Then I realized how serious my act must have seemed and I was sorry that

Jim had come and thus silently announced that he stood with me in what I

had done. No others came, although there were many who hated the Kalkars

fully as much as we.

Soor was furious; but he could not stop me. Only The Twentyfour could

take the pen away from me. He called me names and threatened me; but I

noticed that he waited until he had walked a short distance away before

he did so. It was as food to a starving man to know that even one of our

oppressors feared me. So far, this had been the happiest day of my life.

I hurriedly got the goats into the pen and then, with one of the cheeses

in my hand, I called to Soor. He turned to see what I wanted, showing

his teeth like a rat at bay.

“You told my father to bring you a present,” I yelled at the top of my

lungs, so that all about in every direction heard and turned toward us.

“Here it is!” I cried. “Here is your bribe!” and I hurled the cheese

with all my strength full in his face. He went down like a felled ox and

the people scattered like frightened rabbits. Then I went back into the

pen and started to open and arrange my hides across the fence so that

they might be inspected by prospective purchasers.

Jim, whose pen was next to ours, stood looking across the fence at me

for several minutes. At last he spoke.

“You have done a very rash thing, Julian,” he said; and then: “I envy

you.”

CHAPTER V

THE COURT-MARTIAL

That afternoon I saw a small detachment of the Kash Guard crossing the

market place. They came directly toward my pen and stopped before it.

The sergeant in charge addressed me. “You are Brother Julian 9th?” he

asked.

“I am Julian 9th,” I replied.

“You had better be Brother Julian 9th when you are addressed by Brother

General Or-tis,” he snapped back. “You are under arrest—come with me!”

“What for?” I asked.

“Brother Or-tis will tell you if you do not know—you are to be taken to

him.”

So! It had come and it had come quickly. I felt sorry for Mother; but,

in a way, I was glad. If only there had been no such person in the world

as Juana St. John I should have been almost happy, for I knew Mother and

Father would come soon, and as she had always taught me, we would be

reunited in a happy world on the other side—a world in which there were

no Kalkars or taxes—but then there was a Juana St. John and I was very

sure of this world, while not quite so sure of the other which I had

never seen.

There seemed no particular reason for refusing to accompany the Kash

Guard. They would simply have killed me with their bullets, and if I

went I might have an opportunity to wipe out some more important swine

than they before I was killed—if they intended killing me. One never

knows what they will do—other than that it will be the wrong thing.

Well, they took me to the headquarters of the teivos, way down on the

shore of the lake; but as they took me in a large wagon drawn by horses

it was not a tiresome trip, and as I was not worrying, I rather enjoyed

it. We passed through many market places, for numerous districts lie

between ours and headquarters, and always the people stared at me, just

as I had stared at other prisoners being carted away to no one knew what

fate. Sometimes they came back—sometimes they did not. I wondered which

I would do.

At last we arrived at headquarters after passing through miles of lofty

ruins where I had played and explored as a child. I was taken

immediately into Or-tis’ presence. He sat in a large room at the head of

a long table and I saw that there were other men sitting along the sides

of the table, the local representatives of that hated authority known as

The Twentyfour, the form of government that the Kalkars had brought with

them from the Moon a century before. The Twentyfour originally consisted

of a committee of that number. Now, however, it was but a name that

stood for power, for government and for tyranny. Jarth the Jemadar was,

in reality, what his lunar title indicated—emperor. Surrounding him was

a committee of twenty-four Kalkars; but as they had been appointed by

him and could be removed by him at will, they were nothing more than his

tools. And this body before which I had been haled had in our teivos the

same power as The Twentyfour which gave it birth, and so we spoke of it,

too, as The Twentyfour, or as the Teivos, as I at first thought it to

be.

Many of these men I recognized as members of the teivos. Pthav and

Hoffmeyer were there, representing our district, or misrepresenting it,

as Father always put it, yet I was presently sure that this could not be

a meeting of the teivos proper, as these were held in another building

farther south—a magnificent pillared pile of olden times that the

Government had partially restored, as they had the headquarters, which

also had been a beautiful building in a past age, its great lions still

standing on either side of its broad entranceway, facing toward the

west.

No, it was not the teivos; but what could it be, and then it dawned upon

me that it must be an arm of the new law that Or-tis had announced, and

such it proved to be—a special military tribunal for special offenders.

This was the first session, and it chanced to be my luck that I

committed my indiscretion just in time to be haled before it when it

needed someone to experiment on.

I was made to stand under guard at the foot of the table, and as I

looked up and down the rows of faces on either side, I saw not a

friendly eye—no person of my class or race—just swine, swine, swine.

Low-browed, brute-faced men, slouching in their chairs, slovenly in

their dress, uncouth, unwashed, unwholesome looking—this was the

personnel of the court that was to try me—for what?

