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■3 " THE SUN, NEWBERRY, S. C„ FRIDAY, JANUARY 21, 1938 — Under Pressure By George Agnew Chamberlain C George Agnew Chamberlain WNU Service A Lift Toward Spring CHAPTER XI—Continued —13— He glanced into Joyce’s boudoir and passed the open door of the drawing room. Then he retraced his steps and strolled to the opposite corner only to behold more empti ness. Abruptly he knew the truth as certainly as if he had watched Joyce lead Adan down the narrow passage toward a certain spiral stair. His heart contracted with such violence it caused him to halt in his tracks in more senses than one. Where was he headed? Where had he already arrived? His deduction had been correct; Joyce had taken Adan to the roof. As they emerged into a translucence which would have been blinding had it not been dimmed by the impalpa ble golden dust of the night she turned toward her companion with caught breath. His face was amia ble and alive but apparently his open eyes were blind. She felt dis may and then an impulse to laugh aloud at herself. She restrained it, aided by a feeling of sadness. The impassivity of his expression dum- founded her. Was it credible he saw neither moon nor stars nor that distant double torch of snow rising against the pale blue of heaven? Rather hopelessly she led the way to the parapet and sat down, sensing a drag as if he followed unwillingly. Last night she had shivered and Dirk had put his coat around her shoulders; tonight it was Adan who quivered to the cold but she had no wrap to lend him. Since he was far more warmly dressed than she it seemed the cold which affected him must come from within him self. He was silent; not morose— just silent and suffering. If he saw the moon, the stars and the Nevado at all, it was with a calculating and compressing eye that strove to di minish grandeur to the size of a stage backdrop for future reference. He was theater, he was city, and he was Latin; furthermore such nights as this, with snow-capped Popo added to the Sleeping Woman for extra measure, were the every day chili-con-came of his existence. He made a movement toward his breast pocket. At least they could talk, thought Joyce; she must say something—must, must I She turned her head and felt her jaw drop loose. Adan was knotting his silk handker chief at the back of his neck, arrang ing it in such a manner as to mask nose and mouth against the perils of the night air. Joyce almest choked. “You don’t like it here, do you?” she managed to murmur. “Oh, yes, I do,” replied Adan in muffled tones. “Much better than when Pepe ran the place.” Again Joyce caught her breath. “That’s so,” she said presently, “you visited him, didn’t you?” “Once.” “What was it? A shooting party?” “Oh, no — a roughhouse. We brought down a carload of girls and two carloads of men. Don’t let’s talk about it.” Abruptly his voice turned pleading. “Let’s go down to the piano. I want to play for you— play for you like last night.” She rose with a sense of relief and escape to which were added several more poignant emotions— chagrin, self-pity, disappointment, to name only three, and a sort of confused dismay composed of anger at herself, and at the world in gen eral and Dirk in particular. What had he to do with it? Nothing. That was why she was angry at him and somehow it seemed a perfectly good reason. As she hurried along the balcony, heading for the drawing room, she saw him leaning on the rail, his face lifted toward the vis ible patch of sky. “Adan is going to play,” she said crisply. “Want to come along?” “No, thanks,” said Dirk even more curtly, “I’m going to bed.” Under her urging Adan played only boisterous music — rollicking marches, rumbas and a galloping passo libre—and when he tried to slip into a languorous tango or a dreamy waltz she broke in with a cry: “No, no! something fast, fast er—something jolly.” She was studying him, measuring him by his own standard, yet giving him no chance to practice the whole al chemy of his art. He could have his piano but nothing more. Sitting there, with his agile fingers flying over the keys, he became readable, clear to her eyes. He was hand some, good-natured, shrewd, kind- hearted and fearless—an ideal mas ter of ceremonies. Quite suddenly he rose from the piano and faced her, his eyes hard. “You don’t like me tonight,” he stated. “Why, yes, 1 do, Adan,” stam mered Jsycs, “of course I do. What make.