustration] the release was so sudden that even with the creature's care for its passengers cap'n bill struck the earth with a shock that sent him rolling heel over head; but by the time trot had slid down from her seat the old sailor-man was sitting up and looking around him with much satisfaction. "it's sort o' pretty here," said he. "earth is a beautiful place!" cried trot. "i wonder where on earth we are?' pondered the ork, turning first one bright eye and then the other to this side and that. trees there were, in plenty, and shrubs and flowers and green turf. but there were no houses; there were no paths; there was no sign of civilization whatever. "just before i settled down on the ground i thought i caught a view of the ocean," said the ork. "let's see if i was right." then he flew to a little hill, near by, and trot and cap'n bill followed him more slowly. when they stood on the top of the hill they could see the blue waves of the ocean in front of them, to the right of them, and at the left of them. behind the hill was a forest that shut out the view. "i hope it ain't an island, trot," said cap'n bill gravely. "if it is, i s'pose we're prisoners," she replied. "ezzackly so, trot." "but, even so, it's better than those terr'ble underground tunnels and caverns," declared the girl. "you are right, little one," agreed the ork. "anything above ground is better than the best that lies under ground. so let's not quarrel with our fate but be thankful we've escaped." "we are, indeed!" she replied. "but i wonder if we can find something to eat in this place?" "let's explore an' find out," proposed cap'n bill. "those trees over at the left look like cherry-trees." on the way to them the explorers had to walk through a tangle of vines and cap'n bill, who went first, stumbled and pitched forward on his face. "why, it's a melon!" cried trot delightedly, as she saw what had caused the sailor to fall. [illustration] cap'n bill rose to his foot, for he was not at all hurt, and examined the melon. then he took his big jackknife from his pocket and cut the melon open. it was quite ripe and looked delicious; but the old man tasted it before he permitted trot to eat any. deciding it was good he gave her a big slice and then offered the ork some. the creature looked at the fruit somewhat disdainfully, at first, but once he had tasted its flavor he ate of it as heartily as did the others. among the vines they discovered many other melons, and trot said gratefully: "well, there's no danger of our starving, even if this _is_ an island." "melons," remarked cap'n bill, "are both food an' water. we couldn't have struck anything better." farther on they came to the cherry-trees, where they obtained some of the fruit, and at the edge of the little forest were wild plums. the forest itself consisted entirely of nut trees--walnuts, filberts, almonds and chestnuts--so there would be plenty of wholesome food for them while they remained there. cap'n bill and trot decided to walk through the forest, to discover what was on the other side of it, but the ork's feet were still so sore and "lumpy" from walking on the rocks that the creature said he preferred to fly over the tree-tops and meet them on the other side. the forest was not large, so by walking briskly for fifteen minutes they reached its farthest edge and saw before them the shore of the ocean. "it's an island, all right," said trot, with a sigh. "yes, and a pretty island, too," said cap'n bill, trying to conceal his disappointment on trot's account. "i guess, partner, if the wuss comes to the wuss, i could build a raft--or even a boat--from those trees, so's we could sail away in it." the little girl brightened at this suggestion. "i don't see the ork anywhere," she remarked, looking around. then her eyes lighted upon something and she exclaimed: "oh, cap'n bill! isn't that a house, over there to the left?" cap'n bill, looking closely, saw a shed-like structure built at one edge of the forest. "seems like it, trot. not that i'd call it much of a house, but it's a buildin', all right. let's go over an' see if it's occypied." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the little old man of the island a few steps brought them to the shed, which was merely a roof of boughs built over a square space, with some branches of trees fastened to the sides to keep off the wind. the front was quite open and faced the sea, and as our friends came nearer they observed a little man, with a long pointed beard, sitting motionless on a stool and staring thoughtfully out over the water. "get out of the way, please," he called in a fretful voice. "can't you see you are obstructing my view?" "good morning," said cap'n bill, politely. "it isn't a good morning!" snapped the little man. "i've seen plenty of mornings better than this. do you call it a good morning when i'm pestered with such a crowd as you?" trot was astonished to hear such words from a stranger whom they had greeted quite properly, and cap'n bill grew red at the little man's rudeness. but the sailor said, in a quiet tone of voice: "are you the only one as lives on this 'ere island?" "your grammar's bad," was the reply. "but this is my own exclusive island, and i'll thank you to get off it as soon as possible." "we'd like to do that," said trot, and then she and cap'n bill turned away and walked down to the shore, to see if any other land was in sight. the little man rose and followed them, although both were now too provoked to pay any attention to him. "nothin' in sight, partner," reported cap'n bill, shading his eyes with his hand; "so we'll have to stay here for a time, anyhow. it isn't a bad place, trot, by any means." "that's all you know about it!" broke in the little man. "the trees are altogether too green and the rocks are harder than they ought to be. i find the sand very grainy and the water dreadfully wet. every breeze makes a draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's no need of it, and disappears just as soon as it begins to get dark. if you remain here you'll find the island very unsatisfactory." trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was grave and curious. "i wonder who you are," she said. "my name is pessim," said he, with an air of pride. "i'm called the observer." "oh. what do you observe?" asked the little girl. "everything i see," was the reply, in a more surly tone. then pessim drew back with a startled exclamation and looked at some footprints in the sand. "why, good gracious me!' he cried in distress. "what's the matter now?' asked cap'n bill. "someone has pushed the earth in! don't you see it?" "it isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said trot, examining the footprints. "everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man. "if the earth were pushed in a mile, it would be a great calamity, wouldn't it?" "i s'pose so," admitted the little girl. "well, here it is pushed in a full inch! that's a twelfth of a foot, or a little more than a millionth part of a mile. therefore it is one-millionth part of a calamity--oh, dear! how dreadful!" said pessim in a wailing voice. "try to forget it, sir," advised cap'n bill, soothingly. "it's beginning to rain. let's get under your shed and keep dry." "raining! is it really raining?' asked pessim, beginning to weep. "it is," answered cap'n bill, as the drops began to descend, "and i don't see any way to stop it--although i'm some observer myself." "no; we can't stop it, i fear," said the man. "are you very busy just now?" "i won't be after i get to the shed," replied the sailor-man. "then do me a favor, please," begged pessim, walking briskly along behind them, for they were hastening to the shed. "depends on what it is," said cap'n bill. "i wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor fishes till it stops raining. i'm afraid they'll get wet," said pessim. trot laughed, but cap'n bill thought the little man was poking fun at him and so he scowled upon pessim in a way that showed he was angry. they reached the shed before getting very wet, although the rain was now coming down in big drops. the roof of the shed protected them and while they stood watching the rainstorm something buzzed in and circled around pessim's head. at once the observer began beating it away with his hands, crying out: "a bumblebee! a bumblebee! the queerest bumblebee i ever saw!" cap'n bill and trot both looked at it and the little girl said in surprise: "dear me! it's a wee little ork!" "that's what it is, sure enough," exclaimed cap'n bill. really, it wasn't much bigger than a big bumblebee, and when it came toward trot she allowed it to alight on her shoulder. "it's me, all right," said a very small voice in her ear; "but i'm in an awful pickle, just the same!" "what, are you _our_ ork, then?" demanded the girl, much amazed. "no, i'm my own ork. but i'm the only ork you know," replied the tiny creature. "what's happened to you?" asked the sailor, putting his head close to trot's shoulder in order to hear the reply better. pessim also put his head close, and the ork said: [illustration] "you will remember that when i left you i started to fly over the trees, and just as i got to this side of the forest i saw a bush that was loaded down with the most luscious fruit you can imagine. the fruit was about the size of a gooseberry and of a lovely lavender color. so i swooped down and picked off one in my bill and ate it. at once i began to grow small. i could feel myself shrinking, shrinking away, and it frightened me terribly, so that i alighted on the ground to think over what was happening. in a few seconds i had shrunk to the size you now see me; but there i remained, getting no smaller, indeed, but no larger. it is certainly a dreadful affliction! after i had recovered somewhat from the shock i began to search for you. it is not so easy to find one's way when a creature is so small, but fortunately i spied you here in this shed and came to you at once." cap'n bill and trot were much astonished at this story and felt grieved for the poor ork, but the little man pessim seemed to think it a good joke. he began laughing when he heard the story and laughed until he choked, after which he lay down on the ground and rolled and laughed again, while the tears of merriment coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "this is too rich! it's almost too joyful to be true." "i don't see anything funny about it," remarked trot indignantly. "you would if you'd had my experience," said pessim, getting upon his feet and gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "the same thing happened to me." "oh, did it? and how did you happen to come to this island?" asked the girl. "i didn't come; the neighbors brought me," replied the little man, with a frown at the recollection. "they said i was quarrelsome and fault-finding and blamed me because i told them all the things that went wrong, or never were right, and because i told them how things ought to be. so they brought me here and left me all alone, saying that if i quarreled with myself, no one else would be made unhappy. absurd, wasn't it?" "seems to me," said cap'n bill, "those neighbors did the proper thing." "well," resumed pessim, "when i found myself king of this island i was obliged to live upon fruits, and i found many fruits growing here that i had never seen before. i tasted several and found them good and wholesome. but one day i ate a lavender berry--as the ork did--and immediately i grew so small that i was scarcely two inches high. it was a very unpleasant condition and like the ork i became frightened. i could not walk very well nor very far, for every lump of earth in my way seemed a mountain, every blade of grass a tree and every grain of sand a rocky boulder. for several days i stumbled around in an agony of fear. once a tree toad nearly gobbled me up, and if i ran out from the shelter of the bushes the gulls and cormorants swooped down upon me. finally i decided to eat another berry and become nothing at all, since life, to one as small as i was, had become a dreary nightmare. "at last i found a small tree that i thought bore the same fruit as that i had eaten. the berry was dark purple instead of light lavender, but otherwise it was quite similar. being unable to climb the tree, i was obliged to wait underneath it until a sharp breeze arose and shook the limbs so that a berry fell. instantly i seized it and taking a last view of the world--as i then thought--i ate the berry in a twinkling. then, to my surprise, i began to grow big again, until i became of my former stature, and so i have since remained. needless to say, i have never eaten again of the lavender fruit, nor do any of the beasts or birds that live upon this island eat it." they had all three listened eagerly to this amazing tale, and when it was finished the ork exclaimed: "do you think, then, that the deep purple berry is the antidote for the lavender one?" "i'm sure of it," answered pessim. "then lead me to the tree at once!" begged the ork, "for this tiny form i now have terrifies me greatly." pessim examined the ork closely. [illustration] "you are ugly enough as you are," said he. "were you any larger you might be dangerous." "oh, no," trot assured him; "the ork has been our good friend. please take us to the tree." then pessim consented, although rather reluctantly. he led them to the right, which was the east side of the island, and in a few minutes brought them near to the edge of the grove which faced the shore of the ocean. here stood a small tree bearing berries of a deep purple color. the fruit looked very enticing and cap'n bill reached up and selected one that seemed especially plump and ripe. the ork had remained perched upon trot's shoulder but now it flew down to the ground. it was so difficult for cap'n bill to kneel down, with his wooden leg, that the little girl took the berry from him and held it close to the ork's head. "it's too big to go into my mouth," said the little creature, looking at the fruit sidewise. "you'll have to make sev'ral mouthfuls of it, i guess," said trot; and that is what the ork did. he pecked at the soft, ripe fruit with his bill and ate it up very quickly, because it was good. even before he had finished the berry they could see the ork begin to grow. in a few minutes he had regained his natural size and was strutting before them, quite delighted with his transformation. "well, well! what do you think of me now?" he asked proudly. "you are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared pessim. "you are a poor judge of orks," was the reply. "anyone can see that i'm much handsomer than those dreadful things called birds, which are all fluff and feathers." "their feathers make soft beds," asserted pessim. "and my skin would make excellent drumheads," retorted the ork. "nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our usefulness after we are dead. but for the sake of argument, friend pessim, i'd like to know what good _you_ would be, were you not alive?" "never mind that," said cap'n bill. "he isn't much good as he is." "i am king of this island, allow me to say, and you're intruding on my property," declared the little man, scowling upon them. "if you don't like me--and i'm sure you don't, for no one else does--why don't you go away and leave me to myself?" "well, the ork can fly, but we can't," explained trot, in answer. "we don't want to stay here a bit, but i don't see how we can get away." "you can go back into the hole you came from." cap'n bill shook his head; trot shuddered at the thought; the ork laughed aloud. "you may be king here," the creature said to pessim, "but we intend to run this island to suit ourselves, for we are three and you are one, and the balance of power lies with us." the little man made no reply to this, although as they walked back to the shed his face wore its fiercest scowl. cap'n bill gathered a lot of leaves and, assisted by trot, prepared two nice beds in opposite corners of the shed. pessim slept in a hammock which he swung between two trees. they required no dishes, as all their food consisted of fruits and nuts picked from the trees; they made no fire, for the weather was warm and there was nothing to cook; the shed had no furniture other than the rude stool which the little man was accustomed to sit upon. he called it his "throne" and they let him keep it. so they lived upon the island for three days, and rested and ate to their hearts' content. still, they were not at all happy in this life because of pessim. he continually found fault with them, and all that they did, and all their surroundings. he could see nothing good or admirable in all the world and trot soon came to understand why the little man's former neighbors had brought him to this island and left him there, all alone, so he could not annoy anyone. it was their misfortune that they had been led to this place by their adventures, for often they would have preferred the company of a wild beast to that of pessim. on the fourth day a happy thought came to the ork. they had all been racking their brains for a possible way to leave the island, and discussing this or that method, without finding a plan that was practical. cap'n bill had said he could make a raft of the trees, big enough to float them all, but he had no tools except those two pocketknives and it was not possible to chop down trees with such small blades. "and s'pose we got afloat on the ocean," said trot, "where would we drift to, and how long would it take us to get there?" cap'n bill was forced to admit he didn't know. the ork could fly away from the island any time it wished to, but the queer creature was loyal to his new friends and refused to leave them in such a lonely, forsaken place. it was when trot urged him to go, on this fourth morning, that the ork had his happy thought. "i will go," said he, "if you two will agree to ride upon my back." "we are too heavy; you might drop us," objected cap'n bill. "yes, you are rather heavy for a long journey," acknowledged the ork, "but you might eat of those lavender berries and become so small that i could carry you with ease." this quaint suggestion startled trot and she looked gravely at the speaker while she considered it, but cap'n bill gave a scornful snort and asked: "what would become of us afterward! we wouldn't be much good if we were some two or three inches high. no, mr. ork, i'd rather stay here, as i am, than be a hop-o'-my-thumb somewhere else." "why couldn't you take some of the dark purple berries along with you, to eat after we had reached our destination?" inquired the ork. "then you could grow big again whenever you pleased." trot clapped her hands with delight. "that's it!" she exclaimed. "let's do it, cap'n bill." the old sailor did not like the idea at first, but he thought it over carefully and the more he thought the better it seemed. "how could you manage to carry us, if we were so small?" he asked. "i could put you in a paper bag, and tie the bag around my neck." "but we haven't a paper bag," objected trot. the ork looked at her. "there's your sunbonnet," it said presently, "which is hollow in the middle and has two strings that you could tie around my neck." [illustration] trot took off her sunbonnet and regarded it critically. yes, it might easily hold both her and cap'n bill, after they had eaten the lavender berries and been reduced in size. she tied the strings around the ork's neck and the sunbonnet made a bag in which two tiny people might ride without danger of falling out. so she said: "i b'lieve we'll do it that way, cap'n." cap'n bill groaned but could make no logical objection except that the plan seemed to him quite dangerous--and dangerous in more ways than one. "i think so, myself," said trot soberly. "but nobody can stay alive without getting into danger sometimes, and danger doesn't mean getting hurt, cap'n; it only means we _might_ get hurt. so i guess we'll have to take the risk." "let's go and find the berries," said the ork. they said nothing to pessim, who was sitting on his stool and scowling dismally as he stared at the ocean, but started at once to seek the trees that bore the magic fruits. the ork remembered very well where the lavender berries grew and led his companions quickly to the spot. cap'n bill gathered two berries and placed them carefully in his pocket. then they went around to the east side of the island and found the tree that bore the dark purple berries. "i guess i'll take four of these," said the sailor-man, "so in case one doesn't make us grow big we can eat another." "better take six," advised the ork. "it's well to be on the safe side, and i'm sure these trees grow nowhere else in all the world." so cap'n bill gathered six of the purple berries and with their precious fruit they returned to the shed to bid good-bye to pessim. perhaps they would not have granted the surly little man this courtesy had they not wished to use him to tie the sunbonnet around the ork's neck. when pessim learned they were about to leave him he at first looked greatly pleased, but he suddenly recollected that nothing ought to please him and so began to grumble about being left alone. "we knew it wouldn't suit you," remarked cap'n bill. "it didn't suit you to have us here, and it won't suit you to have us go away." "that is quite true," admitted pessim. "i haven't been suited since i can remember; so it doesn't matter to me in the least whether you go or stay." he was interested in their experiment, however, and willingly agreed to assist, although he prophesied they would fall out of the sunbonnet on their way and be either drowned in the ocean or crushed upon some rocky shore. this uncheerful prospect did not daunt trot, but it made cap'n bill quite nervous. "i will eat my berry first," said trot, as she placed her sunbonnet on the ground, in such manner that they could get into it. then she ate the lavender berry and in a few seconds became so small that cap'n bill picked her up gently with his thumb and one finger and placed her in the middle of the sunbonnet. then he placed beside her the six purple berries--each one being about as big as the tiny trot's head--and all preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became very small--wooden leg and all! cap'n bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet and pitched in beside trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy pessim to laugh with glee. then the king of the island picked up the sunbonnet--so rudely that he shook its occupants like peas in a pod--and tied it, by means of its strings, securely around the ork's neck. "i hope, trot, you sewed those strings on tight," said cap'n bill anxiously. "why, we are not very heavy, you know," she replied, "so i think the stitches will hold. but be careful and not crush the berries, cap'n." "one is jammed already," he said, looking at them. "all ready?" asked the ork. "yes!" they cried together, and pessim came close to the sunbonnet and called out to them: "you'll be smashed or drowned, i'm sure you will! but farewell, and good riddance to you." the ork was provoked by this unkind speech, so he turned his tail toward the little man and made it revolve so fast that the rush of air tumbled pessim over backward and he rolled several times upon the ground before he could stop himself and sit up. by that time the ork was high in the air and speeding swiftly over the ocean. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the flight of the midgets cap'n bill and trot rode very comfortably in the sunbonnet. the motion was quite steady, for they weighed so little that the ork flew without effort. yet they were both somewhat nervous about their future fate and could not help wishing they were safe on land and their natural size again. "you're terr'ble small, trot," remarked cap'n bill, looking at his companion. "same to you, cap'n," she said with a laugh; "but as long as we have the purple berries we needn't worry about our size." "in a circus," mused the old man, "we'd be curiosities. but in a sunbonnet--high up in the air--sailin' over a big, unknown ocean--they ain't no word in any booktionary to describe us." "why, we're midgets, that's all," said the little girl. the ork flew silently for a long time. the slight swaying of the sunbonnet made cap'n bill drowsy, and he began to doze. trot, however, was wide awake, and after enduring the monotonous journey as long as she was able she called out: "don't you see land anywhere, mr. ork?" "not yet," he answered. "this is a big ocean and i've no idea in which direction the nearest land to that island lies; but if i keep flying in a straight line i'm sure to reach some place some time." that seemed reasonable, so the little people in the sunbonnet remained as patient as possible; that is, cap'n bill dozed and trot tried to remember her geography lessons so she could figure out what land they were likely to arrive at. for hours and hours the ork flew steadily, keeping to the straight line and searching with his eyes the horizon of the ocean for land. cap'n bill was fast asleep and snoring and trot had laid her head on his shoulder to rest it when suddenly the ork exclaimed: "there! i've caught a glimpse of land, at last." at this announcement they roused themselves. cap'n bill stood up and tried to peek over the edge of the sunbonnet. "what does it look like?" he inquired. "looks like another island," said the ork; "but i can judge it better in a minute or two." "i don't care much for islands, since we visited that other one," declared trot. soon the ork made another announcement. "it is surely an island, and a little one, too," said he. "but i won't stop, because i see a much bigger land straight ahead of it." "that's right," approved cap'n bill. "the bigger the land, the better it will suit us." "it's almost a continent," continued the ork after a brief silence, during which he did not decrease the speed of his flight. "i wonder if it can be orkland, the place i have been seeking so long?" "i hope not," whispered trot to cap'n bill--so softly that the ork could not hear her--"for i shouldn't like to be in a country where only orks live. this one ork isn't a bad companion, but a lot of him wouldn't be much fun." after a few more minutes of flying the ork called out in a sad voice: "no! this is not my country. it's a place i have never seen before, although i have wandered far and wide. it seems to be all mountains and deserts and green valleys and queer cities and lakes and rivers--mixed up in a very puzzling way." "most countries are like that," commented cap'n bill. "are you going to land?" "pretty soon," was the reply. "there is a mountain peak just ahead of me. what do you say to our landing on that?" "all right," agreed the sailor-man, for both he and trot were getting tired of riding in the sunbonnet and longed to set foot on solid ground again. so in a few minutes the ork slowed down his speed and then came to a stop so easily that they were scarcely jarred at all. then the creature squatted down until the sunbonnet rested on the ground, and began trying to unfasten with its claws the knotted strings. this proved a very clumsy task, because the strings were tied at the back of the ork's neck, just where his claws would not easily reach. after much fumbling he said: "i'm afraid i can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me." this was at first discouraging, but after a little thought cap'n bill said: "if you don't mind, trot, i can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife." "do," she replied. "the slit won't matter, 'cause i can sew it up again afterward, when i am big." so cap'n bill got out his knife, which was just as small, in proportion, as he was, and after considerable trouble managed to cut a long slit in the sunbonnet. first he squeezed through the opening himself and then helped trot to get out. [illustration] when they stood on firm ground again their first act was to begin eating the dark purple berries which they had brought with them. two of these trot had guarded carefully during the long journey, by holding them in her lap, for their safety meant much to the tiny people. "i'm not very hungry," said the little girl as she handed a berry to cap'n bill, "but hunger doesn't count, in this case. it's like taking medicine to make you well, so we must manage to eat 'em, somehow or other." but the berries proved quite pleasant to taste and as cap'n bill and trot nibbled at their edges their forms began to grow in size--slowly but steadily. the bigger they grew the easier it was for them to eat the berries, which of course became smaller to them, and by the time the fruit was eaten our friends had regained their natural size. the little girl was greatly relieved when she found herself as large as she had ever been, and cap'n bill shared her satisfaction; for, although they had seen the effect of the berries on the ork, they had not been sure the magic fruit would have the same effect on human beings, or that the magic would work in any other country than that in which the berries grew. "what shall we do with the other four berries?" asked trot, as she picked up her sunbonnet, marveling that she had ever been small enough to ride in it. "they're no good to us now, are they, cap'n?" "i'm not sure as to that," he replied. "if they were eaten by one who had never eaten the lavender berries, they might have no effect at all; but then, contrarywise, they might. one of 'em has got badly jammed, so i'll throw it away, but the other three i b'lieve i'll carry with me. they're magic things, you know, and may come handy to us some time." he now searched in his big pockets and drew out a small wooden box with a sliding cover. the sailor had kept an assortment of nails, of various sizes, in this box, but those he now dumped loosely into his pocket and in the box placed the three sound purple berries. when this important matter was attended to they found time to look about them and see what sort of place the ork had landed them in. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the bumpy man the mountain on which they had alighted was not a barren waste, but had on its sides patches of green grass, some bushes, a few slender trees and here and there masses of tumbled rocks. the sides of the slope seemed rather steep, but with care one could climb up or down them with ease and safety. the view from where they now stood showed pleasant valleys and fertile hills lying below the heights. trot thought she saw some houses of queer shapes scattered about the lower landscape, and there were moving dots that might be people or animals, yet were too far away for her to see them clearly. not far from the place where they stood was the top of the mountain, which seemed to be flat, so the ork proposed to his companions that he would fly up and see what was there. "that's a good idea," said trot, "'cause it's getting toward evening and we'll have to find a place to sleep." the ork had not been gone more than a few minutes when they saw him appear on the edge of the top which was nearest them. "come on up!" he called. so trot and cap'n bill began to ascend the steep slope and it did not take them long to reach the place where the ork awaited them. their first view of the mountain-top pleased them very much. it was a level space of wider extent than they had guessed and upon it grew grass of a brilliant green color. in the very center stood a house built of stone and very neatly constructed. no one was in sight, but smoke was coming from the chimney, so with one accord all three began walking toward the house. "i wonder," said trot, "in what country we are, and if it's very far from my home in california." "can't say as to that, partner," answered cap'n bill, "but i'm mighty certain we've come a long way since we struck that whirlpool." "yes," she agreed, with a sigh, "it must be miles and miles!" "distance means nothing," said the ork. "i have flown pretty much all over the world, trying to find my home, and it is astonishing how many little countries there are, hidden away in the cracks and corners of this big globe of earth. if one travels, he may find some new country at every turn, and a good many of them have never yet been put upon the maps." "p'raps this is one of them," suggested trot. they reached the house after a brisk walk and cap'n bill knocked upon the door. it was at once opened by a rugged looking man who had "bumps all over him," as trot afterward declared. there were bumps on his head, bumps on his body and bumps on his arms and legs and hands. even his fingers had bumps on the ends of them. for dress he wore an old gray suit of fantastic design, which fitted him very badly because of the bumps it covered but could not conceal. but the bumpy man's eyes were kind and twinkling in expression and as soon as he saw his visitors he bowed low and said in a rather bumpy voice: "happy day! come in and shut the door, for it grows cool when the sun goes down. winter is now upon us." "why, it isn't cold a bit, outside," said trot, "so it can't be winter yet." "you will change your mind about that in a little while," declared the bumpy man. "my bumps always tell me the state of the weather, and they feel just now as if a snowstorm was coming this way. but make yourselves at home, strangers. supper is nearly ready and there is food enough for all." inside the house there was but one large room, simply but comfortably furnished. it had benches, a table and a fireplace, all made of stone. on the hearth a pot was bubbling and steaming, and trot thought it had a rather nice smell. the visitors seated themselves upon the benches--except the ork, which squatted by the fireplace--and the bumpy man began stirring the kettle briskly. "may i ask what country this is, sir?' inquired cap'n bill. "goodness me--fruit-cake and apple-sauce!--don't you know where you are?' asked the bumpy man, as he stopped stirring and looked at the speaker in surprise. "no," admitted cap'n bill. "we've just arrived." "lost your way?" questioned the bumpy man. "not exactly," said cap'n bill. "we didn't have any way to lose." "ah!" said the bumpy man, nodding his bumpy head. "this," he announced, in a solemn, impressive voice, "is the famous land of mo." "oh!" exclaimed the sailor and the girl, both in one breath. but, never having heard of the land of mo, they were no wiser than before. "i thought that would startle you," remarked the bumpy man, well pleased, as he resumed his stirring. the ork watched him a while in silence and then asked: "who may _you_ be?" "me?" answered the bumpy man. "haven't you heard of me? gingerbread and lemon-juice! i'm known, far and wide, as the mountain ear." they all received this information in silence at first, for they were trying to think what he could mean. finally trot mustered up courage to ask: "what is a mountain ear, please?" for answer the man turned around and faced them, waving the spoon with which he had been stirring the kettle, as he recited the following verses in a singsong tone of voice: "here's a mountain, hard of hearing, that's sad-hearted and needs cheering, so my duty is to listen to all sounds that nature makes, so the hill won't get uneasy-- get to coughing, or get sneezy-- for this monster bump, when frightened, is quite liable to quakes. "_you_ can hear a bell that's ringing; _i_ can feel some people's singing; but a mountain isn't sensible of what goes on, and so when i hear a blizzard blowing or it's raining hard, or snowing, i tell it to the mountain and the mountain seems to know. "thus i benefit all people while i'm living on this steeple, for i keep the mountain steady so my neighbors all may thrive. with my list'ning and my shouting i prevent this mount from spouting, and that makes me so important that i'm glad that i'm alive." when he had finished these lines of verse the bumpy man turned again to resume his stirring. the ork laughed softly and cap'n bill whistled to himself and trot made up her mind that the mountain ear must be a little crazy. but the bumpy man seemed satisfied that he had explained his position fully and presently he placed four stone plates upon the table and then lifted the kettle from the fire and poured some of its contents on each of the plates. cap'n bill and trot at once approached the table, for they were hungry, but when she examined her plate the little girl exclaimed: "why, it's molasses candy!" "to be sure," returned the bumpy man, with a pleasant smile. "eat it quick, while it's hot, for it cools very quickly this winter weather." with this he seized a stone spoon and began putting the hot molasses candy into his mouth, while the others watched him in astonishment. "doesn't it burn you?" asked the girl. "no indeed," said he. "why don't you eat? aren't you hungry?" "yes," she replied, "i am hungry. but we usually eat our candy when it is cold and hard. we always pull molasses candy before we eat it." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the mountain ear. "what a funny idea! where in the world did you come from?" "california," she said. "california! pooh! there isn't any such place. i've heard of every place in the land of mo, but i never before heard of california." [illustration] "it isn't in the land of mo," she explained. "then it isn't worth talking about," declared the bumpy man, helping himself again from the steaming kettle, for he had been eating all the time he talked. "for my part," sighed cap'n bill, "i'd like a decent square meal, once more, just by way of variety. in the last place there was nothing but fruit to eat, and here it's worse, for there's nothing but candy." "molasses candy isn't so bad," said trot. "mine's nearly cool enough to pull, already. wait a bit, cap'n, and you can eat it." a little later she was able to gather the candy from the stone plate and begin to work it back and forth with her hands. the mountain ear was greatly amazed at this and watched her closely. it was really good candy and pulled beautifully, so that trot was soon ready to cut it into chunks for eating. cap'n bill condescended to eat one or two pieces and the ork ate several, but the bumpy man refused to try it. trot finished the plate of candy herself and then asked for a drink of water. "water?" said the mountain ear wonderingly. "what is that?" "something to drink. don't you have water in mo?" "none that ever i heard of," said he. "but i can give you some fresh lemonade. i caught it in a 'jar the last time it rained, which was only day before yesterday." "oh, does it rain lemonade here?" she inquired. "always; and it is very refreshing and healthful." [illustration ] with this he brought from a cupboard a stone jar and a dipper, and the girl found it very nice lemonade, indeed. cap'n bill liked it, too; but the ork would not touch it. "if there is no water in this country, i cannot stay here for long," the creature declared. "water means life to man and beast and bird." "there must be water in lemonade," said trot. "yes," answered the ork, "i suppose so; but there are other things in it, too, and they spoil the good water." the day's adventures had made our wanderers tired, so the bumpy man brought them some blankets in which they rolled themselves and then lay down before the fire, which their host kept alive with fuel all through the night. trot wakened several times and found the mountain ear always alert and listening intently for the slightest sound. but the little girl could hear no sound at all except the snores of cap'n bill. [illustration] chapter button-bright is lost and found again "wake up--wake up!" called the voice of the bumpy man. "didn't i tell you winter was coming? i could hear it coming with my left ear, and the proof is that it is now snowing hard outside." "is it?" said trot, rubbing her eyes and creeping out of her blanket. "where i live, in california, i have never seen snow, except far away on the tops of high mountains." "well, this is the top of a high mountain," returned the bumpy one, "and for that reason we get our heaviest snowfalls right here." the little girl went to the window and looked out. the air was filled with falling white flakes, so large in size and so queer in form that she was puzzled. "are you certain this is snow?" she asked. "to be sure. i must get my snow-shovel and turn out to shovel a path. would you like to come with me?" "yes," she said, and followed the bumpy man out when he opened the door. then she exclaimed: "why, it isn't cold a bit!" "of course not," replied the man. "it was cold last night, before the snowstorm; but snow, when it falls, is always crisp and warm." trot gathered a handful of it. "why, it's popcorn? she cried. "certainly; all snow is popcorn. what did you expect it to be?" "popcorn is not snow in my country." "well, it is the only snow we have in the land of mo, so you may as well make the best of it," said he, a little impatiently. "i'm not responsible for the absurd things that happen in your country, and when you're in mo you must do as the momen do. eat some of our snow, and you will find it is good. the only fault i find with our snow is that we get too much of it at times." with this the bumpy man set to work shoveling a path and he was so quick and industrious that he piled up the popcorn in great banks on either side of the trail that led to the mountain-top from the plains below. while he worked, trot ate popcorn and found it crisp and slightly warm, as well as nicely salted and buttered. presently cap'n bill came out of the house and joined her. "what's this?" he asked. "mo snow," said she. "but it isn't real snow, although it falls from the sky. it's popcorn." cap'n bill tasted it; then he sat down in the path and began to eat. the ork came out and pecked away with its bill as fast as it could. they all liked popcorn and they all were hungry this morning. meantime the flakes of "mo snow" came down so fast that the number of them almost darkened the air. the bumpy man was now shoveling quite a distance down the mountain-side, while the path behind him rapidly filled up with fresh-fallen popcorn. suddenly trot heard him call out: "goodness gracious--mince pie and pancakes!--here is some one buried in the snow." she ran toward him at once and the others followed, wading through the corn and crunching it underneath their feet. the mo snow was pretty deep where the bumpy man was shoveling and from beneath a great bank of it he had uncovered a pair of feet. "dear me! someone has been lost in the storm," said cap'n bill. "i hope he is still alive. let's pull him out and see." he took hold of one foot and the bumpy man took hold of the other. then they both pulled and out from the heap of popcorn came a little boy. he was dressed in a brown velvet jacket and knickerbockers, with brown stockings, buckled shoes and a blue shirt-waist that had frills down its front. when drawn from the heap the boy was chewing a mouthful of popcorn and both his hands were full of it. so at first he couldn't speak to his rescuers but lay quite still and eyed them calmly until he had swallowed his mouthful. then he said: "get my cap," and stuffed more popcorn into his mouth. while the bumpy man began shoveling into the corn-bank to find the boy's cap, trot was laughing joyfully and cap'n bill had a broad grin on his face. the ork looked from one to another and asked: "who is this stranger?" "why, it's button-bright, of course," answered trot. "if anyone ever finds a lost boy, he can make up his mind it's button-bright. but how he ever came to be lost in this far-away country is more'n i can make out." "where does he belong?" inquired the ork. [illustration] "his home used to be in philadelphia, i think; but i'm quite sure button-bright doesn't belong anywhere." "that's right," said the boy, nodding his head as he swallowed the second mouthful. "everyone belongs somewhere," remarked the ork. "not me," insisted button-bright. "i'm half-way 'round the world from philadelphia, and i've lost my magic umbrella, that used to carry me anywhere. stands to reason that if i can't get back i haven't any home. but i don't care much. this is a pretty good country, trot. i've had lots of fun here." by this time the mountain ear had secured the boy's cap and was listening to the conversation with much interest. "it seems you know this poor, snow-covered castaway," he said. "yes, indeed," answered trot. "we made a journey together to sky island, once, and were good friends." "well, then i'm glad i saved his life," said the bumpy man. "much obliged, mr. knobs," said button-bright, sitting up and staring at him, "but i don't believe you've saved anything except some popcorn that i might have eaten had you not disturbed me. it was nice and warm in that bank of popcorn, and there was plenty to eat. what made you dig me out? and what makes you so bumpy everywhere?" "as for the bumps," replied the man, looking at himself with much pride, "i was born with them and i suspect they were a gift from the fairies. they make me look rugged and big, like the mountain i serve." "all right," said button-bright and began eating popcorn again. it had stopped snowing, now, and great flocks of birds were gathering around the mountain-side, eating the popcorn with much eagerness and scarcely noticing the people at all. there were birds of every size and color, most of them having gorgeous feathers and plumes. "just look at them!" exclaimed the ork scornfully. "aren't they dreadful creatures, all covered with feathers?" "i think they're beautiful," said trot, and this made the ork so indignant that he went back into the house and sulked. button-bright reached out his hand and caught a big bird by the leg. at once it rose into the air and it was so strong that it nearly carried the little boy with it. he let go the leg in a hurry and the bird flew down again and began to eat of the popcorn, not being frightened in the least. this gave cap'n bill an idea. he felt in his pocket and drew out several pieces of stout string. moving very quietly, so as to not alarm the birds, he crept up to several of the biggest ones and tied cords around their legs, thus making them prisoners. the birds were so intent on their eating that they did not notice what had happened to them, and when about twenty had been captured in this manner cap'n bill tied the ends of all the strings together and fastened them to a huge stone, so they could not escape. the bumpy man watched the old sailor's actions with much curiosity. "the birds will be quiet until they've eaten up all the snow," he said, "but then they will want to fly away to their homes. tell me, sir, what will the poor things do when they find they can't fly?" "it may worry 'em a little," replied cap'n bill, "but they're not going to be hurt if they take it easy and behave themselves." our friends had all made a good breakfast of the delicious popcorn and now they walked toward the house again. button-bright walked beside trot and held her hand in his, because they were old friends and he liked the little girl very much. the boy was not so old as trot, and small as she was he was half a head shorter in height. the most remarkable thing about button-bright was that he was always quiet and composed, whatever happened, and nothing was ever able to astonish him. trot liked him because he was not rude and never tried to plague her. cap'n bill liked him because he had found the boy cheerful and brave at all times, and willing to do anything he was asked to do. when they came to the house trot sniffed the air and asked: "don't i smell perfume?'" [illustration] "i think you do," said the bumpy man. "you smell violets, and that proves there is a breeze springing up from the south. all our winds and breezes are perfumed and for that reason we are glad to have them blow in our direction. the south breeze always has a violet odor; the north breeze has the fragrance of wild roses; the east breeze is perfumed with lilies-of-the-valley and the west wind with lilac blossoms. so we need no weather-vane to tell us which way the wind is blowing. we have only to smell the perfume and it informs us at once." inside the house they found the ork, and button-bright regarded the strange, bird-like creature with curious interest. after examining it closely for a time he asked: "which way does your tail whirl?" "either way," said the ork. button-bright put out his hand and tried to spin it. "don't do that!" exclaimed the ork. "why not?' inquired the boy. "because it happens to be my tail, and i reserve the right to whirl it myself," explained the ork. "let's go out and fly somewhere," proposed button-bright. "i want to see how the tail works." "not now," said the ork. "i appreciate your interest in me, which i fully deserve; but i only fly when i am going somewhere, and if i got started i might not stop." "that reminds me," remarked cap'n bill, "to ask you, friend ork, how we are going to get away from here?" "get away!" exclaimed the bumpy man. "why don't you stay here? you won't find any nicer place than mo." "have you been anywhere else, sir?" "no; i can't say that i have," admitted the mountain ear. "then permit me to say you're no judge," declared cap'n bill. "but you haven't answered my question, friend ork. how are we to get away from this mountain?" the ork reflected a while before he answered. "i might carry one of you--the boy or the girl--upon my back," said he, "but three big people are more than i can manage, although i have carried two of you for a short distance. you ought not to have eaten those purple berries so soon." "p'r'aps we did make a mistake," cap'n bill acknowledged. "or we might have brought some of those lavender berries with us, instead of so many purple ones," suggested trot regretfully. cap'n bill made no reply to this statement, which showed he did not fully agree with the little girl; but he fell into deep thought, with wrinkled brows, and finally he said: "if those purple berries would make anything grow bigger, whether it'd eaten the lavender ones or not, i could find a way out of our troubles." they did not understand this speech and looked at the old sailor as if expecting him to explain what he meant. but just then a chorus of shrill cries rose from outside. "here! let me go--let me go!" the voices seemed to say. "why are we insulted in this way? mountain ear, come and help us!" trot ran to the window and looked out. "it's the birds you caught, cap'n," she said. "i didn't know they could talk." "oh, yes; all the birds in mo are educated to talk," said the bumpy man. then he looked at cap'n bill uneasily and added: "won't you let the poor things go?" "i'll see," replied the sailor, and walked out to where the birds were fluttering and complaining because the strings would not allow them to fly away. "listen to me!" he cried, and at once they became still. "we three people who are strangers in your land want to go to some other country, and we want three of you birds to carry us there. we know we are asking a great favor, but it's the only way we can think of--excep' walkin', an' i'm not much good at that because i've a wooden leg. besides, trot an' button-bright are too small to undertake a long and tiresome journey. now, tell me: which three of you birds will consent to carry us?" [illustration] the birds looked at one another as if greatly astonished. then one of them replied: "you must be crazy, old man. not one of us is big enough to fly with even the smallest of your party." "i'll fix the matter of size," promised cap'n bill. "if three of you will agree to carry us, i'll make you big an' strong enough to do it, so it won't worry you a bit." the birds considered this gravely. living in a magic country, they had no doubt but that the strange one-legged man could do what he said. after a little, one of them asked: "if you make us big, would we stay big always?" "i think so," replied cap'n bill. they chattered a while among themselves and then the bird that had first spoken said: "til go, for one." "so will i," said another; and after a pause a third said: "i'll go, too." perhaps more would have volunteered, for it seemed that for some reason they all longed to be bigger than they were; but three were enough for cap'n bill's purpose and so he promptly released all the others, who immediately flew away. the three that remained were cousins, and all were of the same brilliant plumage and in size about as large as eagles. when trot questioned them she found they were quite young, having only abandoned their nests a few weeks before. they were strong young birds, with clear, brave eyes, and the little girl decided they were the most beautiful of all the feathered creatures she had ever seen. [illustration] cap'n bill now took from his pocket the wooden box with the sliding cover and removed the three purple berries, which were still in good condition. "eat these," he said, and gave one to each of the birds. they obeyed, finding the fruit very pleasant to taste. in a few seconds they began to grow in size and grew so fast that trot feared they would never stop. but they finally did stop growing, and then they were much larger than the ork, and nearly the size of full-grown ostriches. cap'n bill was much pleased by this result. "you can carry us now, all right," said he. the birds strutted around with pride, highly pleased with their immense size. "i don't see, though," said trot doubtfully, "how we're going to ride on their backs without falling off." "we're not going to ride on their backs," answered cap'n bill. "i'm going to make swings for us to ride in." he then asked the bumpy man for some rope, but the man had no rope. he had, however, an old suit of gray clothes which he gladly presented to cap'n bill, who cut the cloth into strips and twisted it so that it was almost as strong as rope. with this material he attached to each bird a swing that dangled below its feet, and button-bright made a trial flight in one of them to prove that it was safe and comfortable. when all this had been arranged one of the birds asked: "where do you wish us to take you?" "why, just follow the ork," said cap'n bill. "he will be our leader, and wherever the ork flies you are to fly, and wherever the ork lands you are to land. is that satisfactory?" [illustration] the birds declared it was quite satisfactory, so cap'n bill took counsel with the ork. "on our way here," said