The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, January 21, 1938, Image 6
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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. I’m getting out at this
station, but I’ll leave the score
with this gentleman in the cor
ner.”
NERVOUS?
Do rod ful ao BH-roni you want to Kraaaf
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thoaa daanat to you?
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SSan
Nature tone up the ayitem, thua km
the functional i
the diaeomforta from
. Jan which women muat endure.
Make a note NOW to get a bottle of world-
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Why not try LYDIA E. PIN SHAM'S
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Momentary Pleasure
There is more pleasure in build
ing castles in the air than on the
ground.—Edward Gibbon.
CHEW LONG BILL NAVY TOBACCO