* you fcay that?” “No, no,” said Adan, somewhat bewildered at finding himself in a role whose lines and cues he had totally forgotten if be had ever known them—the role of the unde sired. He couldn’t yet quite believe it. Much less could he conceive he might soon find himself cast as a pursuer if he didn’t take his eyes off the flushed face before him. But some inkling of danger may have stirred his senses as he continued, “It’s different tonight. You ask for silly, meaningless music — music with no soul. You don’t come with me. You stand to one side to see how fast I can run up and down the piano without losing my breath. No; I won’t play any more. I’m a man, not a whippet chasing an elec tric rabbit for you to laugh. Good night, senorita. You are very beau tiful, but this evening you happen not to be a woman.” CHAPTER XII The bullet which passed through Dorado’s leg and traversed the heart of his horse was steel-jacket ed ; had it been soft-nosed the wound would have been serious, possibly fatal. The heavy-set general suf fered far more from the shock of his fall than by reason of the hole through his thigh, nevertheless he considered his condition grave enough to appeal to Blackadder for advice and aid. He released him from the batea and installed him as nurse—a change equivalent to a transfer from one galley bench to another since, needless to say, Pepe was in the vilest of tempers. Blackadder had often been called upon to act as surgeon in far more desperate cases amid sur roundings fully as primitive. He procured a “That’s It,” Said Blackadder. couple of cotton jumpers, soft and ragged with wear, requisitioned a precious bar of soap and washed them out with his own hands. Then he boiled a kettle of water, tossed in a handful of salt and was ready. With a mighty grip he pressed the wound both ways from the inside out until the blood showed bright and clear of impurities. He took surly satisfaction in Dorado’s howls of pain and a subsequent torrent of imprecations as the outlets were bathed with hot brine and then bandaged. Almost hourly thereafter the patient would insist on having the dressing removed. With plenty of salt water on hand Blackadder felt no fear of infection but resented such frequent interruption since he was busy with affairs of his own. Keeping his ears and eyes wide open, a single day sufficed to give him an accurate idea of the layout of the camp; since nobody thought he knew Spanish all talked freely in his presence. It was situated at the northeastern extremity of the barranca where the chasm pinched out against sheer cliffs at whose feet burbled the spring which supplied the brook with water. At night all the so-called miners—^nothing but enslaved peons picked up at random —were herded into the depths of the twp drifts opposite the one occupied by Dorado and himself. The riders then spread their petates in the airy entrances, forming a solid layer of bodies over which a fugitive would have to fly like a bat to escape. In addition two men with shotguns stood guard day and night at the right-angle turn downstream. So much for the exterior; by night, when sleep seemed to have a fair hold on his patient, Blackadder would slip away for subterranean exploration. Darkness was h i 8 greatest handicap. Matches were scarce, candles there were none nor any lantern. Again inventiveness backed by experience—to say noth ing of a knowledge of capillary at traction—came to his aid. Luxuri ant castor oil shrubs grew in the shadow cast by the southern wall. He gathered a quantity of the ber ries, crushed out their oil into a dis carded tomato can and rolled a strip off a bandage into a wick. Coil ing it in the tin he let one end hang over the side, lighted it and found himself provided with a tiny but lasting beam of light. By its aid he was able to explore the cavernous reaches behind Do rado’s dwelling. There were three inner rooms besides his own. In one, sealed with a locked door of hewn timbers, he knew the daily washings of gold were stored. The other two were open to such air as was available and matted heaps of hay showed they had been used as habitations. What interested him most, however, was the shaft he had surmised must exist. He found it on his third excursion and to his de light discovered it was not vertical but ascended at a slant, showing whoever had sunk it had lacked a mechanical hoist. No doubt it was cluttered with debris, but where men had once passed a man could pass again. Here was a road to freedom, ready-made, but reflection forced him to admit it could lead only to recapture or