that peculiar creature, "i noticed a broad, sandy desert at the left of me, on which was no living thing." "then we'd better keep away from it," replied the sailor. "not so," insisted the ork. "i have found, on my travels, that the most pleasant countries often lie in the midst of deserts; so i think it would be wise for us to fly over this desert and discover what lies beyond it. for in the direction we came from lies the ocean, as we well know, and beyond here is this strange land of mo, which we do not care to explore. on one side, as we can see from this mountain, is a broad expanse of plain, and on the other the desert. for my part, i vote for the desert." "what do you say, trot?" inquired cap'n bill. "it's all the same to me," she replied. no one thought of asking button-bright's opinion, so it was decided to fly over the desert. they bade good-bye to the bumpy man and thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. then they seated themselves in the swings--one for each bird--and told the ork to start away and they would follow. the whirl of the ork's tail astonished the birds at first, but after he had gone a short distance they rose in the air, carrying their passengers easily, and flew with strong, regular strokes of their great wings in the wake of their leader. [illustration] chapter the kingdom of jinxland trot rode with more comfort than she had expected, although the swing swayed so much that she had to hold on tight with both hands. cap'n bill's bird followed the ork, and trot came next, with button-bright trailing behind her. it was quite an imposing procession, but unfortunately there was no one to see it, for the ork had headed straight for the great sandy desert and in a few minutes after starting they were flying high over the broad waste, where no living thing could exist. the little girl thought this would be a bad place for the birds to lose strength, or for the cloth ropes to give way; but although she could not help feeling a trifle nervous and fidgety she had confidence in the huge and brilliantly plumaged bird that bore her, as well as in cap'n bill's knowledge of how to twist and fasten a rope so it would hold. that was a remarkably big desert. there was nothing to relieve the monotony of view and every minute seemed an hour and every hour a day. disagreeable fumes and gases rose from the sands, which would have been deadly to the travelers had they not been so high in the air. as it was, trot was beginning to feel sick, when a breath of fresher air filled her nostrils and on looking ahead she saw a great cloud of pink-tinted mist. even while she wondered what it could be, the ork plunged boldly into the mist and the other birds followed. she could see nothing for a time, nor could the bird which carried her see where the ork had gone, but it kept flying as sturdily as ever and in a few moments the mist was passed and the girl saw a most beautiful landscape spread out below her, extending as far as her eye could reach. she saw bits of forest, verdure clothed hills, fields of waving grain, fountains, rivers and lakes; and throughout the scene were scattered groups of pretty houses and a few grand castles and palaces. over all this delightful landscape--which from trot's high perch seemed like a magnificent painted picture--was a rosy glow such as we sometimes see in the west at sunset. in this case, however, it was not in the west only, but everywhere. no wonder the ork paused to circle slowly over this lovely country. the other birds followed his action, all eyeing the place with equal delight. then, as with one accord, the four formed a group and slowly sailed downward. this brought them to that part of the newly-discovered land which bordered on the desert's edge; but it was just as pretty here as anywhere, so the ork and the birds alighted and the three passengers at once got out of their swings. "oh, cap'n bill, isn't this fine an' dandy?" exclaimed trot rapturously. "how lucky we were to discover this beautiful country!" "the country seems rather high class, i'll admit, trot," replied the old sailor-man, looking around him, "but we don't know, as yet, what its people are like." "no one could live in such a country without being happy and good--i'm sure of that," she said earnestly. "don't you think so, button-bright?" "i'm not thinking, just now," answered the little boy. "it tires me to think, and i never seem to gain anything by it. when we see the people who live here we will know what they are like, and no 'mount of thinking will make them any different." "that's true enough," said the ork. "but now i want to make a proposal. while you are getting acquainted with this new country, which looks as if it contains everything to make one happy, i would like to fly along--all by myself--and see if i can find my home on the other side of the great desert. if i do, i will stay there, of course. but if i fail to find orkland i will return to you in a week, to see if i can do anything more to assist you." they were sorry to lose their queer companion, but could offer no objection to the plan; so the ork bade them good-bye and rising swiftly in the air, he flew over the country and was soon lost to view in the distance. the three birds which had carried our friends now begged permission to return by the way they had come, to their own homes, saying they were anxious to show their families how big they had become. so cap'n bill and trot and button-bright all thanked them gratefully for their assistance and soon the birds began their long flight toward the land of mo. being now left to themselves in this strange land, the three comrades selected a pretty pathway and began walking along it. they believed this path would lead them to a splendid castle which they espied in the distance, the turrets of which towered far above the tops of the trees which surrounded it. it did not seem very far away, so they sauntered on slowly, admiring the beautiful ferns and flowers that lined the pathway and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft chirping of the grasshoppers. [illustration] presently the path wound over a little hill. in a valley that lay beyond the hill was a tiny cottage surrounded by flower beds and fruit trees. on the shady porch of the cottage they saw, as they approached, a pleasant faced woman sitting amidst a group of children, to whom she was telling stories. the children quickly discovered the strangers and ran toward them with exclamations of astonishment, so that trot and her friends became the center of a curious group, all chattering excitedly. cap'n bill's wooden leg seemed to arouse the wonder of the children, as they could not understand why he had not two meat legs. this attention seemed to please the old sailor, who patted the heads of the children kindly and then, raising his hat to the woman, he inquired: "can you tell us, madam, just what country this is?" she stared hard at all three of the strangers as she replied briefly: "jinxland." "oh!" exclaimed cap'n bill, with a puzzled look. "and where is jinxland, please?" "in the quadling country," said she. "what!" cried trot, in sudden excitement. "do you mean to say this is the quadling country of the land of oz?" "to be sure i do," the woman answered. "every bit of land that is surrounded by the great desert is the land of oz, as you ought to know as well as i do; but i'm sorry to say that jinxland is separated from the rest of the quadling country by that row of high mountains you see yonder, which have such steep sides that no one can cross them. so we live here all by ourselves, and are ruled by our own king, instead of by ozma of oz." "i've been to the land of oz before," said button-bright, "but i've never been here." "did you ever hear of jinxland before?' asked trot. "no," said button-bright. "it is on the map of oz, though," asserted the woman, "and it's a fine country, i assure you. if only," she added, and then paused to look around her with a frightened expression. "if only--" here she stopped again, as if not daring to go on with her speech. "if only what, ma'am?" asked cap'n bill. the woman sent the children into the house. then she came closer to the strangers and whispered: "if only we had a different king, we would be very happy and contented." "what's the matter with your king?" asked trot, curiously. but the woman seemed frightened to have said so much. she retreated to her porch, merely saying: "the king punishes severely any treason on the part of his subjects." "what's treason?" asked button-bright. "in this case," replied cap'n bill, "treason seems to consist of knockin' the king; but i guess we know his disposition now as well as if the lady had said more." "i wonder," said trot, going up to the woman, "if you could spare us something to eat. we haven't had anything but popcorn and lemonade for a long time." "bless your heart! of course i can spare you some food," the woman answered, and entering her cottage she soon returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cakes and cheese. one of the children drew a bucket of clear, cold water from a spring and the three wanderers ate heartily and enjoyed the good things immensely. when button-bright could eat no more he filled the pockets of his jacket with cakes and cheese, and not even the children objected to this. indeed they all seemed pleased to see the strangers eat, so cap'n bill decided that no matter what the king of jinxland was like, the people would prove friendly and hospitable. [illustration] "whose castle is that, yonder, ma'am?" he asked, waving his hand toward the towers that rose above the trees. "it belongs to his majesty, king krewl," she said. "oh, indeed; and does he live there?" "when he is not out hunting with his fierce courtiers and war captains," she replied. "is he hunting now?" trot inquired. "i do not know, my dear. the less we know about the king's actions the safer we are." it was evident the woman did not like to talk about king krewl and so, having finished their meal, they said good-bye and continued along the pathway. "don't you think we'd better keep away from that king's castle, cap'n?" asked trot. "well," said he, "king krewl would find out, sooner or later, that we are in his country, so we may as well face the music now. perhaps he isn't quite so bad as that woman thinks he is. kings aren't always popular with their people, you know, even if they do the best they know how." "ozma is pop'lar," said button-bright. "ozma is diff'rent from any other ruler, from all i've heard," remarked trot musingly, as she walked beside the boy. "and, after all, we are really in the land of oz, where ozma rules ev'ry king and ev'rybody else. i never heard of anybody getting hurt in her dominions, did you, button-bright?" "not when she knows about it," he replied. "but those birds landed us in just the wrong place, seems to me. they might have carried us right on, over that row of mountains, to the em'rald city." "true enough," said cap'n bill; "but they didn't, an' so we must make the best of jinxland. let's try not to be afraid." "oh, i'm not very scared," said button-bright, pausing to look at a pink rabbit that popped its head out of a hole in the field near by. "nor am i," added trot. "really, cap'n, i'm so glad to be anywhere at all in the wonderful fairyland of oz that i think i'm the luckiest girl in all the world. dorothy lives in the em'rald city, you know, and so does the scarecrow and the tin woodman and tik-tok and the shaggy man--and all the rest of 'em that we've heard so much about not to mention ozma, who must be the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world!" "take your time, trot," advised button-bright. "you don't have to say it all in one breath, you know. and you haven't mentioned half of the curious people in the em'rald city." "that 'ere em'rald city," said cap'n bill impressively, "happens to be on the other side o' those mountains, that we're told no one is able to cross. i don't want to discourage of you, trot, but we're a'most as much separated from your ozma an' dorothy as we were when we lived in californy." there was so much truth in this statement that they all walked on in silence for some time. finally they reached the grove of stately trees that bordered the grounds of the king's castle. they had gone half-way through it when the sound of sobbing, as of someone in bitter distress, reached their ears and caused them to halt abruptly. [illustration] [illustration] chapter pon, the gardener's boy it was button-bright who first discovered, lying on his face beneath a broad spreading tree near the pathway, a young man whose body shook with the force of his sobs. he was dressed in a long brown smock and had sandals on his feet, betokening one in humble life. his head was bare and showed a shock of brown, curly hair. button-bright looked down on the young man and said: "who cares, anyhow?" "i do!" cried the young man, interrupting his sobs to roll over, face upward, that he might see who had spoken. "i care, for my heart is broken!" "can't you get another one?" asked the little boy. "i don't want another!" wailed the young man. by this time trot and cap'n bill arrived at the spot and the girl leaned over and said in a sympathetic voice: "tell us your troubles and perhaps we may help you." the youth sat up, then, and bowed politely. afterward he got upon his feet, but still kept wringing his hands as he tried to choke down his sobs. trot thought he was very brave to control such awful agony so well. "my name is pon," he began. "i'm the gardener's boy." "then the gardener of the king is your father, i suppose," said trot. "not my father, but my master," was the reply. "i do the work and the gardener gives the orders. and it was not my fault, in the least, that the princess gloria fell in love with me." "did she, really?" asked the little girl. "i don't see why," remarked button-bright, staring at the youth. "and who may the princess gloria be?" inquired cap'n bill. "she is the niece of king krewl, who is her guardian. the princess lives in the castle and is the loveliest and sweetest maiden in all jinxland. she is fond of flowers and used to walk in the gardens with her attendants. at such times, if i was working at my tasks, i used to cast down my eyes as gloria passed me; but one day i glanced up and found her gazing at me with a very tender look in her eyes. the next day she dismissed her attendants and, coming to my side, began to talk with me. she said i had touched her heart as no other young man had ever done. i kissed her hand. just then the king came around a bend in the walk. he struck me with his fist and kicked me with his foot. then he seized the arm of the princess and rudely dragged her into the castle." "wasn't he awful!" gasped trot indignantly. "he is a very abrupt king," said pon, "so it was the least i could expect. up to that time i had not thought of loving princess gloria, but realizing it would be impolite not to return her love, i did so. we met at evening, now and then, and she told me the king wanted her to marry a rich courtier named googly-goo, who is old enough to be gloria's father. she has refused googly-goo thirty-nine times, but he still persists and has brought many rich presents to bribe the king. on that account king krewl has commanded his niece to marry the old man, but the princess has assured me, time and again, that she will wed only me. this morning we happened to meet in the grape arbor and as i was respectfully saluting the cheek of the princess, two of the king's guards seized me and beat me terribly before the very eyes of gloria, whom the king himself held back so she could not interfere." [illustration] "why, this king must be a monster!" cried trot. "he is far worse than that," said pon, mournfully. "but, see here," interrupted cap'n bill, who had listened carefully to pon. "this king may not be so much to blame, after all. kings are proud folks, because they're so high an' mighty, an' it isn't reasonable for a royal princess to marry a common gardener's boy." "it isn't right," declared button-bright. "a princess should marry a prince." "i'm not a common gardener's boy," protested pon. "if i had my rights i would be the king instead of krewl. as it is, i'm a prince, and as royal as any man in jinxland." "how does that come?" asked cap'n bill. "my father used to be the king and krewl was his prime minister. but one day while out hunting, king phearse--that was my father's name--had a quarrel with krewl and tapped him gently on the nose with the knuckles of his closed hand. this so provoked the wicked krewl that he tripped my father backward, so that he fell into a deep pond. at once krewl threw in a mass of heavy stones, which so weighted down my poor father that his body could not rise again to the surface. it is impossible to kill anyone in this land, as perhaps you know, but when my father was pressed down into the mud at the bottom of the deep pool and the stones held him so he could never escape, he was of no more use to himself or the world than if he had died. knowing this, krewl proclaimed himself king, taking possession of the royal castle and driving all my father's people out. i was a small boy, then, but when i grew up i became a gardener. i have served king krewl without his knowing that i am the son of the same king phearse whom he so cruelly made away with." "my, but that's a terr'bly exciting story!" said trot, drawing a long breath. "but tell us, pon, who was gloria's father?" "oh, he was the king before my father," replied pon. "father was prime minister for king kynd, who was gloria's father. she was only a baby when king kynd fell into the great gulf that lies just this side of the mountains--the same mountains that separate jinxland from the rest of the land of oz. it is said the great gulf has no bottom; but, however that may be, king kynd has never been seen again and my father became king in his place." "seems to me," said trot, "that if gloria had her rights she would be queen of jinxland." "well, her father was a king," admitted pon, "and so was my father; so we are of equal rank, although she's a great lady and i'm a humble gardener's boy. i can't see why we should not marry if we want to--except that king krewl won't let us." "it's a sort of mixed-up mess, taken altogether," remarked cap'n bill. "but we are on our way to visit king krewl, and if we get a chance, young man, we'll put in a good word for you." "do, please!" begged pon. "was it the flogging you got that broke your heart?' inquired button-bright. "why, it helped to break it, of course," said pon. "i'd get it fixed up, if i were you," advised the boy, tossing a pebble at a chipmunk in a tree. "you ought to give gloria just as good a heart as she gives you." "that's common sense," agreed cap'n bill. so they left the gardener's boy standing beside the path, and resumed their journey toward the castle. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the wicked king and googly-goo when our friends approached the great doorway of the castle they found it guarded by several soldiers dressed in splendid uniforms. they were armed with swords and lances. cap'n bill walked straight up to them and asked: "does the king happen to be at home?" "his magnificent and glorious majesty, king krewl, is at present inhabiting his royal castle," was the stiff reply. "then i guess we'll go in an' say how-d'ye-do," continued cap'n bill, attempting to enter the doorway. but a soldier barred his way with a lance. "who are you, what are your names, and where do you come from? demanded the soldier. "you wouldn't know if we told you," returned the sailor, "seein' as we're strangers in a strange land." "oh, if you are strangers you will be permitted to enter," said the soldier, lowering his lance. "his majesty is very fond of strangers." "do many strangers come here?" asked trot. "you are the first that ever came to our country," said the man. "but his majesty has often said that if strangers ever arrived in jinxland he would see that they had a very exciting time." cap'n bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. he wasn't very favorably impressed by this last remark. but he decided that as there was no way of escape from jinxland it would be wise to confront--the king boldly and try to win his favor. so they entered the castle, escorted by one of the soldiers. it was certainly a fine castle, with many large rooms, all beautifully furnished. the passages were winding and handsomely decorated, and after following several of these the soldier led them into an open court that occupied the very center of the huge building. it was surrounded on every side by high turreted walls, and contained beds of flowers, fountains and walks of many colored marbles which were matched together in quaint designs. in an open space near the middle of the court they saw a group of courtiers and their ladies, who surrounded a lean man who wore upon his head a jeweled crown. his face was hard and sullen and through the slits of his half-closed eyelids the eyes glowed like coals of fire. he was dressed in brilliant satins and velvets and was seated in a golden throne-chair. this personage was king krewl, and as soon as cap'n bill saw him the old sailor knew at once that he was not going to like the king of jinxland. "hello! who's here?" said his majesty, with a deep scowl. "strangers, sire," answered the soldier, bowing so low that his forehead touched the marble tiles. "strangers, eh? well, well; what an unexpected visit! advance, strangers, and give an account of yourselves." the king's voice was as harsh as his features. trot shuddered a little but cap'n bill calmly replied: "there ain't much for us to say, 'cept as we've arrived to look over your country an' see how we like it. judgin' from the way you speak, you don't know who we are, or you'd be jumpin' up to shake hands an' offer us seats. kings usually treat us pretty well, in the great big outside world where we come from, but in this little kingdom which don't amount to much, anyhow folks don't seem to 'a' got much culchure." the king listened with amazement to this bold speech, first with a frown and then gazing at the two children and the old sailor with evident curiosity. the courtiers were dumb with fear, for no one had ever dared speak in such a manner to their self-willed, cruel king before. his majesty, however, was somewhat frightened, for cruel people are always cowards, and he feared these mysterious strangers might possess magic powers that would destroy him unless he treated them well. so he commanded his people to give the new arrivals seats, and they obeyed with trembling haste. after being seated, cap'n bill lighted his pipe and began puffing smoke from it, a sight so strange to them that it filled them all with wonder. presently the king asked: "how did you penetrate to this hidden country? did you cross the desert or the mountains?" "desert," answered cap'n bill, as if the task were too easy to be worth talking about. "indeed! no one has ever been able to do that before," said the king. "well, it's easy enough, if you know how," asserted cap'n bill, so carelessly that it greatly impressed his hearers. the king shifted in his throne uneasily. he was more afraid of these strangers than before. "do you intend to stay long in jinxland?" was his next anxious question. "depends on how we like it," said cap'n bill. "just now i might suggest to your majesty to order some rooms got ready for us in your dinky little castle here. and a royal banquet, with some fried onions an' pickled tripe, would set easy on our stomicks an' make us a bit happier than we are now." "your wishes shall be attended to," said king krewl, but his eyes flashed from between their slits in a wicked way that made trot hope the food wouldn't be poisoned. at the king's command several of his attendants hastened away to give the proper orders to the castle servants and no sooner were they gone than a skinny old man entered the courtyard and bowed before the king. this disagreeable person was dressed in rich velvets, with many furbelows and laces. he was covered with golden chains, finely wrought rings and jeweled ornaments. he walked with mincing steps and glared at all the courtiers as if he considered himself far superior to any or all of them. [illustration] "well, well, your majesty; what news--what news?" he demanded, in a shrill, cracked voice. the king gave him a surly look. "no news, lord googly-goo, except that strangers have arrived," he said. googly-goo cast a contemptuous glance at cap'n bill and a disdainful one at trot and button-bright. then he said: "strangers do not interest me, your majesty. but the princess gloria is very interesting--very interesting, indeed! what does she say, sire? will she marry me?" "ask her," retorted the king. "i have, many times; and every time she has refused." "well?" said the king harshly. "well," said googly-goo in a jaunty tone, "a bird that _can_ sing, and _won't_ sing, must be _made_ to sing." "huh!" sneered the king. "that's easy, with a bird; but a girl is harder to manage." "still," persisted googly-goo, "we must overcome difficulties. the chief trouble is that gloria fancies she loves that miserable gardener's boy, pon. suppose we throw pon into the great gulf, your majesty?" "it would do you no good," returned the king. "she would still love him." "too bad, too bad!" sighed googly-goo. "i have laid aside more than a bushel of precious gems--each worth a king's ransom--to present to your majesty on the day i wed gloria." the king's eyes sparkled, for he loved wealth above everything; but the next moment he frowned deeply again. "it won't help us to kill pon," he muttered. "what we must do is kill gloria's love for pon." "that is better, if you can find a way to do it," agreed googly-goo. "everything would come right if you could kill gloria's love for that gardener's boy. really, sire, now that i come to think of it, there must be fully a bushel and a half of those jewels!" just then a messenger entered the court to say that the banquet was prepared for the strangers. so cap'n bill, trot and button-bright entered the castle and were taken to a room where a fine feast was spread upon the table. "i don't like that lord googly-goo," remarked trot as she was busily eating. "nor i," said cap'n bill. "but from the talk we heard i guess the gardener's boy won't get the princess." "perhaps not," returned the girl; "but i hope old googly doesn't get her, either." "the king means to sell her for all those jewels," observed button-bright, his mouth half full of cake and jam. "poor princess!" sighed trot. "i'm sorry for her, although i've never seen her. but if she says no to googly-goo, and means it, what can they do?" "don't let us worry about a strange princess," advised cap'n bill. "i've a notion we're not too safe, ourselves, with this cruel king." the two children felt the same way and all three were rather solemn during the remainder of the meal. when they had eaten, the servants escorted them to their rooms. cap'n bill's room was way to one end of the castle, very high up, and trot's room was at the opposite end, rather