I was soon to find out. Or-tis asked who appeared against me and what

was the charge and then I saw Soor for the first time. He should have

been in his district collecting his taxes; but he wasn’t. No, he was

here on more pleasant business. He eyed me malevolently and stated the

charge: Resisting an officer of the law in the discharge of his duty,

and assaulting same with a deadly weapon with intent to commit murder.

They all looked ferociously at me, expecting, no doubt, that I would

tremble with terror, as most of my class did before them; but I couldn’t

tremble—the charge struck me as so ridiculous. As a matter of fact, I

am afraid that I grinned. I know I did.

“What is it,” asked Or-tis, “that amuses you so?”

“The charge,” I replied.

“What is there funny about that?” he asked again—“men have been shot

for less—men who were not suspected of treasonable acts.”

“I did not resist an officer in the discharge of his duty,” I said. “It

is not one of a tax collector’s duties to put a family out of its pen at

the market place, is it?—a pen they have occupied for three

generations? I ask you, Or-tis, is it?”

Or-tis half rose from his chair. “How dare you address me thus?” he

cried.

The others turned scowling faces upon me, and beating the table with

their dirty fists they all shouted and bellowed at me at once; but I

kept my chin up as I had sworn to do until I died and I laughed in their

faces.

Finally they quieted down, and again I put my question to Or-tis and

I’ll give him credit for answering it fairly. “No,” he said, “only the

teivos may do that—the teivos or the commandant.”

“Then I did not resist an officer in the discharge of his duty;” I shot

back at them, “for I only refused to leave the pen that is mine. And now

another question. Is a cheese a deadly weapon?”

They had to admit that it was not. “He demanded a present from my

father,” I explained, “and I brought him a cheese. He had no right under

the law to demand it, and so I threw it at him and it hit him in the

face. I shall deliver thus every such illegal tithe that is demanded of

us. I have my rights under the law and I intend to see that they are

respected.”

They had never been talked to thus before, and suddenly I realized that

by merest chance I had stumbled upon the only way in which to meet these

creatures. They were moral as well as physical cowards. They could not

face an honest, fearless man—already they were showing signs of

embarrassment. They knew that I was right, and while they could have

condemned me had I bowed the knee to them they hadn’t the courage to do

it in my presence.

The natural outcome was that they sought a scape goat, and Or-tis was

not long in finding one—his baleful eye alighted upon Soor.

“Does this man speak the truth?” he cried at the tax collector. “Did you

turn him out of his pen—did he do no more than throw a cheese at you?”

Soor, a coward before those in authority over him, flushed and

stammered.

“He tried to kill me,” he mumbled lamely, “and he did almost kill

Brother Vonbulen.”

Then I told them of that—and always I spoke in a tone of authority and

I held my ground. I did not fear them and they knew it. Sometimes I

think they attributed it to some knowledge I had of something that might

be menacing them—for they were always afraid of revolution. That is why

they ground us down so.

The outcome of it was that I was let go with a warning—a warning that

if I did not address my fellows as Brother I would be punished, and even

then I gave the parting shot, for I told them I would call no man

Brother unless he was.

The whole affair was a farce; but all trials were farces, only as a rule

the joke was on the accused. They were not conducted in a dignified or

proper manner as I imagine trials in ancient times to have been. There

was neither order nor system.

I had to walk all the way home—another manifestation of justice—and I

arrived there an hour or two after supper time. I found Jim and Mollie

and Juana at the house, and I could see that Mother had been crying. She

started again when she saw me—poor Mother. I wonder if it has always

been such a terrible thing to be a mother; but no, it cannot have been,

else the human race would long since have been extinct—as the Kalkars

will rapidly make it anyway.

Jim had told them of the happenings in the market place—the episode of

the bull, the encounter with Vonbulen and the matter of Soor. For the

first time in my life, and the only time, I heard my Father laugh aloud.

Juana laughed, too; but there was still an undercurrent of terror that I

could feel, and which Mollie finally voiced.

“They will get us yet, Julian,” she said; “but what you have done is

worth dying for.”

“Yes!” cried my father, “I can go to The Butcher with a smile on my lips

after this. He has done what I always wanted to do; but dared not. If I

am a coward I can at least thank God that there sprang from my loins a

brave and fearless man.”

“You are not a coward!” I cried and Mother looked at me and smiled. I

was glad that I said that, then.

You may not understand what Father meant by “going to The Butcher;” but

it is simple. The manufacture of ammunition is a lost art—that is, the

high powered ammunition that the Kash Guard likes to use—and so they

conserve all the vast stores of ammunition that were handed down from

ancient times—millions upon millions of rounds—or they would not be

able to use the rifles that were handed down with the ammunition. They

use this ammunition only in cases of dire necessity, a fact which long

ago placed the firing squad of old in the same class with flying

machines and automobiles. Now they cut our throats when they kill us,

and the man who does it is known as The Butcher.

I walked home with Jim and Mollie and Juana; but more especially Juana.