starvation in the desert; without a horse waiting at the exit it was useless. He reverted to the idea which had developed in a flash to the size of a full-grown oak—trade La Barranca for possession of Joyce. He had no illusions as to the cash value of the hacienda. Discovery of the bootleg gold diggings might have impressed a novice, but not an old-timer who happened to know Mexican law es tablishes the subsoil as the inalien able property of the state. Aware of the general situation as well, he was convinced tragic trouble and no conceivable gain would be Joyce’s inevitable lot should he fail in his intention to rescue her, will ing or unwilling. Dorado himself gave an opening. “Bueno, cabron, it is now the third day and you write no letter. Tomorrow I think perhaps I send one finger.” “Listen, Dorado,” said Blackad der, “you and I have seen a lot of each other .and we ought to be able to talk straight from the shoul der. You occupied La Barranca for several years. Wouldn’t you like to lay your haflds on it again?” Dorado straightened too suddenly, groaned and settled back. “Go on,” he ordered. “You talk, I listen, then I tell you.” “You know who threw you out, don’t you?” “That Pancho Buenaventura,”, cried Dorado, turning purple, “and his butcher-boss. General Onelia.” “No, no,” said Blackadder impa tiently. “Didn’t you see a girl? Don’t you know anything about her?” “Girl?” repeated Dorado, his eyes suddenly wide. “Yes, I see one girl. Verry nice girl. Who is she?” “The daughter of Cutler Sewell, the man from whom you stole the hacienda. He’s dead and she owns it.” “Me, steal!” cried Dorado, en raged. “Pepe Dorado steal! No, no. That gringo, he abandon La Barranca.” “Just so,” said Blackadder, “ex actly the way you abandoned it five or six days ago, exactly the way the present tenant might be urged into abandoning it again. Get it, or do you want half an hour to think the thing out?” “Si, si,” murmured Dorado thoughtfully. “You tell me some more now.” “Here it is—the whole thing in a nutshell. I lied when I said I don’t speak Spanish and again about be ing a prospector. I’m Miss Joyce Sewell’s guardian acting for her stepmother. We don’t want her to stay at La Barranca at any price. When you held me up you did your self a bad turn because I was on my way to drag her out. If you want the place, help me do it now.” “How?” “Give me a horse. Send guards to watch me all the way into the hacienda.” “Then what?” “Sooner or later I’ll snake the girl out and La Barranca will be once more abandoned and at your mercy. The only thing that stumps me is how to get away to Toluca and from there to Mexico City.” He paused. “Of course, if you should try any double-crossing in the way of holding us both for ransom you’d lose the hacienda in the end and perhaps your life.” Dorado thought for a long time, his eyes half closed lest Blackadder read his mind. What fools these gringos were—they still believed in honor among thieves! He pictured first La Barranca, most desirable of all haciendas as far as he was con cerned, then Joyce whom two flashes had revealed to be as lovely a girl as he had ever seen. At the moment he honestly believed he could be happy with either as long as he lived—but with both? Mere anticipation caused moisture to gather at the corners of his loose mouth. “In exchange for freedom and the senorita,” he announced finally, “you make offer of La Barranca. So?” “That’s it.” said Blackadder. “I accept. The matter of your escape to Mexico City is not difficult to arrange. Near the hacienda there is a rope bridge which saves many miles. I have q car in Toluca; I shall send for h and hide it by night in an arroyo. I’ll have horses at the bridge when you arrive with the senorita and I myself will be there to wish you both godspeed. It re mains only to agree on a signal an nouncing you are ready.” “That’s the trouble,” said Black adder, scowling. “How do I know just when I’ll be ready since I may have to carry the girl out against her willT” “So?” murmured Dorado curious ly. “But let’s not worry over such small difficulties. The moon is in its third quarter; before it rises there are two hours of darkness. When do you wish to start?” “Today. Now.” “Bueno. Tomorrow night, and the next, and the night after that, I shall spend the two hours imme diately preceding the rising of the moon at the bridge—on the north side. Be careful how you cross it.” “I know all about rope bridges,” said Blackadder. “What about your leg?” “You are a good doctor. It is quite