low down. as for button-bright, they placed him in the middle, so that all were as far apart as they could possibly be. they didn't like this arrangement very well, but all the rooms were handsomely furnished and being guests of the king they dared not complain. after the strangers had left the courtyard the king and googly-goo had a long talk together, and the king said: [illustration] "i cannot force gloria to marry you just now, because those strangers may interfere. i suspect that the wooden-legged man possesses great magical powers, or he would never have been able to carry himself and those children across the deadly desert." "i don't like him; he looks dangerous," answered googly-goo. "but perhaps you are mistaken about his being a wizard. why don't you test his powers?" "how?" asked the king. "send for the wicked witch. she will tell you in a moment whether that wooden-legged person is a common man or a magician." "ha! that's a good idea," cried the king. "why didn't i think of the wicked witch before? but the woman demands rich rewards for her services." "never mind; i will pay her," promised the wealthy googly-goo. so a servant was dispatched to summon the wicked witch, who lived but a few leagues from king krewl's castle. while they awaited her, the withered old courtier proposed that they pay a visit to princess gloria and see if she was not now in a more complaisant mood. so the two started away together and searched the castle over without finding gloria. at last googly-goo suggested she might be in the rear garden, which was a large park filled with bushes and trees and surrounded by a high wall. and what was their anger, when they turned a corner of the path, to find in a quiet nook the beautiful princess, and kneeling before her, pon, the gardener's boy! with a roar of rage the king dashed forward; but pon had scaled the wall by means of a ladder, which still stood in its place, and when he saw the king coming he ran up the ladder and made good his escape. but this left gloria confronted by her angry guardian, the king, and by old googly-goo, who was trembling with a fury he could not express in words. seizing the princess by her arm the king dragged her back to the castle. pushing her into a room on the lower floor he locked the door upon the unhappy girl. and at that moment the arrival of the wicked witch was announced. [illustration] hearing this, the king smiled, as a tiger smiles, showing his teeth. and googly-goo smiled, as a serpent smiles, for he had no teeth except a couple of fangs. and having frightened each other with these smiles the two dreadful men went away to the royal council chamber to meet the wicked witch. [illustration: queen gloria] [illustration] chapter the wooden-legged grass-hopper now it so happened that trot, from the window of her room, had witnessed the meeting of the lovers in the garden and had seen the king come and drag gloria away. the little girl's heart went out in sympathy for the poor princess, who seemed to her to be one of the sweetest and loveliest young ladies she had ever seen, so she crept along the passages and from a hidden niche saw gloria locked in her room. the key was still in the lock, so when the king had gone away, followed by googly-goo, trot stole up to the door, turned the key and entered. the princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. trot went up to her and smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. "don't cry," she said. "i've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time you want to." "it isn't that," sobbed the princess. "i am unhappy because they will not let me love pon, the gardener's boy!" "well, never mind; pon isn't any great shakes, anyhow, seems to me," said trot soothingly. "there are lots of other people you can love." gloria rolled over on the couch and looked at the little girl reproachfully. "pon has won my heart, and i can't help loving him," she explained. then with sudden indignation she added: "but i'll never love googly-goo--never, as long as i live!" "i should say not!" replied trot. "pon may not be much good, but old googly is very, very bad. hunt around, and i'm sure you'll find someone worth your love. you're very pretty, you know, and almost anyone ought to love you." "you don't understand, my dear," said gloria, as she wiped the tears from her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief bordered with pearls. "when you are older you will realize that a young lady cannot decide whom she will love, or choose the most worthy. her heart alone decides for her, and whomsoever her heart selects, she must love, whether he amounts to much or not." trot was a little puzzled by this speech, which seemed to her unreasonable; but she made no reply and presently gloria's grief softened and she began to question the little girl about herself and her adventures. trot told her how they had happened to come to jinxland, and all about cap'n bill and the ork and pessim and the bumpy man. while they were thus conversing together, getting more and more friendly as they became better acquainted, in the council chamber the king and googly-goo were talking with the wicked witch. this evil creature was old and ugly. she had lost one eye and wore a black patch over it, so the people of jinxland had named her "blinkie." of course witches are forbidden to exist in the land of oz, but jinxland was so far removed from the center of ozma's dominions, and so absolutely cut off from it by the steep mountains and the bottomless gulf, that the laws of oz were not obeyed very well in that country. so there were several witches in jinxland who were the terror of the people, but king krewl favored them and permitted them to exercise their evil sorcery. blinkie was the leader of all the other witches and therefore the most hated and feared. the king used her witchcraft at times to assist him in carrying out his cruelties and revenge, but he was always obliged to pay blinkie large sums of money or heaps of precious jewels before she would undertake an enchantment. this made him hate the old woman almost as much as his subjects did, but to-day lord googly-goo had agreed to pay the witch's price, so the king greeted her with gracious favor. "can you destroy the love of princess gloria for the gardener's boy?" inquired his majesty. the wicked witch thought about it before she replied: "that's a hard question to answer. i can do lots of clever magic, but love is a stubborn thing to conquer. when you think you've killed it, it's liable to bob up again as strong as ever. i believe love and cats have nine lives. in other words, killing love is a hard job, even for a skillful witch, but i believe i can do something that will answer your purpose just as well." "what is that?" asked the king. [illustration] "i can freeze the girl's heart. i've got a special incantation for that, and when gloria's heart is thoroughly frozen she can no longer love pon." "just the thing!" exclaimed googly-goo, and the king was likewise much pleased. they bargained a long time as to the price, but finally the old courtier agreed to pay the wicked witch's demands. it was arranged that they should take gloria to blinkie's house the next day, to have her heart frozen. then king krewl mentioned to the old hag the strangers who had that day arrived in jinxland, and said to her: "i think the two children--the boy and the girl--are unable to harm me, but i have a suspicion that the wooden-legged man is a powerful wizard." the witch's face wore a troubled look when she heard this. "if you are right," she said, "this wizard might spoil my incantation and interfere with me in other ways. so it will be best for me to meet this stranger at once and match my magic against his, to decide which is the stronger." "all right," said the king. "come with me and i will lead you to the man's room." googly-goo did not accompany them, as he was obliged to go home to get the money and jewels he had promised to pay old blinkie, so the other two climbed several flights of stairs and went through many passages until they came to the room occupied by cap'n bill. the sailor-man, finding his bed soft and inviting, and being tired with the adventures he had experienced, had decided to take a nap. when the wicked witch and the king softly opened his door and entered, cap'n bill was snoring with such vigor that he did not hear them at all. blinkie approached the bed and with her one eye anxiously stared at the sleeping stranger. "ah," she said in a soft whisper, "i believe you are right, king krewl. the man looks to me like a very powerful wizard. but by good luck i have caught him asleep, so i shall transform him before he wakes up, giving him such a form that he will be unable to oppose me." "careful!" cautioned the king, also speaking low. "if he discovers what you are doing he may destroy you, and that would annoy me because i need you to attend to gloria." but the wicked witch realized as well as he did that she must be careful. she carried over her arm a black bag, from which she now drew several packets carefully wrapped in paper. three of these she selected, replacing the others in the bag. two of the packets she mixed together and then she cautiously opened the third. "better stand back, your majesty," she advised, "for if this powder falls on you you might be transformed yourself." the king hastily retreated to the end of the room. as blinkie mixed the third powder with the others she waved her hands over it, mumbled a few words, and then backed away as quickly as she could. cap'n bill was slumbering peacefully, all unconscious of what was going on. puff! a great cloud of smoke rolled over the bed and completely hid him from view. when the smoke rolled away, both blinkie and the king saw that the body of the stranger had quite disappeared, while in his place, crouching in the middle of the bed, was a little gray grasshopper. one curious thing about this grasshopper was that the last joint of its left leg was made of wood. another curious thing--considering it was a grasshopper--was that it began talking, crying out in a tiny but sharp voice: "here--you people! what do you mean by treating me so? put me back where i belong, at once, or you'll be sorry!" [illustration] the cruel king turned pale at hearing the grasshopper's threats, but the wicked witch merely laughed in derision. then she raised her stick and aimed a vicious blow at the grasshopper, but before the stick struck the bed the tiny hopper made a marvelous jump--marvelous, indeed, when we consider that it had a wooden leg. it rose in the air and sailed across the room and passed right through the open window, where it disappeared from their view. "good!" shouted the king. "we are well rid of this desperate wizard." and then they both laughed heartily at the success of the incantation, and went away to complete their horrid plans. after trot had visited a time with princess gloria, the little girl went to button-bright's room but did not find him there. then she went to cap'n bill's room, but he was not there because the witch and the king had been there before her. so she made her way downstairs and questioned the servants. they said they had seen the little boy go out into the garden, some time ago, but the old man with the wooden leg they had not seen at all. therefore trot, not knowing what else to do, rambled through the great gardens, seeking for button-bright or cap'n bill and not finding either of them. this part of the garden, which lay before the castle, was not walled in, but extended to the roadway, and the paths were open to the edge of the forest; so, after two hours of vain search for her friends, the little girl returned to the castle. but at the doorway a soldier stopped her. "i live here," said trot, "so it's all right to let me in. the king has given me a room." "well, he has taken it back again," was the soldier's reply. "his majesty's orders are to turn you away if you attempt to enter. i am also ordered to forbid the boy, your companion, to again enter the king's castle." "how 'bout cap'n bill'?' she inquired. "why, it seems he has mysteriously disappeared," replied the soldier, shaking his head ominously. "where he has gone to, i can't make out, but i can assure you he is no longer in this castle. i'm sorry, little girl, to disappoint you. don't blame me; i must obey my master's orders." now, all her life trot had been accustomed to depend on cap'n bill, so when this good friend was suddenly taken from her she felt very miserable and forlorn indeed. she was brave enough not to cry before the soldier, or even to let him see her grief and anxiety, but after she was turned away from the castle she sought a quiet bench in the garden and for a time sobbed as if her heart would break. it was button-bright who found her, at last, just as the sun had set and the shades of evening were falling. he also had been turned away from the king's castle, when he tried to enter it, and in the park he came across trot. "never mind," said the boy. "we can find a place to sleep." "i want cap'n bill," wailed the girl. "well, so do i," was the reply. "but we haven't got him. where do you s'pose he is, trot?" "i don't s'pose anything. he's gone, an' that's all i know 'bout it." button-bright sat on the bench beside her and thrust his hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers. then he reflected somewhat gravely for him. "cap'n bill isn't around here," he said, letting his eyes wander over the dim garden, "so we must go somewhere else if we want to find him. besides, it's fast getting dark, and if we want to find a place to sleep we must get busy while we can see where to go." he rose from the bench as he said this and trot also jumped up, drying her eyes on her apron. then she walked beside him out of the grounds of the king's castle. they did not go by the main path, but passed through an opening in a hedge and found themselves in a small but well-worn roadway. following this for some distance, along a winding way, they came upon no house or building that would afford them refuge for the night. it became so dark that they could scarcely see their way, and finally trot stopped and suggested that they camp under a tree. [illustration] "all right," said button-bright, "i've often found that leaves make a good warm blanket. but--look there, trot!--isn't that a light flashing over yonder?" "it certainly is, button-bright. let's go over and see if it's a house. whoever lives there couldn't treat us worse than the king did." to reach the light they had to leave the road, so they stumbled over hillocks and brushwood, hand in hand, keeping the tiny speck of light always in sight. they were rather forlorn little waifs, outcasts in a strange country and forsaken by their only friend and guardian, cap'n bill. so they were very glad when finally they reached a small cottage and, looking in through its one window, saw pon, the gardener's boy, sitting by a fire of twigs. as trot opened the door and walked boldly in, pon sprang up to greet them. they told him of cap'n bill's disappearance and how they had been turned out of the king's castle. as they finished the story pon shook his head sadly. "king krewl is plotting mischief, i fear," said he, "for to-day he sent for old blinkie, the wicked witch, and with my own eyes i saw her come from the castle and hobble away toward her hut. she had been with the king and googly-goo, and i was afraid they were going to work some enchantment on gloria so she would no longer love me. but perhaps the witch was only called to the castle to enchant your friend, cap'n bill." "could she do that?" asked trot, horrified by the suggestion. "i suppose so, for old blinkie can do a lot of wicked magical things." "what sort of an enchantment could she put on cap'n bill?" "i don't know. but he has disappeared, so i'm pretty certain she has done something dreadful to him. but don't worry. if it has happened, it can't be helped, and if it hasn't happened we may be able to find him in the morning." with this pon went to the cupboard and brought food for them. trot was far too worried to eat, but button-bright made a good supper from the simple food and then lay down before the fire and went to sleep. the little girl and the gardener's boy, however, sat for a long time staring into the fire, busy with their thoughts. but at last trot, too, became sleepy and pon gently covered her with the one blanket he possessed. then he threw more wood on the fire and laid himself down before it, next to button-bright. soon all three were fast asleep. they were in a good deal of trouble; but they were young, and sleep was good to them because for a time it made them forget. [illustration] [illustration] chapter glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz that country south of the emerald city, in the land of oz, is known as the quadling country, and in the very southernmost part of it stands a splendid palace in which lives glinda the good. glinda is the royal sorceress of oz. she has wonderful magical powers and uses them only to benefit the subjects of ozma's kingdom. even the famous wizard of oz pays tribute to her, for glinda taught him all the real magic he knows, and she is his superior in all sorts of sorcery. everyone loves glinda, from the dainty and exquisite ruler, ozma, down to the humblest inhabitant of oz, for she is always kindly and helpful and willing to listen to their troubles, however busy she may be. no one knows her age, but all can see how beautiful and stately she is. her hair is like red gold and finer than the finest silken strands. her eyes are blue as the sky and always frank and smiling. her cheeks are the envy of peach-blows and her mouth is enticing as a rosebud. glinda is tall and wears splendid gowns that trail behind her as she walks. she wears no jewels, for her beauty would shame them. for attendants glinda has half a hundred of the loveliest girls in oz. they are gathered from all over oz, from among the winkies, the munchkins, the gillikins and the quadlings, as well as from ozma's magnificent emerald city, and it is considered a great favor to be allowed to serve the royal sorceress. among the many wonderful things in glinda's palace is the great book of records. in this book is inscribed everything that takes place in all the world, just the instant it happens; so that by referring to its pages glinda knows what is taking place far and near, in every country that exists. in this way she learns when and where she can help any in distress or danger, and although her duties are confined to assisting those who inhabit the land of oz, she is always interested in what takes place in the unprotected outside world. [illustration: the most popular man in the land of oz] so it was that on a certain evening glinda sat in her library, surrounded by a bevy of her maids, who were engaged in spinning, weaving and embroidery, when an attendant announced the arrival at the palace of the scarecrow. this personage was one of the most famous and popular in all the land of oz. his body was merely a suit of munchkin clothes stuffed with straw, but his head was a round sack filled with bran, with which the wizard of oz had mixed some magic brains of a very superior sort. the eyes, nose and mouth of the scarecrow were painted upon the front of the sack, as were his ears, and since this quaint being had been endowed with life, the expression of his face was very interesting, if somewhat comical. the scarecrow was good all through, even to his brains, and while he was naturally awkward in his movements and lacked the neat symmetry of other people, his disposition was so kind and considerate and he was so obliging and honest, that all who knew him loved him, and there were few people in oz who had not met our scarecrow and made his acquaintance. he lived part of the time in ozma's palace at the emerald city, part of the time in his own corncob castle in the winkie country, and part of the time he traveled over all oz, visiting with the people and playing with the children, whom he dearly loved. it was on one of his wandering journeys that the scarecrow had arrived at glinda's palace, and the sorceress at once made him welcome. as he sat beside her, talking of his adventures, he asked: "what's new in the way of news?" glinda opened her great book of records and read some of the last pages. "here is an item quite curious and interesting," she announced, an accent of surprise in her voice. "three people from the big outside world have arrived in jinxland." "where is jinxland?' inquired the scarecrow. "very near here, a little to the east of us," she said. "in fact, jinxland is a little slice taken off the quadling country, but separated from it by a range of high mountains, at the foot of which lies a wide, deep gulf that is supposed to be impassable." "then jinxland is really a part of the land of oz," said he. "yes," returned glinda, "but oz people know nothing of it, except what is recorded here in my book." "what does the book say about it?' asked the scarecrow. "it is ruled by a wicked man called king krewl, although he has no right to the title. most of the people are good, but they are very timid and live in constant fear of their fierce ruler. there are also several wicked witches who keep the inhabitants of jinxland in a state of terror." "do those witches have any magical powers?" inquired the scarecrow. "yes, they seem to understand witchcraft in its most evil form, for one of them has just transformed a respectable and honest old sailor--one of the strangers who arrived there--into a grasshopper. this same witch, blinkie by name, is also planning to freeze the heart of a beautiful jinxland girl named princess gloria." "why, that's a dreadful thing to do!" exclaimed the scarecrow. glinda's face was very grave. she read in her book how trot and button-bright were turned out of the king's castle, and how they found refuge in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy. "i'm afraid those helpless earth people will endure much suffering in jinxland, even if the wicked king and the witches permit them to live," said the good sorceress, thoughtfully. "i wish i might help them." "can i do anything?" asked the scarecrow, anxiously. "if so, tell me what to do, and til do it." [illustration] for a few moments glinda did not reply, but sat musing over the records. then she said: "i am going to send you to jinxland, to protect trot and button-bright and cap'n bill." "all right," answered the scarecrow in a cheerful voice. "i know button-bright already, for he has been in the land of oz before. you remember he went away from the land of oz in one of our wizard's big bubbles." "yes," said glinda, "i remember that." then she carefully instructed the scarecrow what to do and gave him certain magical things which he placed in the pockets of his ragged munchkin coat. "as you have no need to sleep," said she, "you may as well start at once." "the night is the same as day to me," he replied, "except that i cannot see my way so well in the dark." "i will furnish a light to guide you," promised the sorceress. so the scarecrow bade her good-bye and at once started on his journey. by morning he had reached the mountains that separated the quadling country from jinxland. the sides of these mountains were too steep to climb, but the scarecrow took a small rope from his pocket and tossed one end upward, into the air. the rope unwound itself for hundreds of feet, until it caught upon a peak of rock at the very top of a mountain, for it was a magic rope furnished him by glinda. the scarecrow climbed the rope and, after pulling it up, let it down on the other side of the mountain range. when he descended the rope on this side he found himself in jinxland, but at his feet yawned the great gulf, which must be crossed before he could proceed any farther. [illustration] [illustration] the scarecrow knelt down and examined the ground carefully, and in a moment he discovered a fuzzy brown spider that had rolled itself into a ball. so he took two tiny pills from his pocket and laid them beside the spider, which unrolled itself and quickly ate up the pills. then the scarecrow said in a voice of command: "spin!" and the spider obeyed instantly. [illustration] in a few moments the little creature had spun two slender but strong strands that reached way across the gulf, one being five or six feet above the other. when these were completed the scarecrow started across the tiny bridge, walking upon one strand as a person walks upon a rope, and holding to the upper strand with his hands to prevent him from losing his balance and toppling over into the gulf. the tiny threads held him safely, thanks to the strength given them by the magic pills. presently he was safe across and standing on the plains of jinxland. far away he could see the towers of the king's castle and toward this he at once began to walk. [illustration] chapter the frozen heart in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy, button-bright was the first to waken in the morning. leaving his companions still asleep, he went out into the fresh morning air and saw some blackberries growing on bushes in a field not far away. going to the bushes he found the berries ripe and sweet, so he began eating them. more bushes were scattered over the fields, so the boy wandered on, from bush to bush, without paying any heed to where he was wandering. then a butterfly fluttered by. he gave chase to it and followed it a long way. when finally he paused to look around him, button-bright could see no sign of pon's house, nor had he the slightest idea in which direction it lay. "well, i'm lost again," he remarked to himself. "but never mind; i've been lost lots of times. someone is sure to find me." trot was a little worried about button-bright when she awoke and found him gone. knowing how careless he was, she believed that he had strayed away, but felt that he would come back in time, because he had a habit of not staying lost. pon got the little girl some food for her breakfast and then together they went out of the hut and stood in the sunshine. pon's house was some distance off the road, but they could see it from where they stood and both gave a start of surprise when they discovered two soldiers walking along the roadway and escorting princess gloria between them. the poor girl had her hands bound together, to prevent her from struggling, and the soldiers rudely dragged her forward when her steps seemed to lag. behind this group came king krewl, wearing his jeweled crown and swinging in his hand a slender golden staff with a ball of clustered gems at one end. "where are they going?'' asked trot. "to the house of the wicked witch, i fear," pon replied. "come, let us follow them, for i am sure they intend to harm my dear gloria." "won't they see us?" she asked timidly. "we won't let them. i know a short cut through the trees to blinkie's house," said he. so they hurried away through the trees and reached the house of the witch ahead of the king and his soldiers. hiding themselves in the shrubbery, they watched the approach of poor gloria and her escort, all of whom passed