MADERA, STATE OF CHIHUAHUA, MEXICO, July 17.—Having looted the Madera
Lumber Company’s storehouses of $25,000 worth of goods and robbed scores
of foreigners of horses and saddles, the rebel command of Gen. Antonio
Rojas, comprising a thousand men, started westward to-day through the
state of Sonora for Agnaymas and Pacific coast points.
The troops are headed for Dolores, where a mountain pass leads into
the state of Sonora. Their entrance will be opposed by 1,000 Maderista
volunteers, who are reported to be waiting the rebel invasion.
The railroad south of Madera is being destroyed and many Americans who
were traveling to Chihuahua from Juarez are marooned here.
General Rojas executed five men while here for alleged offenses of a
trivial character. Gen. Rosalio y Hernandez, Lieut. Cipriano Amador, and
three soldiers were the unfortunates.
WASHINGTON, July 17.—Somewhere in Mexico Patrick Dunne, an American
citizen, is in prison under sentence of death. This much and no more
the State Department learned through Representative Kinkaid of Nebraska.
Consular officers in various sections of Mexico have been directed to
make every effort to locate Dunne and save his life.
JUAREZ, MEXICO, July 31.—General Orozco, chief of the rebels, declared
to-day:
“If the United States will throw down the barriers and let us have
all the ammunition we can buy, I promise in sixty days to have peace
restored in Mexico and a stable government in charge.”
CASAS GRANDES, CHIHUAHUA, July 31.—Rebel soldiers looted many homes
of Mormons near here yesterday. All the Mormon families have fled to
El Paso. Although General Salazar had two of his soldiers executed
yesterday for robbing Mormons, he has not made any attempt to stop his
men looting the unprotected homes of Americans.
Last night’s and to-day’s trains carried many Americans from Pearson,
Madera, and other localities outside the Mormon settlements. Refugees
from Mexico continued to pour into El Paso. About one hundred came last
night, the majority of whom were men. Heretofore few men came.
Madeline read on in feverish absorption. It was not a real war, but a
starving, robbing, burning, hopeless revolution. Five men executed for
alleged offenses of a trivial nature! What chance had, then, a Federal
prisoner, an enemy to be feared, an American cowboy in the clutches of
those crazed rebels?
Madeline endured patiently, endured for long interminable hours while
holding to her hope with indomitable will.
No message came. At sunset she went outdoors, suffering a torment
of accumulating suspense. She faced the desert, hoping, praying for
strength. The desert did not influence her as did the passionless,
unchangeable stars that had soothed her spirit. It was red, mutable,
shrouded in shadows, terrible like her mood. A dust-veiled sunset
colored the vast, brooding, naked waste of rock and sand. The grim
Chiricahua frowned black and sinister. The dim blue domes of the
Guadalupes seemed to whisper, to beckon to her. Beyond them somewhere
was Stewart, awaiting the end of a few brief hours—hours that to her
were boundless, endless, insupportable.
Night fell. But now the white, pitiless stars failed her. Then she
sought the seclusion and darkness of her room, there to lie with wide
eyes, waiting, waiting. She had always been susceptible to the somber,
mystic unrealities of the night, and now her mind slowly revolved round
a vague and monstrous gloom. Nevertheless, she was acutely sensitive to
outside impressions. She heard the measured tread of a guard, the rustle
of wind stirring the window-curtain, the remote, mournful wail of a
coyote. By and by the dead silence of the night insulated her with
leaden oppression. There was silent darkness for so long that when the
window casements showed gray she believed it was only fancy and that
dawn would never come. She prayed for the sun not to rise, not to begin
its short twelve-hour journey toward what might be a fatal setting for
Stewart. But the dawn did lighten, swiftly she thought, remorselessly.
Daylight had broken, and this was Thursday!
Sharp ringing of the telephone bell startled her, roused her into
action. She ran to answer the call.
“Hello—hello—Miss Majesty!” came the hurried reply. “This is Link
talkin’. Messages for you. Favorable, the operator said. I’m to ride out
with them. I’ll come a-hummin’.”
That was all. Madeline heard the bang of the receiver as Stevens threw
it down. She passionately wanted to know more, but was immeasurably
grateful for so much! Favorable! Then Stillwell had been successful.
Her heart leaped. Suddenly she became weak and her hands failed of their
accustomed morning deftness. It took her what seemed a thousand years to
dress. Breakfast meant nothing to her except that it helped her to pass
dragging minutes.
Finally a low hum, mounting swiftly to a roar and ending with a sharp
report, announced the arrival of the car. If her feet had kept pace with
her heart she would have raced out to meet Link. She saw him, helmet
thrown back, watch in hand, and he looked up at her with his cool,
bright smile, with his familiar apologetic manner.
“Fifty-three minutes, Miss Majesty,” he said, “but I hed to ride round a
herd of steers an’ bump a couple off the trail.”
He gave her a packet of telegrams. Madeline tore them open with shaking
fingers, began to read with swift, dim eyes. Some were from Washington,
assuring her of every possible service; some were from New York; others
written in Spanish were from El Paso, and these she could not wholly
translate in a brief glance. Would she never find Stillwell’s message?
It was the last. It was lengthy. It read:
Bought Stewart’s release. Also arranged for his transfer as prisoner
of war. Both matters official. He’s safe if we can get notice to his
captors. Not sure I’ve reached them by wire. Afraid to trust it. You go
with Link to Agua Prieta. Take the messages sent you in Spanish. They
will protect you and secure Stewart’s freedom. Take Nels with you. Stop
for nothing. Tell Link all—trust him—let him drive that car.