nearly well. Today I can walk. I will show you; I shall go now to choose your horse and give orders.” Blackadder took advantage of his absence to descend to the brook as though to wash his hands but in reality to recover his passport and wallet. Half an hour later, accom panied by three guards armed with carbines, he was riding downstream toward the switchback path which ha'd caused him such agony a few days before. Since it was the only exit from the barranca through all its length they were obliged, once the level of the prairie was reached, to ride all the way back around the camp before starting down the oth er side. Before they made the turn, however, he noticed a peculiar de pression masked by a patch of thorny acacias. Deliberately he passed to windward of it and caught a faint odor of smoke; so, he thought, had he risked the shaft here is where he would have come out. But that was not to be his only discovery. An hour later, chancing to glance across the barranca, he saw a sight that first puzzled, then amazed him. Three lorries were wending their way over the plain from the general direction of Tolu ca. That in itself was not surpris ing; what astonished him was their freight—each was loaded with a howitzer. At first he had thought they were boilers; but no, there was no doubt about it, they were howitzers. He questioned the men but got only shrugs for his pains and a little farther on they came to a halt. (TO BE CONTINUED) Word “On” Is Frequently Mispronounced; “Again” Next in Order for Carelessness What common words do we Amer icans mispronounce? The office of education has helped to compile a list of the dozen words in common use that are most abused. Strange as it may seem, the two- letter word “on” is the most fre quently misused word on the list. You might think that almost anyone could pronounce this preposition correct'y, but thousands say “un” or “en” and the word is just, about number one in the battered Amer ican vocabulary, observes a Wash ington United Press correspondent. Number two is “again.” Folk in this country apparently like to pro nounce it like something left over from the prosperity days before 1929, as “a-gain,” or they may short en it to “a-gen.” ’Hie rest of the list runs: toward, interesting, accept, address, prefer able, drowned, perform, automobile, attacked and forehead. For correct pronunciations, con sult your dictionary. This is the court of last appeal in case you get into an argument. Remember that the first form given in the diction ary is the preferred one. All these words are supposed to be in the vocabulary of a person who knows at least 2,000 words. This fact is based on numerous studies of the frequency with which words are used in speech, in newspapers, in magazines, in books and on the air waves. Of course, other words may be mispronounced a higher percentage of times, but such words belong to the higher levels of personal vocab ularies that include more than 2,000 words. For example, here are a few stick lers for your tongue if you have a vocabulary running up to 5,000 words: Literature, extraordinary, enve lope, drama, detail, recess, route and subtle. Produced the Billiard Table Robert Gillow, an English furni ture manufacturer and designer, produced the present type billiard table in the Eighteenth century. Can’t Be That Father—I think my watch needs cleaning. Small Son—Oh, no; 1 had it in the bath yesterday. Others in the Field “Have you proposed?” “Well, I was just coming to it when she said she loved Shelley, Wordsworth—and somebody else. What chance do I stand with three other blokes in the run ning?” Stingy Patient (to Dentist)— Two dollars to pull out a front tooth? I should say not. I’ll start a fight on the way home. Other Way Bund Horse-Owner—I’m afraid, sir, I must ask you to pay in advance for the hire of the horse. Amateur Rider—What’s that for? Are you afraid I shall come back without the horse? Horse-Owner—Oh, no. sir. But the horse might come back with out you. G OOD frocks and true are these currently exhibited by your favorite designers, Sew-Your-Own. There’s an ultra-polished model for informal evenings (dancing and that sort of thing), called the “Good-night frock.” Then there’s the more home-loving “Good- morning” number, and, to com plete the trio, a swell little after noon frock for tea-time goings-on. Why not spend happy days ahead in these very frocks? All you need do, you know, is to Sew, Sew, Sew- Your-Own! Spring Frock. The girl who has a flare for streamlining