so near to them that pon could have put out a hand and touched his sweetheart, had he dared to. blinkie's house had eight sides, with a door and a window in each side. smoke was coming out of the chimney and as the guards brought gloria to one of the doors it was opened by the old witch in person. she chuckled with evil glee and rubbed her skinny hands together to show the delight with which she greeted her victim, for blinkie was pleased to be able to perform her wicked rites on one so fair and sweet as the princess. gloria struggled to resist when they bade her enter the house, so the soldiers forced her through the doorway and even the king gave her a shove as he followed close behind. pon was so incensed at the cruelty shown gloria that he forgot all caution and rushed forward to enter the house also; but one of the soldiers prevented him, pushing the gardener's boy away with violence and slamming the door in his face. "never mind," said trot soothingly, as pon rose from where he had fallen. "you couldn't do much to help the poor princess if you were inside. how unfortunate it is that you are in love with her!" "true," he answered sadly, "it is indeed my misfortune. if i did not love her, it would be none of my business what the king did to his niece gloria; but the unlucky circumstance of my loving her makes it my duty to defend her." "i don't see how you can, duty or no duty," observed trot. "no; i am powerless, for they are stronger than i. but we might peek in through the window and see what they are doing." trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy they did not notice that pon and trot were watching them. gloria had been tied to a stout post in the center of the room and the king was giving the wicked witch a quantity of money and jewels, which googly-goo had provided in payment. when this had been done the king said to her: "are you perfectly sure you can freeze this maiden's heart, so that she will no longer love that low gardener's boy?" "sure as witchcraft, your majesty," the creature replied. "then get to work," said the king. "there may be some unpleasant features about the ceremony that would annoy me, so i'll bid you good day and leave you to carry out your contract. one word, however: if you fail, i shall burn you at the stake!" then he beckoned to his soldiers to follow him, and throwing wide the door of the house walked out. this action was so sudden that king krewl almost caught trot and pon eavesdropping, but they managed to run around the house before he saw them. away he marched, up the road, followed by his men, heartlessly leaving gloria to the mercies of old blinkie. [illustration] when they again crept up to the window, trot and pon saw blinkie gloating over her victim. although nearly fainting from fear, the proud princess gazed with haughty defiance into the face of the wicked creature; but she was bound so tightly to the post that she could do no more to express her loathing. pretty soon blinkie went to a kettle that was swinging by a chain over the fire and tossed into it several magical compounds. the kettle gave three flashes, and at every flash another witch appeared in the room. these hags were very ugly but when one-eyed blinkie whispered her orders to them they grinned with joy as they began dancing around gloria. first one and then another cast something into the kettle, when to the astonishment of the watchers at the window all three of the old women were instantly transformed into maidens of exquisite beauty, dressed in the daintiest costumes imaginable. only their eyes could not be disguised, and an evil glare still shone in their depths. but if the eyes were cast down or hidden, one could not help but admire these beautiful creatures, even with the knowledge that they were mere illusions of witchcraft. trot certainly admired them, for she had never seen anything so dainty and bewitching, but her attention was quickly drawn to their deeds instead of their persons, and then horror replaced admiration. into the kettle old blinkie poured another mess from a big brass bottle she took from a chest, and this made the kettle begin to bubble and smoke violently. one by one the beautiful witches approached to stir the contents of the kettle and to mutter a magic charm. their movements were graceful and rhythmic and the wicked witch who had called them to her aid watched them with an evil grin upon her wrinkled face. finally the incantation was complete. the kettle ceased bubbling and together the witches lifted it from the fire. then blinkie brought a wooden ladle and filled it from the contents of the kettle. going with the spoon to princess gloria she cried: "love no more! magic art now will freeze your mortal heart!" with this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon gloria's breast. trot saw the body of the princess become transparent, so that her beating heart showed plainly. but now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and then to white. a layer of frost formed about it and tiny icicles clung to its surface. then slowly the body of the girl became visible again and the heart was hidden from view. gloria seemed to have fainted, but now she recovered and, opening her beautiful eyes, stared coldly and without emotion at the group of witches confronting her. blinkie and the others knew by that one cold look that their charm had been successful. they burst into a chorus of wild laughter and the three beautiful ones began dancing again, while blinkie unbound the princess and set her free. trot rubbed her eyes to prove that she was wide awake and seeing clearly, for her astonishment was great when the three lovely maidens turned into ugly, crooked hags again, leaning on broomsticks and canes. they jeered at gloria, but the princess regarded them with cold disdain. being now free, she walked to a door, opened it and passed out. and the witches let her go. trot and pon had been so intent upon this scene that in their eagerness they had pressed quite hard against the window. just as gloria went out of the house the window-sash broke loose from its fastenings and fell with a crash into the room. the witches uttered a chorus of screams and then, seeing that their magical incantation had been observed, they rushed for the open window with uplifted broomsticks and canes. but pon was off like the wind, and trot followed at his heels. fear lent them strength to run, to leap across ditches, to speed up the hills and to vault the low fences as a deer would. [illustration] the band of witches had dashed through the window in pursuit; but blinkie was so old, and the others so crooked and awkward, that they soon realized they would be unable to overtake the fugitives. so the three who had been summoned by the wicked witch put their canes or broomsticks between their legs and flew away through the air, quickly disappearing against the blue sky. blinkie, however, was so enraged at pon and trot that she hobbled on in the direction they had taken, fully determined to catch them, in time, and to punish them terribly for spying upon her witchcraft. when pon and trot had run so far that they were confident they had made good their escape, they sat down near the edge of a forest to get their breath again, for both were panting hard from their exertions. trot was the first to recover speech, and she said to her companion: "my! wasn't it tenable?" "the most terrible thing i ever saw," pon agreed. "and they froze gloria's heart; so now she can't love you any more." "well, they froze her heart, to be sure," admitted pon, "but i'm in hopes i can melt it with my love." "where do you s'pose gloria is?' asked the girl, after a pause. "she left the witch's house just before we did. perhaps she has gone back to the king's castle," he said. "i'm pretty sure she started off in a different direction," declared trot. "i looked over my shoulder, as i ran, to see how close the witches were, and i'm sure i saw gloria walking slowly away toward the north." "then let us circle around that way," proposed pon, "and perhaps we shall meet her." trot agreed to this and they left the grove and began to circle around toward the north, thus drawing nearer and nearer to old blinkie's house again. the wicked witch did not suspect this change of direction, so when she came to the grove she passed through it and continued on. pon and trot had reached a place less than half a mile from the witch's house when they saw gloria walking toward them. the princess moved with great dignity and with no show of haste whatever, holding her head high and looking neither to right nor left. pon rushed forward, holding out his arms as if to embrace her and calling her sweet names. but gloria gazed upon him coldly and repelled him with a haughty gesture. at this the poor gardener's boy sank upon his knees and hid his face in his arms, weeping bitter tears; but the princess was not at all moved by his distress. passing him by, she drew her skirts aside, as if unwilling they should touch him, and then she walked up the path a way and hesitated, as if uncertain where to go next. trot was grieved by pon's sobs and indignant because gloria treated him so badly. but she remembered why. "i guess your heart is frozen, all right," she said to the princess. gloria nodded gravely, in reply, and then turned her back upon the little girl. "can't you like even me?" asked trot, half pleadingly. "no," said gloria. "your voice sounds like a refrig'rator," sighed the little girl. "i'm awful sorry for you, 'cause you were sweet an' nice to me before this happened. you can't help it, of course; but it's a dreadful thing, jus' the same." "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves," announced gloria, calmly. "i do not love even myself." [illustration] "that's too bad," said trot, "for, if you can't love anybody, you can't expect anybody to love you." "i do!" cried pon. "i shall always love her." "well, you're just a gardener's boy," replied trot, "and i didn't think you 'mounted to much, from the first. i can love the old princess gloria, with a warm heart an' nice manners, but this one gives me the shivers." "it's her icy heart, that's all," said pon. "that's enough," insisted trot. "seeing her heart isn't big enough to skate on, i can't see that she's of any use to anyone. for my part, i'm goin' to try to find button-bright an' cap'n bill." "i will go with you," decided pon. "it is evident that gloria no longer loves me and that her heart is frozen too stiff for me to melt it with my own love; therefore i may as well help you to find your friends." as trot started off, pon cast one more imploring look at the princess, who returned it with a chilly stare. so he followed after the little girl. as for the princess, she hesitated a moment and then turned in the same direction the others had taken, but going far more slowly. soon she heard footsteps pattering behind her, and up came googly-goo, a little out of breath with running. "stop, gloria!" he cried. "i have come to take you back to my mansion, where we are to be married." she looked at him wonderingly a moment, then tossed her head disdainfully and walked on. but googly-goo kept beside her. "what does this mean?" he demanded. "haven't you discovered that you no longer love that gardener's boy, who stood in my way?" "yes; i have discovered it," she replied. "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves. i cannot love you, or pon, or the cruel king my uncle, or even myself. go your way, googly-goo, for i will wed no one at all." he stopped in dismay when he heard this, but in another minute he exclaimed angrily: "you _must_ wed me, princess gloria, whether you want to or not! i paid to have your heart frozen; i also paid the king to permit our marriage. if you now refuse me it will mean that i have been robbed--robbed--robbed of my precious money and jewels!" he almost wept with despair, but she laughed a cold, bitter laugh and passed on. googly-goo caught at her arm, as if to restrain her, but she whirled and dealt him a blow that sent him reeling into a ditch beside the path. here he lay for a long time, half covered by muddy water, dazed with surprise. finally the old courtier arose, dripping, and climbed from the ditch. the princess had gone; so, muttering threats of vengeance upon her, upon the king and upon blinkie, old googly-goo hobbled back to his mansion to have the mud removed from his costly velvet clothes. [illustration] [illustration] chapter trot meets the scarecrow trot and pon covered many leagues of ground, searching through forests, in fields and in many of the little villages of jinxland, but could find no trace of either cap'n bill or button-bright. finally they paused beside a cornfield and sat upon a stile to rest. pon took some apples from his pocket and gave one to trot. then he began eating another himself, for this was their time for luncheon. when his apple was finished pon tossed the core into the field. "tchuk-tchuk!" said a strange voice. "what do you mean by hitting me in the eye with an apple-core?" then rose up the form of the scarecrow, who had hidden himself in the cornfield while he examined pon and trot and decided whether they were worthy to be helped. "excuse me," said pon. "i didn't know you were there." "how did you happen to be there, anyhow?" asked trot. the scarecrow came forward with awkward steps and stood beside them. "ah, you are the gardener's boy," he said to pon. then he turned to trot. "and you are the little girl who came to jinxland riding on a big bird, and who has had the misfortune to lose her friend, cap'n bill, and her chum, button-bright." "why, how did you know all that?" she inquired. "i know a lot of things," replied the scarecrow, winking at her comically. "my brains are the carefully-assorted, double-distilled, high-efficiency sort that the wizard of oz makes. he admits, himself, that my brains are the best he ever manufactured." "i think i've heard of you," said trot slowly, as she looked the scarecrow over with much interest; "but you used to live in the land of oz." "oh, i do now," he replied cheerfully. "i've just come over the mountains from the quadling country to see if i can be of any help to you." "who, me?" asked pon. "no, the strangers from the big world. it seems they need looking after." "i'm doing that myself," said pon, a little ungraciously. "if you will pardon me for saying so, i don't see how a scarecrow with painted eyes can look after anyone." "if you don't see that, you are more blind than the scarecrow," asserted trot. "he's a fairy man, pon, and comes from the fairyland of oz, so he can do 'most anything. i hope," she added, turning to the scarecrow, "you can find cap'n bill for me." "i will try, anyhow," he promised. "but who is that old woman who is running toward us and shaking her stick at us?" trot and pon turned around and both uttered an exclamation of fear. the next instant they took to their heels and ran fast up the path. for it was old blinkie, the wicked witch, who had at last traced them to this place. her anger was so great that she was determined not to abandon the chase of pon and trot until she had caught and punished them. the scarecrow understood at once that the old woman meant harm to his new friends, so as she drew near he stepped before her. his appearance was so sudden and unexpected that blinkie ran into him and toppled him over, but she tripped on his straw body and went rolling in the path beside him. [illustration] the scarecrow sat up and said: "i beg your pardon!" but she whacked him with her stick and knocked him flat again. then, furious with rage, the old witch sprang upon her victim and began pulling the straw out of his body. the poor scarecrow was helpless to resist and in a few moments all that was left of him was an empty suit of clothes and a heap of straw beside it. fortunately, blinkie did not harm his head, for it rolled into a little hollow and escaped her notice. fearing that pon and trot would escape her, she quickly resumed the chase and disappeared over the brow of a hill, following the direction in which she had seen them go. only a short time elapsed before a gray grasshopper with a wooden leg came hopping along and lit directly on the upturned face of the scarecrow's head. "pardon me, but you are resting yourself upon my nose," remarked the scarecrow. [illustration] "oh! are you alive?" asked the grasshopper. "that is a question i have never been able to decide," said the scarecrow's head. "when my body is properly stuffed i have animation and can move around as well as any live person. the brains in the head you are now occupying as a throne, are of very superior quality and do a lot of very clever thinking. but whether that is being alive, or not, i cannot prove to you; for one who lives is liable to death, while i am only liable to destruction." "seems to me," said the grasshopper, rubbing his nose with his front legs, "that in your case it doesn't matter--unless you're destroyed already." "i am not; all i need is re-stuffing," declared the scarecrow; "and if pon and trot escape the witch, and come back here, i am sure they will do me that favor." "tell me! are trot and pon around here?" inquired the grasshopper, its small voice trembling with excitement. the scarecrow did not answer at once, for both his eyes were staring straight upward at a beautiful face that was slightly bent over his head. it was, indeed, princess gloria, who had wandered to this spot, very much surprised when she heard the scarecrow's head talk and the tiny gray grasshopper answer it. "this," said the scarecrow, still staring at her, "must be the princess who loves pon, the gardener's boy." "oh, indeed!" exclaimed the grasshopper--who of course was cap'n bill--as he examined the young lady curiously. "no," said gloria frigidly, "i do not love pon, or anyone else, for the wicked witch has frozen my heart." "what a shame!" cried the scarecrow. "one so lovely should be able to love. but would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?" the dainty princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue munchkin clothes and shrank back in disdain. but she was spared from refusing the scarecrow's request by the appearance of trot and pon, who had hidden in some bushes just over the brow of the hill and waited until old blinkie had passed them by. their hiding place was on the same side as the witch's blind eye, and she rushed on in the chase of the girl and the youth without being aware that they had tricked her. [illustration] trot was shocked at the scarecrow's sad condition and at once began putting the straw back into his body. pon, at sight of gloria, again appealed to her to take pity on him, but the frozen-hearted princess turned coldly away and with a sigh the gardener's boy began to assist trot. neither of them at first noticed the small grasshopper, which at their appearance had skipped off the scarecrow's nose and was now clinging to a wisp of grass beside the path, where he was not likely to be stepped upon. not until the scarecrow had been neatly restuffed and set upon his feet again when he bowed to his restorers and expressed his thanks did the grasshopper move from his perch. then he leaped lightly into the path and called out: "trot--trot! look at me. i'm cap'n bill! see what the wicked witch has done to me." the voice was small, to be sure, but it reached trot's ears and startled her greatly. she looked intently at the grasshopper, her eyes wide with fear at first; then she knelt down and, noticing the wooden leg, she began to weep sorrowfully. "oh, cap'n bill--dear cap'n bill! what a cruel thing to do!'' she sobbed. "don't cry, trot," begged the grasshopper. "it didn't hurt any, and it doesn't hurt now. but it's mighty inconvenient an' humiliatin', to say the least." "i wish," said the girl indignantly, while trying hard to restrain her tears, "that i was big 'nough an' strong 'nough to give that horrid witch a good beating. she ought to be turned into a toad for doing this to you, cap'n bill!" "never mind," urged the scarecrow, in a comforting voice, "such a transformation doesn't last always, and as a general thing there's some way to break the enchantment. i'm sure glinda could do it, in a jiffy." "who is glinda?" inquired cap'n bill. then the scarecrow told them all about glinda, not forgetting to mention her beauty and goodness and her wonderful powers of magic. he also explained how the royal sorceress had sent him to jinxland especially to help the strangers, whom she knew to be in danger because of the wiles of the cruel king and the wicked witch. [illustration] [illustration] chapter pon summons the king to surrender gloria had drawn near to the group to listen to their talk, and it seemed to interest her in spite of her frigid manner. they knew, of course, that the poor princess could not help being cold and reserved, so they tried not to blame her. "i ought to have come here a little sooner," said the scarecrow, regretfully; "but glinda sent me as soon as she discovered you were here and were likely to get into trouble. and now that we are all together--except button-bright, over whom it is useless to worry--i propose we hold a council of war, to decide what is best to be done." that seemed a wise thing to do, so they all sat down upon the grass, including gloria, and the grasshopper perched upon trot's shoulder and allowed her to stroke him gently with her hand. "in the first place," began the scarecrow, "this king krewl is a usurper and has no right to rule this kingdom of jinxland." "that is true," said pon, eagerly. "my father was king before him, and i--" "you are a gardener's boy," interrupted the scarecrow. "your father had no right to rule, either, for the rightful king of this land was the father of princess gloria, and only she is entitled to sit upon the throne of jinxland." "good!" exclaimed trot. "but what'll we do with king krewl? i s'pose he won't give up the throne unless he has to." "no, of course not," said the scarecrow. "therefore it will be our duty to _make_ him give up the throne." "how?" asked trot. "give me time to think," was the reply. "that's what my brains are for. i don't know whether you people ever think, or not, but my brains are the best that the wizard of oz ever turned out, and if i give them plenty of time to work, the result usually surprises me." "take your time, then," suggested trot. "there's no hurry." "thank you," said the straw man, and sat perfectly still for half an hour. during this interval the grasshopper whispered in trot's ear, to which he was very close, and trot whispered back to the grasshopper sitting upon her shoulder. pon cast loving glances at gloria, who paid not the slightest heed to them. finally the scarecrow laughed aloud. "brains working?" inquired trot. "yes. they seem in fine order to-day. we will conquer king krewl and put gloria upon his throne as queen of jinxland." "fine!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands together gleefully. "but how?" "leave the _how_ to me," said the scarecrow proudly. "as a conqueror i'm a wonder. we will, first of all, write a message to send to king krewl, asking him to surrender. if he refuses, then we will make him surrender." "why ask him, when we _know_ he'll refuse?" inquired pon. "why, we must be polite, whatever we do," explained the scarecrow. "it would be very rude to conquer a king without proper notice." [illustration] they found it difficult to write a message without paper, pen and ink, none of which was at hand; so it was decided to send pon as a messenger, with instructions to ask the king, politely but firmly, to surrender. pon was not anxious to be the messenger. indeed, he hinted that it might prove a dangerous mission. but the scarecrow was now the acknowledged head of the army of conquest, and he would listen to no refusal. so off pon started for the king's castle, and the others accompanied him as far as his hut, where they had decided to await the gardener's boy's return. i think it was because pon had known the scarecrow such a short time that he lacked confidence in the straw man's wisdom. it was easy to say: "we will conquer king krewl," but when pon drew near to the great castle he began to doubt the ability of a straw-stuffed man, a girl, a grasshopper and a frozen-hearted princess to do it. as for himself, he had never thought of defying the king before. that was why the gardener's boy was not very bold when he entered the castle and passed through to the enclosed court where the king was just then seated, with his favorite courtiers around him. none prevented pon's entrance, because he was known to be the gardener's boy, but when the king saw him he began to frown fiercely. he considered pon to be to blame for all his trouble with princess gloria, who since her heart had been frozen had escaped to some unknown place, instead of returning to the castle to wed googly-goo, as she had been expected to do. so the king bared his teeth angrily as he demanded: [illustration] "what have you done with princess gloria?" "nothing, your majesty! i have done nothing at all," answered pon in a faltering voice. "she does not love me any more and even refuses to speak to me." "then why are you here, you rascal?" roared the king. pon looked first one way and then another, but saw no means of escape; so he plucked up courage. "i am here to summon your majesty to surrender." "what!" shouted the king. "surrender? surrender to whom?" pon's heart sank to his boots. "to the scarecrow," he replied. some of the courtiers began to titter, but king krewl was greatly annoyed. he sprang up and began to beat poor pon with the golden staff he carried. pon howled lustily and would have run away had not two of the soldiers held him until his majesty was exhausted with punishing the boy. then they let him go and he left the castle and returned along the road, sobbing at every step because his body was so sore and aching. "well," said the scarecrow, "did the king surrender?" "no; but he gave me a good drubbing!" sobbed poor pon. trot was very sorry for pon, but gloria did not seem affected in any way by her lover's anguish. the grasshopper leaped to the scarecrow's shoulder and asked him what he was going to do next. "conquer," was the reply. "but i will go alone, this time, for beatings cannot hurt me at all; nor can lance thrusts--or sword cuts--or arrow pricks." "why is that?" inquired trot. "because i have no nerves, such as you meat people possess. even grasshoppers have nerves, but straw doesn't; so whatever they do--except just one thing--they cannot injure me. therefore i expect to conquer king krewl with ease." "what is that one thing you excepted?" asked trot. "they will never think of it, so never mind. and now, if you will kindly excuse me for a time, i'll go over to the castle and do my conquering." "you have no weapons," pon reminded him. "true," said the scarecrow. "but if i carried weapons i might injure someone--perhaps seriously--and that would make me unhappy. i will just borrow that riding-whip, which i see in the corner of your hut, if you don't mind. it isn't exactly proper to walk with a riding-whip, but i trust you will excuse the inconsistency." pon handed him the whip and the scarecrow bowed to all the party and left the hut, proceeding leisurely along the way to the king's castle. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the ork rescues button-bright i must now tell you what had become of button-bright since he wandered away in the morning and got lost. this small boy, as perhaps you have discovered, was almost as destitute of nerves as the scarecrow. nothing ever astonished him much; nothing ever worried him or made him unhappy. good fortune or bad fortune he accepted with a quiet smile, never complaining, whatever happened. this was one reason why button-bright was a favorite with all who knew him--and perhaps it was the reason why he so often got into difficulties, or found himself lost. to-day, as he wandered here and there, over hill and down dale, he missed trot and cap'n bill, of whom he was fond, but nevertheless he was not unhappy. the birds sang merrily and the wildflowers were beautiful and the breeze had a fragrance of new-mown hay. "the only bad thing about this country is its king," he reflected; "but the country isn't to blame for that." a prairie-dog stuck its round head out of a mound of earth and looked at the boy with bright eyes. "walk around my house, please," it said, "and then you won't harm it or disturb the babies." "all right," answered button-bright, and took care not to step on the mound. he went on, whistling merrily, until a petulant voice cried: "oh, stop it! please stop that noise. it gets on my nerves." button-bright saw an old gray owl sitting in the crotch of a tree, and he replied with a laugh: "all right, old fussy," and stopped whistling until he had passed out of the owl's hearing. at noon he came to a farmhouse where an aged couple lived. they gave him a good dinner and treated him kindly, but the man was deaf and the woman was dumb, so they could answer no questions to guide him on the way to port's house. when he left them he was just as much lost as he had been before. every grove of trees he saw from a distance he visited, for he remembered that the king's castle was near a grove of trees and pon's hut was near the king's castle; but always he met with disappointment. finally, passing through one of these groves, he came out into the open and found himself face to face with the ork. "hello!" said button-bright. "where did _you_ come from?" [illustration] "from orkland," was the reply. "i've found my own country, at last, and it is not far from here, either. i would have come back to you sooner, to see how you are getting along, had not my family and friends welcomed my return so royally that a great celebration was held in my honor. so i couldn't very well leave orkland again until the excitement was over." "can you find your way back home again?" asked the boy. "yes, easily; for now i know exactly where it is. but where are trot and cap'n bill?" button-bright related to the ork their adventures since it had left them in jinxland, telling of trot's fear that the king had done something wicked to cap'n bill, and of pon's love for gloria, and how trot and button-bright had been turned out of the king's castle. that was all the news that the boy had, but it made the ork anxious for the safety of his friends. "we must go to them at once, for they may need us," he said. "i don't know where to go," confessed button-bright. "i'm lost." "well, i can take you back to the hut of the gardener's boy," promised the ork, "for when i fly high in the air i can look down and easily spy the king's castle. that was how i happened to spy you, just entering the grove; so i flew down and waited until you came out." "how can you carry me?" asked the boy. "you'll have to sit straddle my shoulders and put your arms around my neck. do you think you can keep from falling off?" "til try," said button-bright. so the ork squatted down and the boy took his seat and held on tight. then the skinny creature's tail began whirling and up they went, far above all the tree-tops. after the ork had circled around once or twice, its sharp eyes located the towers of the castle and away it flew, straight toward the place. as it hovered in the air, near by the castle, button-bright pointed out pon's hut, so they landed just before it and trot came running out to greet them. gloria was introduced to the ork, who was surprised to find cap'n bill transformed into a grasshopper. "how do you like it?" asked the creature. "why, it worries me a good deal," answered cap'n bill, perched upon trot's shoulder. "i'm always afraid o' bein' stepped on, and i don't like the flavor of grass an' can't seem to get used to it. it's my nature to eat grass, you know, but i begin to suspect it's an acquired taste." "can you give molasses?" asked the ork. "i guess i'm not that kind of a grasshopper," replied cap'n bill. "but i can't say what i might do if i was squeezed--which i hope i won't be." "well," said the ork, "it's a great pity, and i'd like to meet that cruel king and his wicked witch and punish them both severely. you're awfully small, cap'n bill, but i think i would recognize you anywhere by your wooden leg." then the ork and button-bright were told all about gloria's frozen heart and how the scarecrow had come from the land of oz to help them. the ork seemed rather disturbed when it learned that the scarecrow had gone alone to conquer king krewl. "i'm afraid he'll make a fizzle of it," said the skinny creature, "and there's no telling what that terrible king might do to the poor scarecrow, who seems like a very interesting person. so i believe i'll take a hand in this conquest myself." "how?" asked trot. "wait and see," was the reply. "but, first of all, i must fly home again--back to my own country--so if you'll forgive my leaving you so soon, i'll be off at once. stand away from my tail, please, so that the wind from it, when it revolves, won't knock you over." they gave the creature plenty of room and away it went like a flash and soon disappeared in the sky. "i wonder," said button-bright, looking solemnly after the ork, "whether he'll ever come back again." "of course he will!" returned trot. "the ork's a pretty good fellow, and we can depend on him. an' mark my words, button-bright, whenever our ork does come back, there's one cruel king in jinxland that'll wish he hadn't." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the scarecrow meets an enemy the scarecrow was not a bit afraid of king krewl. indeed, he rather enjoyed the prospect of conquering the evil king and putting gloria on the throne of jinxland in his place. so he advanced boldly to the royal castle and demanded admittance. seeing that he was a stranger, the soldiers allowed him to enter. he made his way straight to the throne room, where at that time his majesty was settling the disputes among his subjects. "who are you?" demanded the king. "i'm the scarecrow of oz, and i command you to surrender yourself my prisoner." [illustration] "why should i do that?" inquired the king, much astonished at the straw man's audacity. "because i've decided you are too cruel a king to rule so beautiful a country. you must remember that jinxland is a part of oz, and therefore you owe allegiance to ozma of oz, whose friend and servant i am." now, when he heard this, king krewl was much disturbed in mind, for he knew the scarecrow spoke the truth. but no one had ever before come to jinxland from the land of oz and the king did not intend to be put out of his throne if he could help it. therefore he gave a harsh, wicked laugh of derision and said: "i'm busy, now. stand out of my way, scarecrow, and i'll talk with you by and by." but the scarecrow turned to the assembled courtiers and people and called in a loud voice: "i hereby declare, in the name of ozma of oz, that this man is no longer ruler of jinxland. from this moment princess gloria is your rightful queen, and i ask all of you to be loyal to her and to obey her commands." the people looked fearfully at the king, whom they all hated in their hearts, but likewise feared. krewl was now in a terrible rage and he raised his golden sceptre and struck the scarecrow so heavy a blow that he fell to the floor. but he was up again, in an instant, and with pon's riding-whip he switched the king so hard that the wicked monarch roared with pain as much as with rage, calling on his soldiers to capture the scarecrow. they tried to do that, and thrust their lances and swords into the straw body, but without doing any damage except to make holes in the scarecrow's clothes. however, they were many against one and finally old googly-goo brought a rope which he wound around the scarecrow, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides, and after that the fight was over. the king stormed and danced around in a dreadful fury, for he had never been so switched since he was a boy--and perhaps not then. he ordered the scarecrow thrust into the castle prison, which was no task at all because one man could carry him easily, bound as he was. even after the prisoner was removed the king could not control his anger. he tried to figure out some way to be revenged upon the straw man, but could think of nothing that could hurt him. at last, when the terrified people and the frightened courtiers had all slunk away, old googly-goo approached the king with a malicious grin upon his face. "i'll tell you what to do," said he. "build a big bonfire and burn the scarecrow up, and that will be the end of him." the king was so delighted with this suggestion that he hugged old googly-goo in his joy. "of course!" he cried. "the very thing. why did i not think of it my self?" so he summoned his soldiers and retainers and bade them prepare a great bonfire in an open space in the castle park. also he sent word to all his people to assemble and witness the destruction of the scarecrow who had dared to defy his power. before long a vast throng gathered in the park and the servants had heaped up enough fuel to make a fire that might be seen for miles away--even in the daytime. when all was prepared, the king had his throne brought out for him to sit upon and enjoy the spectacle, and then he sent his soldiers to fetch the scarecrow. [illustration] now the one thing in all the world that the straw man really feared was fire. he knew he would burn very easily and that his ashes wouldn't amount to much afterward. it wouldn't hurt him to be destroyed in such a manner, but he realized that many people in the land of oz, and especially dorothy and the royal ozma, would feel sad if they learned that their old friend the scarecrow was no longer in existence. in spite of this, the straw man was brave and faced his fiery fate like a hero. when they marched him out before the concourse of people he turned to the king with great calmness and said: "this wicked deed will cost you your throne, as well as much suffering, for my friends will avenge my destruction." "your friends are not here, nor will they know what i have done to you, when you are gone and cannot tell them," answered the king in a scornful voice. then he ordered the scarecrow bound to a stout stake that he had had driven into the ground, and the materials for the fire were heaped all around him. when this had been done, the king's brass band struck up a lively tune and old googly-goo came forward with a lighted match and set fire to the pile. [illustration] at once the flames shot up and crept closer and closer toward the scarecrow. the king and all his people were so intent upon this terrible spectacle that none of them noticed how the sky grew suddenly dark. perhaps they thought that the loud buzzing sound--like the noise of a dozen moving railway trains--came from the blazing fagots; that the rush of wind was merely a breeze. but suddenly down swept a flock of orks, half a hundred of them at the least, and the powerful currents of air caused by their revolving tails sent the bonfire scattering in every direction, so that not one burning brand ever touched the scarecrow. but that was not the only effect of this sudden tornado. king krewl was blown out of his throne and went tumbling heels over head until he landed with a bump against the stone wall of his own castle, and before he could rise a big ork sat upon him and held him pressed flat to the ground. old googly-goo shot up into the air like a rocket and landed on a tree, where he hung by the middle on a high limb, kicking the air with his feet and clawing the air with his hands, and howling for mercy like the coward he was. the people pressed back until they were jammed close together, while all the soldiers were knocked over and sent sprawling to the earth. the excitement was great for a few minutes, and every frightened inhabitant of jinxland looked with awe and amazement at the great orks whose descent had served to rescue the scarecrow and conquer king krewl at one and the same time. the ork, who was the leader of the band, soon had the scarecrow free of his bonds. then he said: "well, we were just in time to save you, which is better than being a minute too late. you are now the master here, and we are determined to see your orders obeyed." with this the ork picked up krewl's golden crown, which had fallen off his head, and placed it upon the head of the scarecrow, who in his awkward way then shuffled over to the throne and sat down in it. seeing this, a rousing cheer broke from the crowd of people, who tossed their hats and waved their handkerchiefs and hailed the scarecrow as their king. the soldiers joined the people in the cheering, for now they fully realized that their hated master was conquered and it would be wise to show their good will to the conqueror. some of them bound krewl with ropes and dragged him forward, dumping his body on the ground before the scarecrow's throne. googly-goo struggled until he finally slid off the limb of the tree and came tumbling to the ground. he then tried to sneak away and escape, but the soldiers seized and bound him beside krewl. "the tables are turned," said the scarecrow, swelling out his chest until the straw within it crackled pleasantly, for he was highly pleased; "but it was you and your people who did it, friend ork, and from this time you may count me your humble servant." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the conquest of the witch now as soon as the conquest of king krewl had taken place, one of the orks had been dispatched to pon's house with the joyful news. at once gloria and pon and trot and button-bright hastened toward the castle. they were somewhat surprised by the sight that met their eyes, for there was the scarecrow, crowned king, and all the people kneeling humbly before him. so they likewise bowed low to the new ruler and then stood beside the throne. cap'n bill, as the gray grasshopper, was still perched upon trot's shoulder, but now he hopped to the shoulder of the scarecrow and whispered into the painted ear: "i thought gloria was to be queen of jinxland." the scarecrow shook his head. "not yet," he answered. "no queen with a frozen heart is fit to rule any country." then he turned to his new friend, the ork, who was strutting about, very proud of what he had done, and said: "do you suppose you, or your followers, could find old blinkie the witch?" "where is she?" asked the ork. "somewhere in jinxland, i'm sure." "then," said the ork, "we shall certainly be able to find her." "it will give me great pleasure," declared the scarecrow. "when you have found her, bring her here to me, and i will then decide what to do with her." the ork called his followers together and spoke a few words to them in a low tone. a moment after they rose into the air--so suddenly that the scarecrow, who was very light in weight, was blown quite out of his throne and into the arms of pon, who replaced him carefully upon his seat. there was an eddy of dust and ashes, too, and the grasshopper only saved himself from being whirled into the crowd of people by jumping into a tree, from where a series of hops soon brought him back to trot's shoulder again. the orks were quite out of sight by this time, so the scarecrow made a speech to the people and presented gloria to them, whom they knew well already and were fond of. but not all of them knew of her frozen heart, and when the scarecrow related the story of the wicked witch's misdeeds, which had been encouraged and paid for by krewl and googly-goo, the people were very indignant. meantime the fifty orks had scattered all over jinxland, which is not a very big country, and their sharp eyes were peering into every valley and grove and gully. finally one of them spied a pair of heels sticking out from underneath some bushes, and with a shrill whistle to warn his comrades that the witch was found the ork flew down and dragged old blinkie from her hiding-place. then two or three of the orks seized the clothing of the wicked woman in their strong claws and, lifting her high in the air, where she struggled and screamed to no avail, they flew with her straight to the royal castle and set her down before the throne of the scarecrow. [illustration] [illustration] "good!" exclaimed the straw man, nodding his stuffed head with satisfaction. "now we can proceed to business. mistress witch, i am obliged to request, gently but firmly, that you undo all the wrongs you have done by means of your witchcraft." "pah!" cried old blinkie in a scornful voice. "i defy you all! by my magic powers i can turn you all into pigs, rooting in the mud, and i'll do it if you are not careful." "i think you are mistaken about that," said the scarecrow, and rising from his throne he walked with wobbling steps to the side of the wicked witch. "before i left the land of oz, glinda the royal sorceress gave me a box, which i was not to open except in an emergency. but i feel pretty sure that this occasion is an emergency; don't you, trot?' he asked, turning toward the little girl. "why, we've got to do _something_," replied trot seriously. "things seem in an awful muddle here, jus' now, and they'll be worse if we don't stop this witch from doing more harm to people." "that is my idea, exactly," said the scarecrow, and taking a small box from his pocket he opened the cover and tossed the contents toward blinkie. the old woman shrank back, pale and trembling, as a fine white dust settled all about her. under its influence she seemed to the eyes of all observers to shrivel and grow smaller. "oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed, wringing her hands in fear. "haven't you the antidote, scarecrow? didn't the great sorceress give you another box?" "she did," answered the scarecrow. "then give it me--quick!" pleaded the witch. "give it me--and i'll do anything you ask me to!" "you will do what i ask first," declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch was shriveling and growing smaller every moment. "be quick, then!" she cried. "tell me what i must do and let me do it, or it will be too late." "you made trot's friend, cap'n bill, a grasshopper. i command you to give him back his proper form again," said the scarecrow. "where is he? where's the grasshopper? quick--quick!" she screamed. cap'n bill, who had been deeply interested in this conversation, gave a great leap from trot's shoulder and landed on that of the scarecrow. blinkie saw him alight and at once began to make magic passes and to mumble magic incantations. she was in a desperate hurry, knowing that she had no time to waste, and the grasshopper was so suddenly transformed into the old sailor-man, cap'n bill, that he had no opportunity to jump off the scarecrow's shoulder; so his great weight bore the stuffed scarecrow to the ground. no harm was done, however, and the straw man got up and brushed the dust from his clothes while trot delightedly embraced cap'n bill. "the other box! quick! give me the other box," begged blinkie, who had now shrunk to half her former size. "not yet," said the scarecrow. "you must first melt princess gloria's frozen heart." "i can't; it's an awful job to do that! i can't," asserted the witch, in an agony of fear--for still she was growing smaller. "you must!" declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch cast a shrewd look at him and saw that he meant it; so she began dancing around gloria in a frantic manner. the princess looked coldly on, as if not at all interested in the proceedings, while blinkie tore a handful of hair from her own head and ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her gown. then the witch sank upon her knees, took a purple powder from her black bag and sprinkled it over the hair and cloth. "i hate to do it--i hate to do it!" she wailed, "for there is no more of this magic compound in all the world. but i must sacrifice it to save my own life. a match! give me a match, quick!" and panting from lack of breath she gazed imploringly from one to another. [illustration] cap'n bill was the only one who had a match, but he lost no time in handing it to blinkie, who quickly set fire to the hair and the cloth and the purple powder. at once a purple cloud enveloped gloria, and this gradually turned to a rosy pink color--brilliant and quite transparent. through the rosy cloud they could all see the beautiful princess, standing proud and erect. then her heart became visible, at first frosted with ice but slowly growing brighter and warmer until all the frost had disappeared and it was beating as softly and regularly as any other heart. and now the cloud dispersed and disclosed gloria, her face suffused with joy, smiling tenderly upon the friends who were grouped about her. poor pon stepped forward--timidly, fearing a repulse, but with pleading eyes and arms fondly outstretched toward his former sweetheart--and the princess saw him and her sweet face lighted with a radiant smile. without an instant's hesitation she threw herself into pon's arms and this reunion of two loving hearts was so affecting that the people turned away and lowered their eyes so as not to mar the sacred joy of the faithful lovers. but blinkie's small voice was shouting to the scarecrow for help. "the antidote!" she screamed. "give me the other box--quick!" the scarecrow looked at the witch with his quaint, painted eyes and saw that she was now no taller than his knee. so he took from his pocket the second box and scattered its contents on blinkie. she ceased to grow any smaller, but she could never regain her former size, and this the wicked old woman well knew. [illustration] she did not know, however, that the second powder had destroyed all her power to work magic, and seeking to be revenged upon the scarecrow and his friends she at once began to mumble a charm so terrible in its effect that it would have destroyed half the population of jinxland--had it worked. but it did not work at all, to the amazement of old blinkie. and by this time the scarecrow noticed what the little witch was trying to do, and said to her: "go home, blinkie, and behave yourself. you are no longer a witch, but an ordinary old woman, and since you are powerless to do more evil i advise you to try to do some good in the world. believe me, it is more fun to accomplish a good act than an evil one, as you will discover when once you have tried it." but blinkie was at that moment filled with grief and chagrin at losing her magic powers. she started away toward her home, sobbing and bewailing her fate, and not one who saw her go was at all sorry for her. [illustration] chapter queen gloria next morning the scarecrow called upon all the courtiers and the people to assemble in the throne room of the castle, where there was room enough for all that were able to attend. they found the straw man seated upon the velvet cushions of the throne, with the king's glittering crown still upon his stuffed head. on one side of the throne, in a lower chair, sat gloria, looking radiantly beautiful and fresh as a new-blown rose. on the other side sat pon, the gardener's boy, still dressed in his old smock frock and looking sad and solemn; for pon could not make himself believe that so splendid a princess would condescend to love him when she had come to her own and was seated upon a throne. trot and cap'n bill sat at the feet of the scarecrow and were much interested in the proceedings. button-bright had lost himself before breakfast, but came into the throne room before the ceremonies were over. back of the throne stood a row of the great orks, with their leader in the center, and the entrance to the palace was guarded by more orks, who were regarded with wonder and awe. when all were assembled, the scarecrow stood up and made a speech. he told how gloria's father, the good king kynd, who had once ruled them and been loved by everyone, had been destroyed by king phearse, the father of pon, and how king phearse had been destroyed by king krewl. this last king had been a bad ruler, as they knew very well, and the scarecrow declared that the only one in all jinxland who had the right to sit upon the throne was princess gloria, the daughter of king kynd. "but," he added, "it is not for me, a stranger, to say who shall rule you. you must decide for yourselves, or you will not be content. so choose now who shall be your future ruler." and they all shouted: "the scarecrow! the scarecrow shall rule us!" which proved that the stuffed man had made himself very popular by his conquest of king krewl, and the people thought they would like him for their king. but the scarecrow shook his head so vigorously that it became loose, and trot had to pin it firmly to his body again. "no," said he, "i belong in the land of oz, where i am the humble servant of the lovely girl who rules us all the royal ozma. you must choose one of your own inhabitants to rule over jinxland. who shall it be?" they hesitated for a moment, and some few cried: "pon!" but many more shouted: "gloria!" so the scarecrow took gloria's hand and led her to the throne, where he first seated her and then took the glittering crown off his own head and placed it upon that of the young lady, where it nestled prettily amongst her soft curls. the people cheered and shouted then, kneeling before their new queen; but gloria leaned down and took pon's hand in both her own and raised him to the seat beside her. "you shall have both a king and a queen to care for you and to protect you, my dear subjects," she said in a sweet voice, while her face glowed with happiness; "for pon was a king's son before he became a gardener's boy, and because i love him he is to be my royal consort." that pleased them all, especially pon, who realized that this was the most important moment of his life. trot and button-bright and cap'n bill all congratulated him on winning the beautiful gloria; but the ork sneezed twice and said that in his opinion the young lady might have done better. then the scarecrow ordered the guards to bring in the wicked krewl, king no longer, and when he appeared, loaded with chains and dressed in fustian, the people hissed him and drew back as he passed so their garments would not touch him. krewl was not haughty or overbearing any more; on the contrary he seemed very meek and in great fear of the