will see at once that the frock at the left is meant' for her—just for her. She will make it of satin if she’s thinking ahead to Spring; of wool if her mind is on the present or near future. She will puff the sleeves gently, give the girdle tie a fair firm snug- ging-up, adjust the chic cowl neck —and she’ll be something lovely to look at. Yes, Milady, this is the “Good-night frock” and if it’s the last thing you do, you must add it in your new wardrobe. To Start the Day. When you greet the little family with that bright and cheery “Good morning,” be sure your frock re flects an equally sweet note. Sew- Your-Own’s most assuring num ber to this end is pictured above center. With a copy or two in gay gingham or seersucker you’ll breeze through your day’s work like‘nobody’s business. The shirt waist styling offers style and com fort that make this your best bet for early season’s wear. A “Go-Gittin’ ” Style. And for a charming “Good afternoon,” choose a frock with plenty on the personality side. Such is the new young model at the right. Buttons in a line down the front tell you in so many dots and dashes that here you have “go-gittin’ ” style for Spring, 1938. Princess lines cared for fastidiously by a Tavotite Recipe of the Week'-—' Salmon Hominy Casserole. npHE combined flavors of salmon and hominy is pleasing, the combined texture of them is in teresting, and the appearance of the two in a casserole dish is ap pealing indeed. Try this combina tion for a tasty luncheon or supper dish. In preparing the salmon and hominy for the dish, save the liquid drained from the cans as it adds flavor and food value to the sauce for the dish. Salmon Hominy Casserole. 1 No. S can hominy 4 tbsp. flour 1 No. 1 tall can */« cup grated Amerl- aalmon can cheese, aalt and 4 tbsp. butter pepper 2 cups liquid, part li cup buttered milk bread crumbs Arrange the hominy in the bot tom of a greased casserole and lay the salmon over the hominy. Melt the butter in a saucepan, add flour, and stir until smooth. Add the liquid which is made up of the por tion drained from the hominy and salmon and enough milk to make 2 cups. Cook until the sauce is thick and smooth, stirring con stantly. Add cheese, season with salt and pepper, and pour over the hominy and salmon. Sprinkle crumbs over the top and bake in a moderate oven (400 degrees) until the crumbs are brown and the mix ture thoroughly heated, or about 30 minutes. An asparagus tip salad with tart French dressing would be good with the casserole dish. The canned asparagus is available in all green, all white, and white with green tips, so your fancy has an oppor tunity to choose the variety pre ferred. MARJORIE H. SLACK. belt, and a collar with much of what it takes—these are things that prompt Sew-Your-Own to put this frock in its Fashion-First Re view for the Spring season. Make your version soon, Milady. That invitation to tea will find you un afraid and eager to go. The Patterns. Pattern 1410 is designed for sizes 12 to 20 (30 to 38 bust). Size 14 re quires 4% yards of 39-inch mate rial, plus % of a yard contrast for trimming sash as pictured. Pattern 1438 is designed for sizes 36 to 52. Size 38 requires AV* yards of 35-inch material. Pattern 1211 is designed for sizes 12 to 20 (30 to 40 bust). Size 14 re quires 3% yards of 35-inch mate rial, plus % yard contrasting for collar and cuffs. Send your order to The Sewing Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1020, 211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111. Price of patterns, 15 cents (in coins) each. © Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service. Power of Speech Whitefield, famous old preacher, was addressing an assembly of seamen: “Well, my boys, we have a clear sky, and are making fine headway . . .” he began, and then, “Hark! Don’t you hear dis tant thunder? Don’t you see flashes of iightning? There is storm gathering! The air is dark! The tempest rages! Our masts are gone! The ship is on her beams ends! What next?” At this dra matic climax, it is said, the tars, reminded of former perils on the deep, as if struck by the power of magic, rose with united voice and cried, “Take to the lifeboats.” Keeping Count The amorous honeymoon couple were a nuisance to the other pas sengers in the railway compart ment. ‘Do you love me, George?** asked the bride. The old man opposite rose. “Pardon me,” he said courte ously to the bridegroom, “she’f asked you that thirty-eight times so far. 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