fate his conquerors had in store for him. but gloria and pon were too happy to be revengeful and so they offered to appoint krewl to the position of gardener's boy at the castle, pon having resigned to become king. but they said he must promise to reform his wicked ways and to do his duty faithfully, and he must change his name from krewl to grewl. all this the man eagerly promised to do, and so when pon retired to a room in the castle to put on princely raiment, the old brown smock he had formerly worn was given to grewl, who then went out into the garden to water the roses. [illustration] the remainder of that famous day, which was long remembered in jinxland, was given over to feasting and merrymaking. in the evening there was a grand dance in the courtyard, where the brass band played a new piece of music called the "ork trot" which was dedicated to "our glorious gloria, the queen." while the queen and pon were leading this dance, and all the jinxland people were having a good time, the strangers were gathered in a group in the park outside the castle. cap'n bill, trot, button-bright and the scarecrow were there, and so was their old friend the ork; but of all the great flock of orks which had assisted in the conquest but three remained in jinxland, besides their leader, the others having returned to their own country as soon as gloria was crowned queen. to the young ork who had accompanied them in their adventures cap'n bill said: "you've surely been a friend in need, and we're mighty grateful to you for helping us. i might have been a grasshopper yet if it hadn't been for you, an' i might remark that bein' a grasshopper isn't much fun." "if it hadn't been for you, friend ork," said the scarecrow, "i fear i could not have conquered king krewl." "no," agreed trot, "you'd have been just a heap of ashes by this time." "and i might have been lost yet," added button-bright. "much obliged, mr. ork." "oh, that's all right," replied the ork. "friends must stand together, you know, or they wouldn't be friends. but now i must leave you and be off to my own country, where there's going to be a surprise party on my uncle, and i've promised to attend it." "dear me," said the scarecrow, regretfully. "that is very unfortunate." "why so?" asked the ork. "i hoped you would consent to carry us over those mountains, into the land of oz. my mission here is now finished and i want to get back to the emerald city." "how did you cross the mountains before?" inquired the ork. "i scaled the cliffs by means of a rope, and crossed the great gulf on a strand of spider web. of course i can return in the same manner, but it would be a hard journey and perhaps an impossible one for trot and button-bright and cap'n bill. so i thought that if you had the time you and your people would carry us over the mountains and land us all safely on the other side, in the land of oz." the ork thoughtfully considered the matter for a while. then he said: "i mustn't break my promise to be present at the surprise party; but, tell me, could you go to oz to-night?" "what, now?" exclaimed trot. "it is a fine moonlight night," said the ork, "and i've found in my experience that there's no time so good as right away. the fact is," he explained, "it's a long journey to orkland and i and my cousins here are all rather tired by our day's work. but if you will start now, and be content to allow us to carry you over the mountains and dump you on the other side, just say the word and--off we go!" cap'n bill and trot looked at one another questioningly. the little girl was eager to visit the famous fairyland of oz and the old sailor had endured such hardships in jinxland that he would be glad to be out of it. "it's rather impolite of us not to say good-bye to the new king and queen," remarked the scarecrow, "but i'm sure they're too happy to miss us, and i assure you it will be much easier to fly on the backs of the orks over those steep mountains than to climb them as i did." "all right; let's go!" trot decided. "but where's button-bright?" just at this important moment button-bright was lost again, and they all scattered in search of him. he had been standing beside them just a few minutes before, but his friends had an exciting hunt for him before they finally discovered the boy seated among the members of the band, beating the end of the bass drum with the bone of a turkey-leg that he had taken from the table in the banquet room. "hello, trot," he said, looking up at the little girl when she found him. "this is the first chance i ever had to pound a drum with a regular drum stick. and i ate all the meat off the bone myself." "come quick. we're going to the land of oz." "oh, what's the hurry?" said button-bright; but she seized his arm and dragged him away to the park, where the others were waiting. trot climbed upon the back of her old friend, the ork leader, and the others took their seats on the backs of his three cousins. as soon as all were placed and clinging to the skinny necks of the creatures, the revolving tails began to whirl and up rose the four monster orks and sailed away toward the mountains. they were so high in the air that when they passed the crest of the highest peak it seemed far below them. no sooner were they well across the barrier than the orks swooped downward and landed their passengers upon the ground. "here we are, safe in the land of oz!' cried the scarecrow joyfully. "oh, are we?" asked trot, looking around her curiously. she could see the shadows of stately trees and the outlines of rolling hills; beneath her feet was soft turf, but otherwise the subdued light of the moon disclosed nothing clearly. "seems jus' like any other country," was cap'n bill's comment. [illustration] "but it isn't," the scarecrow assured him. "you are now within the borders of the most glorious fairyland in all the world. this part of it is just a corner of the quadling country, and the least interesting portion of it. it's not very thickly settled, around here, i'll admit, but--" he was interrupted by a sudden whir and a rush of air as the four orks mounted into the sky. "good night!" called the shrill voices of the strange creatures, and although trot shouted "good night!" as loudly as she could, the little girl was almost ready to cry because the orks had not waited to be properly thanked for all their kindness to her and to cap'n bill. but the orks were gone, and thanks for good deeds do not amount to much except to prove one's politeness. "well, friends," said the scarecrow, "we mustn't stay here in the meadows all night, so let us find a pleasant place to sleep. not that it matters to me, in the least, for i never sleep; but i know that meat people like to shut their eyes and lie still during the dark hours." "i'm pretty tired," admitted trot, yawning as she followed the straw man along a tiny path, "so, if you don't find a house handy, cap'n bill and i will sleep under the trees, or even on this soft grass." but a house was not very far off, although when the scarecrow stumbled upon it there was no light in it whatever. cap'n bill knocked on the door several times, and there being no response the scarecrow boldly lifted the latch and walked in, followed by the others. and no sooner had they entered than a soft light filled the room. trot couldn't tell where it came from, for no lamp of any sort was visible, but she did not waste much time on this problem, because directly in the center of the room stood a table set for three, with lots of good food on it and several of the dishes smoking hot. [illustration] the little girl and button-bright both uttered exclamations of pleasure, but they looked in vain for any cook stove or fireplace, or for any person who might have prepared for them this delicious feast. "it's fairyland," muttered the boy, tossing his cap in a corner and seating himself at the table. "this supper smells 'most as good as that turkey-leg i had in jinxland. please pass the muffins, cap'n bill." trot thought it was strange that no people but themselves were in the house, but on the wall opposite the door was a gold frame bearing in big letters the word: "welcome." so she had no further hesitation in eating of the food so mysteriously prepared for them. "but there are only places for three!' she exclaimed. "three are quite enough," said the scarecrow. "i never eat, because i am stuffed full already, and i like my nice clean straw better than i do food." trot and the sailor-man were hungry and made a hearty meal, for not since they had left home had they tasted such good food. it was surprising that button-bright could eat so soon after his feast in jinxland, but the boy always ate whenever there was an opportunity. "if i don't eat now," he said, "the next time i'm hungry i'll wish i had." "really, cap'n," remarked trot, when she found a dish of ice-cream appear beside her plate, "i b'lieve this is fairyland, sure enough." "there's no doubt of it, trot," he answered gravely. "i've been here before," said button-bright, "so i know." after supper they discovered three tiny bedrooms adjoining the big living room of the house, and in each room was a comfortable white bed with downy pillows. you may be sure that the tired mortals were not long in bidding the scarecrow good night and creeping into their beds, where they slept soundly until morning. for the first time since they set eyes on the terrible whirlpool, trot and cap'n bill were free from anxiety and care. button-bright never worried about anything. the scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and tried to count the stars. [illustration] chapter dorothy, betsy and ozma i suppose many of my readers have read descriptions of the beautiful and magnificent emerald city of oz, so i need not describe it here, except to state that never has any city in any fairyland ever equalled this one in stately splendor. it lies almost exactly in the center of the land of oz, and in the center of the emerald city rises the wall of glistening emeralds that surrounds the palace of ozma. the palace is almost a city in itself and is inhabited by many of the ruler's especial friends and those who have won her confidence and favor. as for ozma herself, there are no words in any dictionary i can find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty of mind and person. merely to see her is to love her for her charming face and manners; to know her is to love her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her truth and honor. born of a long line of fairy queens, ozma is as nearly perfect as any fairy may be, and she is noted for her wisdom as well as for her other qualities. her happy subjects adore their girl ruler and each one considers her a comrade and protector. at the time of which i write, ozma's best friend and most constant companion was a little kansas girl named dorothy, a mortal who had come to the land of oz in a very curious manner and had been offered a home in ozma's palace. furthermore, dorothy had been made a princess of oz, and was as much at home in the royal palace as was the gentle ruler. she knew almost every part of the great country and almost all of its numerous inhabitants. next to ozma she was loved better than anyone in all oz, for dorothy was simple and sweet, seldom became angry and had such a friendly, chummy way that she made friends wherever she wandered. it was she who first brought the scarecrow and the tin woodman and the cowardly lion to the emerald city. dorothy had also introduced to ozma the shaggy man and the hungry tiger, as well as billina the yellow hen, eureka the pink kitten, and many other delightful characters and creatures. coming as she did from our world, dorothy was much like many other girls we know; so there were times when she was not so wise as she might have been, and other times when she was obstinate and got herself into trouble. but life in a fairyland had taught the little girl to accept all sorts of surprising things as matters-of-course, for while dorothy was no fairy--but just as mortal as we are--she had seen more wonders than most mortals ever do. another little girl from our outside world also lived in ozma's palace. this was betsy bobbin, whose strange adventures had brought her to the emerald city, where ozma had cordially welcomed her. betsy was a shy little thing and could never get used to the marvels that surrounded her, but she and dorothy were firm friends and thought themselves very fortunate in being together in this delightful country. one day dorothy and betsy were visiting ozma in the girl ruler's private apartment, and among the things that especially interested them was ozma's magic picture, set in a handsome frame and hung upon the wall of the room. this picture was a magic one because it constantly changed its scenes and showed events and adventures happening in all parts of the world. thus it was really a "moving picture" of life, and if the one who stood before it wished to know what any absent person was doing, the picture instantly showed that person, with his or her surroundings. the two girls were not wishing to see anyone in particular, on this occasion, but merely enjoyed watching the shifting scenes, some of which were exceedingly curious and remarkable. suddenly dorothy exclaimed: "why, there's button-bright!" and this drew ozma also to look at the picture, for she and dorothy knew the boy well. "who is button-bright?" asked betsy, who had never met him. "why, he's the little boy who is just getting off the back of that strange flying creature," exclaimed dorothy. then she turned to ozma and asked: "what is that thing, ozma? a bird? i've never seen anything like it before." [illustration] "it is an ork," answered ozma, for they were watching the scene where the ork and the three big birds were first landing their passengers in jinxland, after the long flight across the desert. "i wonder," added the girl ruler, musingly, "why those strangers dare venture into that unfortunate country, which is ruled by a wicked king." "that girl, and the one-legged man, seem to be mortals from the outside world," said dorothy. "the man isn't one-legged," corrected betsy; "he has one wooden leg." "it's almost as bad," declared dorothy, watching cap'n bill stump around. "they are three mortal adventurers," said ozma, "and they seem worthy and honest. but i fear they will be treated badly in jinxland, and if they meet with any misfortune there it will reflect upon me, for jinxland is a part of my dominions." "can't we help them in any way?" inquired dorothy. "that seems like a nice little girl. i'd be sorry if anything happened to her." "let us watch the picture for awhile," suggested ozma, and so they all drew chairs before the magic picture and followed the adventures of trot and cap'n bill and button-bright. presently the scene shifted and showed their friend the scarecrow crossing the mountains into jinxland, and that somewhat relieved ozma's anxiety, for she knew at once that glinda the good had sent the scarecrow to protect the strangers. the adventures in jinxland proved very interesting to the three girls in ozma's palace, who during the succeeding days spent much of their time in watching the picture. it was like a story to them. [illustration: dorothy] "that girl's a reg'lar trump!' exclaimed dorothy, referring to trot, and ozma answered: "she's a dear little thing, and i'm sure nothing very bad will happen to her. the old sailor is a fine character, too, for he has never once grumbled over being a grasshopper, as so many would have done." when the scarecrow was so nearly burned up the girls all shivered a little, and they clapped their hands in joy when the flock of orks came and saved him. so it was that when all the exciting adventures in jinxland were over and the four orks had begun their flight across the mountains to carry the mortals into the land of oz, ozma called the wizard to her and asked him to prepare a place for the strangers to sleep. the famous wizard of oz was a quaint little man who inhabited the royal palace and attended to all the magical things that ozma wanted done. he was not as powerful as glinda, to be sure, but he could do a great many wonderful things. he proved this by placing a house in the uninhabited part of the quadling country where the orks landed cap'n bill and trot and button-bright, and fitting it with all the comforts i have described in the last chapter. next morning dorothy said to ozma: "oughtn't we to go meet the strangers, so we can show them the way to the emerald city? i'm sure that little girl will feel shy in this beautiful land, and i know if 'twas me i'd like somebody to give me a welcome." ozma smiled at her little friend and answered: "you and betsy may go to meet them, if you wish, but i can not leave my palace just now, as i am to have a conference with jack pumpkinhead and professor wogglebug on important matters. you may take the sawhorse and the red wagon, and if you start soon you will be able to meet the scarecrow and the strangers at glinda's palace." "oh, thank you!" cried dorothy, and went away to tell betsy and to make preparations for the journey. [illustration: betsy] [illustration] chapter the waterfall glinda's castle was a long way from the mountains, but the scarecrow began the journey cheerfully, since time was of no great importance in the land of oz and he had recently made the trip and knew the way. it never mattered much to button-bright where he was or what he was doing; the boy was content in being alive and having good companions to share his wanderings. as for trot and cap'n bill, they now found themselves so comfortable and free from danger, in this fine fairyland, and they were so awed and amazed by the adventures they were encountering, that the journey to glinda's castle was more like a pleasure trip than a hardship, so many wonderful things were there to see. button-bright had been in oz before, but never in this part of it, so the scarecrow was the only one who knew the paths and could lead them. they had eaten a hearty breakfast, which they found already prepared for them and awaiting them on the table when they arose from their refreshing sleep, so they left the magic house in a contented mood and with hearts lighter and more happy than they had known for many a day. as they marched along through the fields, the sun shone brightly and the breeze was laden with delicious fragrance, for it carried with it the breath of millions of wildflowers. at noon, when they stopped to rest by the banks of a pretty river, trot said with a long-drawn breath that was much like a sigh: "i wish we'd brought with us some of the food that was left from our breakfast, for i'm getting hungry again." scarcely had she spoken when a table rose up before them, as if from the ground itself, and it was loaded with fruits and nuts and cakes and many other good things to eat. the little girl's eyes opened wide at this display of magic, and cap'n bill was not sure that the things were actually there and fit to eat until he had taken them in his hand and tasted them. but the scarecrow said with a laugh: "someone is looking after your welfare, that is certain, and from the looks of this table i suspect my friend the wizard has taken us in his charge. i've known him to do things like this before, and if we are in the wizard's care you need not worry about your future." "who's worrying?" inquired button-bright, already at the table and busily eating. the scarecrow looked around the place while the others were feasting, and finding many things unfamiliar to him he shook his head and remarked: "i must have taken the wrong path, back in that last valley, for on my way to jinxland i remember that i passed around the foot of this river, where there was a great waterfall." "did the river make a bend, after the waterfall?" asked cap'n bill. "no, the river disappeared. only a pool of whirling water showed what had become of the river; but i suppose it is under ground, somewhere, and will come to the surface again in another part of the country." "well," suggested trot, as she finished her luncheon, "as there is no way to cross this river, i s'pose we'll have to find that waterfall, and go around it." "exactly," replied the scarecrow; so they soon renewed their journey, following the river for a long time until the roar of the waterfall sounded in their ears. by and by they came to the waterfall itself, a sheet of silver dropping far, far down into a tiny lake which seemed to have no outlet. from the top of the fall, where they stood, the banks gradually sloped away, so that the descent by land was quite easy, while the river could do nothing but glide over an edge of rock and tumble straight down to the depths below. "you see," said the scarecrow, leaning over the brink, "this is called by our oz people the great waterfall, because it is certainly the highest one in all the land; but i think--help!" [illustration] he had lost his balance and pitched headforemost into the river. they saw a flash of straw and blue clothes, and the painted face looking upward in surprise. the next moment the scarecrow was swept over the waterfall and plunged into the basin below. the accident had happened so suddenly that for a moment they were all too horrified to speak or move. "quick! we must go to help him or he will be drowned," trot exclaimed. even while speaking she began to descend the bank to the pool below, and cap'n bill followed as swiftly as his wooden leg would let him. button-bright came more slowly, calling to the girl: "he can't drown, trot; he's a scarecrow." but she wasn't sure a scarecrow couldn't drown and never relaxed her speed until she stood on the edge of the pool, with the spray dashing in her face. cap'n bill, puffing and panting, had just voice enough to ask, as he reached her side: "see him, trot?" "not a speck of him. oh, cap'n, what do you s'pose has become of him?" "i s'pose," replied the sailor, "that he's in that water, more or less far down, and i'm 'fraid it'll make his straw pretty soggy. but as fer his bein' drowned, i agree with button-bright that it can't be done." [illustration] there was small comfort in this assurance and trot stood for some time searching with her eyes the bubbling water, in the hope that the scarecrow would finally come to the surface. presently she heard button-bright calling: "come here, trot!" and looking around she saw that the boy had crept over the wet rocks to the edge of the waterfall and seemed to be peering behind it. making her way toward him, she asked: "what do you see?" "a cave," he answered. "let's go in. perhaps we'll find the scarecrow there." she was a little doubtful of that, but the cave interested her, and so did it cap'n bill. there was just space enough at the edge of the sheet of water for them to crowd in behind it, but after that dangerous entrance they found room enough to walk upright and after a time they came to an opening in the w r all of rock. approaching this opening, they gazed within it and found a series of steps, cut so that they might easily descend into the cavern. trot turned to look inquiringly at her companions. the falling water made such din and roaring that her voice could not be heard. cap'n bill nodded his head, but before he could enter the cave, button-bright was before him, clambering down the steps without a particle of fear. so the others followed the boy. the first steps were wet with spray, and slippery, but the remainder were quite dry. a rosy light seemed to come from the interior of the cave, and this lighted their way. after the steps there was a short tunnel, high enough for them to walk erect in, and then they reached the cave itself and paused in wonder and admiration. they stood on the edge of a vast cavern, the walls and domed roof of which were lined with countless rubies, exquisitely cut and flashing sparkling rays from one to another. this caused a radiant light that permitted the entire cavern to be distinctly seen, and the effect was so marvelous that trot drew in her breath with a sort of a gasp, and stood quite still in wonder. but the walls and roof of the cavern were merely a setting for a more wonderful scene. in the center was a bubbling cauldron of water, for here the river rose again, splashing and dashing till its spray rose high in the air, where it took the ruby color of the jewels and seemed like a seething mass of flame. and while they gazed into the tumbling, tossing water, the body of the scarecrow suddenly rose in the center, struggling and kicking, and the next instant wholly disappeared from view. "my, but he's wet!" exclaimed button-bright; but none of the others heard him. trot and cap'n bill discovered that a broad ledge--covered, like the walls, with glittering rubies--ran all around the cavern; so they followed this gorgeous path to the rear and found where the water made its final dive underground, before it disappeared entirely. where it plunged into this dim abyss the river was black and dreary looking, and they stood gazing in awe until just beside them the body of the scarecrow again popped up from the water. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the land of oz the straw man's appearance on the water was so sudden that it startled trot, but cap'n bill had the presence of mind to stick his wooden leg out over the water and the scarecrow made a desperate clutch and grabbed the leg with both hands. he managed to hold on until trot and button-bright knelt down and seized his clothing, but the children would have been powerless to drag the soaked scarecrow ashore had not cap'n bill now assisted them. when they laid him on the ledge of rubies he was the most useless looking scarecrow you can imagine--his straw sodden and dripping with water, his clothing wet and crumpled, while even the sack upon which his face was painted had become so wrinkled that the old jolly expression of their stuffed friend's features was entirely gone. but he could still speak, and when trot bent down her ear she heard him say: "get me out of here as soon as you can." that seemed a wise thing to do, so cap'n bill lifted his head and shoulders, and trot and button-bright each took a leg; among them they partly carried and partly dragged the damp scarecrow out of the ruby cavern, along the tunnel, and up the flight of rock steps. it was somewhat difficult to get him past the edge of the waterfall, but they succeeded, after much effort, and a few minutes later laid their poor comrade on a grassy bank where the sun shone upon him freely and he was beyond the reach of the spray. cap'n bill now knelt down and examined the straw that the scarecrow was stuffed with. "i don't believe it'll be of much use to him, any more," said he, "for it's full of polliwogs an' fish eggs, an' the water has took all the crinkle out o' the straw an' ruined it. i guess, trot, that the best thing for us to do is to empty out all his body an' carry his head an' clothes along the road till we come to a field or a house where we can get some fresh straw." "yes, cap'n," she agreed, "there's nothing else to be done. but how shall we ever find the road to glinda's palace, without the scarecrow to guide us?" "that's easy," said the scarecrow, speaking in a rather feeble but distinct voice. "if cap'n bill will carry my head on his shoulders, eyes front, i can tell him which way to go." so they followed that plan and emptied all the old, wet straw out of the scarecrow's body. then the sailor-man wrung out the clothes and laid them in the sun till they were quite dry. trot took charge of the head and pressed the wrinkles out of the face as it dried, so that after a while the scarecrow's expression became natural again, and as jolly as before. this work consumed some time, but when it was completed they again started upon their journey, button-bright carrying the boots and hat, trot the bundle of clothes, and cap'n bill the head. the scarecrow, having regained his composure and being now in a good humor, despite his recent mishaps, beguiled their way with stories of the land of oz. [illustration] it was not until the next morning, however, that they found straw with which to restuff the scarecrow. that evening they came to the same little house they had slept in before, only now it was magically transferred to a new place. the same bountiful supper as before was found smoking hot upon the table and the same cosy beds were ready for them to sleep in. they rose early and after breakfast went out of doors, and there, lying just beside the house, was a heap of clean, crisp straw. ozma had noticed the scarecrow's accident in her magic picture and had notified the wizard to provide the straw, for she knew the adventurers were not likely to find straw in the country through which they were now traveling. they lost no time in stuffing the scarecrow anew, and he was greatly delighted at being able to walk around again and to assume the leadership of the little party. "really," said trot, "i think you're better than you were before, for you are fresh and sweet all through and rustle beautifully when you move." "thank you, my dear," he replied gratefully. "i always feel like a new man when i'm freshly stuffed. no one likes to get musty, you know, and even good straw may be spoiled by age." "it was water that spoiled you, the last time," remarked button-bright, "which proves that too much bathing is as bad as too little. but, after all, scarecrow, water is not as dangerous for you as fire." "all things are good in moderation," declared the scarecrow. "but now, let us hurry on, or we shall not reach glinda's palace by nightfall." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the royal reception at about four o'clock of that same day the red wagon drew up at the entrance to glinda's palace and dorothy and betsy jumped out. ozma's red wagon was almost a chariot, being inlaid with rubies and pearls, and it was drawn by ozma's favorite steed, the wooden sawhorse. "shall i unharness you," asked dorothy, "so you can come in and visit?" "no," replied the sawhorse. "til just stand here and think. take your time. thinking doesn't seem to bore me at all." "what will you think of?" inquired betsy. "of the acorn that grew the tree from which i was made." so they left the wooden animal and went in to see glinda, who welcomed the little girls in her most cordial manner. "i knew you were on your way," said the good sorceress when they were seated in her library, "for i learned from my record book that you intended to meet trot and button-bright on their arrival here." "is the strange little girl named trot?' asked dorothy. "yes; and her companion, the old sailor, is named cap'n bill. i think we shall like them very much, for they are just the kind of people to enjoy and appreciate our fairyland and i do not see any way, at present, for them to return again to the outside world." "well, there's room enough here for them, i'm sure," said dorothy. "betsy and i are already eager to welcome trot. it will keep us busy for a year, at least, showing her all the wonderful things in oz." glinda smiled. "i have lived here many years," said she, "and i have not seen all the wonders of oz vet." meantime the travelers were drawing near to the palace, and when they first caught sight of its towers trot realized that it was far more grand and imposing than was the king's castle in jinxland. the nearer they came, the more beautiful the palace appeared, and when finally the scarecrow led them up the great marble steps, even button-bright was filled with awe. "i don't see any soldiers to guard the place," said the little girl. "there is no need to guard glinda's palace," replied the scarecrow. "we have no wicked people in oz, that we know of, and even if there were any, glinda's magic would be powerful enough to protect her." button-bright was now standing on the top steps of the entrance, and he suddenly exclaimed: "why, there's the sawhorse and the red wagon! hip, hooray!" and next moment he was rushing down to throw his arms around the neck of the wooden horse, which good-naturedly permitted this familiarity when it recognized in the boy an old friend. button-bright's shout had been heard inside the palace, so now dorothy and betsy came running out to embrace their beloved friend, the scarecrow, and to welcome trot and cap'n bill to the land of oz. "we've been watching you for a long time, in ozma's magic picture," said dorothy, "and ozma has sent us to invite you to her own palace in the em'rald city. i don't know if you realize how lucky you are to get that invitation, but you'll understand it better after you've seen the royal palace and the em'rald city." glinda now appeared in person to lead all the party into her azure reception room. trot was a little afraid of the stately sorceress, but gained courage by holding fast to the hands of betsy and dorothy. cap'n bill had no one to help him feel at ease, so the old sailor sat stiffly on the edge of his chair and said: "yes, ma'am," or "no, ma'am," when he was spoken to, and was greatly embarrassed by so much splendor. the scarecrow had lived so much in palaces that he felt quite at home, and he chatted to glinda and the oz girls in a merry, light-hearted way. he told all about his adventures in jinxland, and at the great waterfall, and on the journey hither--most of which his hearers knew already--and then he asked dorothy and betsy what had happened in the emerald city since he had left there. they all passed the evening and the night at glinda's palace, and the sorceress was so gracious to cap'n bill that the old man by degrees regained his self-possession and began to enjoy himself. trot had already come to the conclusion that in dorothy and betsy she had found two delightful comrades, and button-bright was just as much at home here as he had been in the fields of jinxland or when he was buried in the popcorn snow of the land of mo. the next morning they arose bright and early and after breakfast bade good-bye to the kind sorceress, whom trot and cap'n bill thanked earnestly for sending the scarecrow to jinxland to rescue them. then they all climbed into the red wagon. there was room for all on the broad seats, and when all had taken their places--dorothy, trot and betsy on the rear seat and cap'n bill, button-bright and the scarecrow in front--they called "gid-dap!" to the sawhorse and the wooden steed moved briskly away, pulling the red wagon with ease. it was now that the strangers began to perceive the real beauties of the land of oz, for they were passing through a more thickly settled part of the country and the population grew more dense as they drew nearer to the emerald city. everyone they met had a cheery word or a smile for the scarecrow, dorothy and betsy bobbin, and some of them remembered button-bright and welcomed him back to their country. it was a happy party, indeed, that journeyed in the red wagon to the emerald city, and trot already began to hope that ozma would permit her and cap'n bill to live always in the land of oz. when they reached the great city they were more amazed than ever, both by the concourse of people in their quaint and picturesque costumes, and by the splendor of the city itself. but the magnificence of the royal palace quite took their breath away, until ozma received them in her own pretty apartment and by her charming manners and assuring smiles made them feel they were no longer strangers. trot was given a lovely little room next to that of dorothy, while cap'n bill had the cosiest sort of a room next to trot's and overlooking the gardens. and that evening ozma gave a grand banquet and reception in honor of the new arrivals. while trot had read of many of the people she then met, cap'n bill was less familiar with them and many of the unusual characters introduced to him that evening caused the old sailor to open his eyes wide in astonishment. [illustration] [illustration] he had thought the live scarecrow about as curious as anyone could be, but now he met the tin woodman, who was all made of tin, even to his heart, and carried a gleaming axe over his shoulder wherever he went. then there was jack pumpkinhead, whose head was a real pumpkin with the face carved upon it; and professor wogglebug, who had the shape of an enormous bug but was dressed in neat fitting garments. the professor was an interesting talker and had very polite manners, but his face was so comical that it made cap'n bill smile to look at it. a great friend of dorothy and ozma seemed to be a machine man called tik-tok, who ran down several times during the evening and had to be wound up again by someone before he could move or speak. at the reception appeared the shaggy man and his brother, both very popular in oz, as well as dorothy's uncle henry and aunt em, two happy old people who lived in a pretty cottage near the palace. but what perhaps seemed most surprising to both trot and cap'n bill was the number of peculiar animals admitted into ozma's parlors, where they not only conducted themselves quite properly but were able to talk as well as anyone. there was the cowardly lion, an immense beast with a beautiful mane; and the hungry tiger, who smiled continually; and eureka the pink kitten, who lay curled upon a cushion and had rather supercilious manners; and the wooden sawhorse; and nine tiny piglets that belonged to the wizard; and a mule named hank, who belonged to betsy bobbin. a fuzzy little terrier dog, named toto, lay at dorothy's feet but seldom took part in the conversation, although he listened to every word that was said. but the most wonderful of all to trot was a square beast with a winning smile, that squatted in a corner of the room and wagged his square head at everyone in quite a jolly way. betsy told trot that this unique beast was called the woozy, and there was no other like him in all the world. cap'n bill and trot had both looked around expectantly for the wizard of oz, but the evening was far advanced before the famous little man entered the room. but he went up to the strangers at once and said: "i know you, but you don't know me; so let's get acquainted." and they did get acquainted, in a very short time, and before the evening was over trot felt that she knew every person and animal present at the reception, and that they were all her good friends. suddenly they looked around for button-bright, but he was nowhere to be found. "dear me!" cried trot. "he's lost again." "never mind, my dear," said ozma, with her charming smile, "no one can go far astray in the land of oz, and if button-bright isn't lost occasionally, he isn't happy." [illustration] * * * * * transcriber notes all illustrations were placed so as to not split paragraphs. the color illustrations were grouped together (between pages and ) in the printed version; but have been moved to the relevent point within the story. minor typos corrected. file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) in the desert of waiting the legend of camel-back mountain [frontispiece: a man in arab dress, surrounded by large water jars and flowering bushes, looks beyond a camel asleep under palm trees to the sun rising behind distant dunes] in the desert of waiting the legend of camel-back mountain by annie fellows johnston author of "the little colonel series," "big brother," "joel: a boy of galilee," etc. "_thy alchemist contentment be_"--sadi boston l. c. page & company _publishers_ copyright, , by l. c. page & company (_incorporated_) copyright, , by l. c. page & company (_incorporated_) _all rights reserved_ eighth impression, july, o ye, who vainly question why there must ever lie twixt man and the far city of his desire some desert waste of disappointment, where he must watch the caravan pass on and leave him with his baffled hopes, here is the reason. by the grace of allah, read! once upon a time, a caravan set out across the desert, laden with merchandise for a far distant market. some of the camels bore in their packs wine-skins that held the richest vintage of the orient. some bore tapestries and some carried dyestuffs and the silken fruits of the loom. on shapur's camel was a heavy load of salt. the hope of each merchant was to reach the city of his desire before the golden gate should close. there were other gates by which they might enter, but this one, opening only once a year to admit the visiting rajahs from sister cities, afforded a rare opportunity to those fortunate enough to arrive at the same time. it was the privilege of any who might fall in with the royal retinue, to follow in the train to the palace of the ruling rajah, and thus gain access to its courtyards. wares displayed there for sale often brought fabulous sums, a hundred fold greater, sometimes, than when offered in the open market. only to a privileged few would the golden gate swing open at any other time. it would turn on its hinges for a messenger sent at a king's behest, or to any one bearing wares so rare and precious that only princes could purchase, but no common vendor could hope to pass its shining portal, save in the rear of the train that yearly followed the rajahs. so they urged their beasts with all diligence. foremost in the caravan and most zealous of all was shapur. in his heart burned the desire to be the first one to enter the golden gate, and the first one at the palace with his wares. but half way across the desert, as they paused at an oasis to rest, a dire lameness fell upon his camel, and it sank upon the sand. in vain he urged it to continue its journey. the poor beast could not rise under its great load. sack by sack he lessened its burden, throwing it off grudgingly and with sighs, for he was minded to lose as little as possible of his prospective fortune. but even rid of the entire load the camel could not rise, and shapur was forced to let his companions go on without him. for long days and nights he watched beside his camel, bringing it water from the fountain, and feeding it with the herbage of the oasis, and at last was rewarded by seeing it struggle to its feet and take a few limping steps. in his distress of mind at being left behind by the caravan he had not noticed where he had thrown his load. a tiny rill trickling down from the fountain had run through the sacks and dissolved the salt, and when he went to gather up his load only a paltry portion was left, a single sackful. "now allah has indeed forgotten me!" he cried, and, cursing the day he was born, he rent his mantle and beat upon his breast. even if his camel were able to set out across the desert it would be useless to seek a market, now that his merchandise was destroyed. so he sat upon the ground, his head bowed in his hands. water there was for him to drink, and the fruit of the date palm, and the cooling shade of many trees; but he counted them all as naught. a fever of unrest consumed him. a baffled ambition bowed his head in the dust. when he looked at his poor camel kneeling in the sand he cried out, "ah, woe is me! of all men i am most miserable! of all dooms mine is most unjust! why should i, with life beating strong in my veins, and ambition like a burning simoon in my breast, be left here helpless on the sands, where i can achieve nothing and make no progress towards the city of my desire?" one day, as he sat thus under the palms, a bee buzzed about him. he brushed it away, but it returned so persistently that he looked up with languid interest. "where there are bees there must be honey," he said. "if there be any sweetness in this desert, better that i should go in its quest than sit here bewailing my fate." leaving the camel browsing by the fountain he followed the bee. for many miles he pursued it, till far in the distance he beheld the palm trees of another oasis. he quickened his steps, for an odor rare as the perfumes of paradise floated out to meet him. the bee had led him to the rose gardens of omar. now omar was an alchemist, a sage with the miraculous power of transmuting the most common things of earth into something precious. the fame of his skill had travelled to far countries. so many pilgrims sought him to beg his wizard touch, that the question, "where is the house of omar?" was heard daily at the gates of the city. but for a generation that question had remained unanswered. no man knew the place of the house of omar since he had taken upon himself the life of a hermit. somewhere, they knew, in the solitude of the desert, he was practising the mysteries of his art, and probing deeper into its secrets, but no one could point to the path leading thither. only the bees knew, and, following the bee, shapur found himself in the old alchemist's presence. now shapur was a youth of gracious mien, and pleasing withal. with straightforward speech he told his story, and omar, who could read the minds of men as readily as unrolled parchments, was touched by his tale. he bade him come in and be his guest until sundown. so shapur sat at his board and shared his bread, and rose refreshed by his wine and his wise words. and at parting, the old man said with a keen glance into his eyes: "thou thinkest that because i am omar, with the power to transmute all common things into precious ones, how easily i could take the remnant of salt that is still left to thee in thy sack, and change it into gold. then couldst thou go joyfully on to the city of thy desire, as soon as thy camel is able to carry thee, far richer for thy delay." shapur's heart gave a bound of hope, for that is truly what he had been thinking. but at the next words it sank. "nay, shapur, each man must be his own alchemist. believe me, for thee the desert holds a greater opportunity than kings' houses could offer. give me but thy patient service in this time of waiting, and i will share such secrets with thee that when thou dost finally win thee to the golden gate, it shall be with wares that shall gain for thee a royal entrance." then shapur went back to his camel, and in the cool of the evening urged it to its feet, and led it slowly across the sands; and because it could bear no burdens he lifted the remaining sack of salt to his own back and carried it on his shoulders all the way. when the moon shone white and full in the zenith he reached the rose gardens of omar. he knocked on the gate, calling, "here am i, omar, at thy bidding, and here is the remnant of my salt. all that i have left i bring to thee, and stand ready now, to yield my patient service." then omar bade him lead his camel to the fountain, and leave him to browse upon the herbage around it. pointing to a row of great stone jars he said, "there is thy work. every morning, before the sunrise, they must be filled with rose-petals plucked from the myriad roses of the garden, and the petals covered with water from the fountain." "a task for poets," thought shapur, as he began. "what more delightful than to stand in the moonlighted garden and pluck the velvet leaves?" but after awhile the thorns tore his hands and the rustle and hiss underfoot betrayed the presence of serpents, and sleep weighed heavily upon his eyelids. it grew monotonous standing hour after hour, stripping the rose-leaves from the calyxes, until thousands and thousands and thousands had been dropped into the great jars. the very sweetness of the task began to cloy his senses. when the stars had faded and the east was beginning to brighten, old omar came out. "'tis well," he said, viewing his work. "now break thy fast and then to slumber, to prepare for another sleepless night." so long months went by, till it seemed to shapur that the garden must surely become exhausted. but for every rose he plucked another bloomed in its stead, and night after night he filled the jars. still he was learning no secrets, and as the deadly monotony of his task began to eat into his soul he grew restless and began to ask himself questions. "was he not wasting his life? would it not have been better to have waited by the other fountain until some caravan passed by that would have carried him out of the desert solitude to the dwellings of men? what opportunity was the desert offering him greater than kings' houses could give?" and ever the thorns tore him more sorely, and the lonely silence of the night weighed upon him. many a time he would have left his task had not the shadowy form of his camel, kneeling outside by the fountain, seemed to whisper to him through the starlight, "patience, shapur! patience!" once, far in the distance, he saw the black outline of a merchant caravan, passing along the horizon, where day was beginning to break. he did no work until it had passed from sight. gazing after it, with a fierce longing to follow, he pictured the scenes it was moving towards--the gilded minarets of the mosques, the deep-toned ringing of bells, the cheerful hum of the populace, and all the life and stir of the market-place. when the shadowy procession had passed the great silence of the desert smote him like a pain. again looking out he saw his faithful camel, and again it seemed to whisper, "patience, shapur, patience! so thou, too, shall fare forth some day to the city of thy desire!" one day in the waning of summer omar called him into a room in which he had never been before. "now, at last," said he, "thou hast proved thyself worthy to be the sharer of my secrets. come! i will show thee. thus are the roses distilled, and thus is gathered up the precious oil floating on the tops of the vessels. seest thou this tiny vial? it weighs but the weight of one rupee, but it took the sweetness of two hundred thousand roses to make the attar it contains, and so costly is it that only princes may purchase. it is worth more than thy entire load of salt that was washed away at the fountain." shapur worked diligently at this new task, until there came a day when omar said to him, "well done, shapur! behold the gift of the desert, its reward for thy patient service in its solitude!" he placed in shapur's hands a crystal vase, sealed with a seal, and filled with the precious attar. "wherever thou goest this sweetness will open for thee a way and win for thee a welcome. thou camest into the desert a common vendor of salt, thou shalt go forth an apostle of my alchemy. wherever thou seest a heart bowed down in some desert of waiting, thou shalt whisper to it, 'patience! here if thou wilt, in these arid sands, thou mayst find thy garden of omar, and even from the daily tasks that prick thee sorest, distil some precious attar to sweeten all life.' so like the bee that led thee to my teaching, thou shalt lead others to hope." then shapur went forth with the crystal vase, and the camel, healed in its long time of waiting, bore him swiftly across the sands to the city of his desire. the golden gate, that would not have opened to the vendor of salt, swung wide for the apostle of omar. princes brought their pearls to exchange for drops of his attar, and everywhere he went its sweetness opened for him a way and won for him a welcome. wherever he saw a heart bowed down in some desert of waiting he whispered omar's words and tarried to teach omar's alchemy, that from the commonest experiences of life may be distilled its greatest blessings. at his death, in order that men might not forget, he willed that his tomb should be made at a certain place where all caravans passed. there at the crossing of the highways he caused to be cut in stone that symbol of patience, the camel, kneeling on the sand. and it bore this inscription, which no one could fail to see as he toiled past toward the city of his desire: "patience! here, if thou wilt, on these arid sands, thou mayst find thy garden of omar, and even from the daily tasks which prick thee sorest distil some precious attar to bless thee and thy fellow man." a thousand moons waxed and waned above it, then a thousand more, and there arose a generation with restless hearts, who set their faces ever westward, following the sun towards a greater city of desire. strange seas they crossed. new coasts they came upon. some were satisfied with the fair valleys that tempted them to tarry, and built them homes where the fruitful hills whispered stay. but always the sons of shapur pushed ahead, to pitch their tents a day's march nearer the city of their desire, nearer the golden gate which opened every sunset to let the royal rajah of the day pass through. like a mirage that daily vision lured them on, showing them a dream gate of opportunity, always just ahead, yet ever out of reach. as in the days of shapur, so it was in the days of his sons. there were some who fell by the way, and, losing all that made life dear, cried out as the caravans passed on without them, that allah had forgotten them; and they cursed the day that they were born, and laid hopeless heads in the dust. but allah, the merciful, who from the beginning knew what desert of waiting must lie between every son of shapur and the city of his desire, had long before stretched out his hand over one of the mountains of his continent. with earthquake shock it sank before him. with countless hammer strokes of hail and rain-drops, and with gleaming rills he chiselled it, till as the centuries rolled by it took the semblance of that symbol of patience, a camel, kneeling there at the passing of the ways. and now, to every heart bowed down and hopeless, it whispers the lesson that shapur learned in his weary desert of waiting: _"patience! thou camest into the desert a vendor of salt; thou mayst go forth an alchemist, distilling from life's tasks and sorrows such precious attar in thy soul, that its sweetness shall win for thee a welcome wherever thou goest, and a royal entrance into the city of thy desire!"_ the end and this, o son of shapur, is the secret of omar's alchemy: to gather something from every one thou passest on the highway, and from every experience fate sends thee, as omar gathered from the heart of every rose, and out of the wide knowledge thus gained of human weaknesses and human needs, to distil in thine own heart the precious oil of sympathy. that is the attar that shall win for thee a welcome wherever thou goest. and no man fills his crystal vase with it until he has first been pricked by the world's disappointments, and bowed by its tasks. thou vendor of salt, who, as yet, canst follow only in the train of others, is not any waiting well worth the while, if, in the end, it shall give thee wares with which to gain a royal entrance?