Again I noticed that strange magnetic force which drew me to her, so

that I kept bumping into her every step or two, and intentionally I

swung my arm that was nearest to her in the hope that my hand might

touch hers, nor was I doomed to disappointment, and at every touch I

thrilled. I could not but notice that Juana made no mention of my

clumsiness, nor did she appear to attempt to prevent our contact; but

yet I was afraid of her—afraid that she would notice and afraid that

she would not. I am good with horses and goats and hellhounds; but I am

not much good with girls.

We had talked upon many subjects and I knew her views and beliefs and

she knew mine, so when we parted, and I asked her if she would go with

me on the morrow, which was the first Sunday of the month, she knew what

I meant. She said that she would, and I went home very happy, for I knew

that she and I were going to defy the common enemy side by side—that

hand in hand we would face the grim reaper for the sake of the greatest

cause on earth.

On the way I overtook Peter Johansen going in the direction of our home.

I could see that he had no mind to meet me and he immediately fell to

explaining lengthily why he was out at night, for the first thing I did

was to ask him what strange business took him abroad so often lately

after the sun had set.

I could see him flush even in the dark.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “this is the first time in months that I have gone

out after supper,” and then something about the man made me lose my

temper and I blurted out what was in my heart.

“You lie!” I cried. “You lie, you damned spy!”

And then Peter Johansen went white and suddenly whipping a knife from

his clothes he leaped at me, striking wildly for any part of me that the

blade might reach. At first he like to have got me, so unexpected and so

venomous was the attack; but though I was struck twice on the arm and

cut a little, I managed to ward the point from any vital part and in a

moment I had seized his knife wrist. That was the end—I just twisted it

a little—I did not mean to twist hard—and something snapped inside his

wrist.

Peter let out an awful scream, his knife dropped from his fingers and I

pushed him from me and gave him a good kick as he was leaving—a kick

that I think he will remember for some time. Then I picked up his knife

and hurled it as far as I could in the direction of the river, and went

on my way toward home—whistling.

When I entered the house Mother came out of her room and putting her

arms about my neck she clung closely to me.

“Dear boy,” she murmured, “I am so happy, because you are happy. She is

a dear girl and I love her as much as you do.”

“What is the matter?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you whistling,” she said, “and I knew what it meant—grown men

whistle but once in their lives.”

I picked her up in my arms and tossed her to the ceiling.

“Oh, Mother, dear!” I cried, “I wish it were true, and maybe it will be

some day—if I am not too much of a coward; but not yet.”

“Then why were you whistling?” she asked, surprised and a bit skeptical,

too, I imagine.

“I whistled,” I explained, “because I just broke the wrist of a spy and

kicked him across the road.”

“Peter?” she asked, trembling.

“Yes, Mother, Peter. I called him a spy and he tried to knife me.”

“Oh, my son!” she cried. “You did not know. It is my fault, I should

have told you. Now he will fight no more in the dark; but will come out

in the open, and when he does that I am lost.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I do not mind dying,” she said; “but they will take your father first,

because of me.”

“What do you mean?—I can understand nothing of what you are driving

at.”

“Then listen,” she said. “Peter wants me. That is the reason he is

spying on your father. If he can prove something on him, and Father is

taken to the mines or killed, Peter will claim me.”

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“Peter himself has told me that he wants me. He tried to make me leave

your dear father and go with him, and when I refused he bragged that he

was in the favor of the Kalkars and that he would get me in the end. He

has tried to buy my honor with your father’s life. That is why I have

been so afraid and so unhappy; but I knew that you and Father would

rather die than have me do that thing and so I have withstood him.”

“Did you tell Father?” I asked.

“I dared not. He would have killed Peter and that would have been the

end of us, for Peter stands high in the graces of the authorities.”

“I will kill him,” I said.

She tried to dissuade me, and finally I had to promise her that I would

wait until I had provocation that the authorities might recognize—God

knows I had provocation enough, though.

After breakfast the next day we set out singly and in different

directions, as was always our custom on the first Sunday in each month.

I went to Jim’s first to get Juana, as she did not know the way, having

never been with us. I found her ready and waiting and alone, as Jim and

Mollie had started a few minutes before, and she was seemingly very glad

to see me.

I told her nothing of Peter, as there is enough trouble in the world

without burdening people with any that does not directly threaten

them—each has plenty of his own. I led her up the river for a mile and

all the while we watched to see if we were followed. Then we found a

skiff, where I had hidden it, and crossed the river, and after hiding it

again we continued on up for a half a mile. Here was a raft that I had

made myself and on this we poled to the opposite shore; if any followed

us they must have swum, for there were no other boats on this part of

the river.

A mile west of the river is a thick forest of very old trees, and toward

this I led Juana. At its verge we sat down, ostensibly to rest; but

really to see if anyone was near who might have followed us or who could

accidentally discover our next move. There was no one in sight and so

with light hearts we arose and entered the forest.

For a quarter of a mile we made our way along a winding path and then I

turned to the left at a right angle, and entered thick brush where there

was no trail. Always we did this, never covering the last quarter of a

mile over the same route, lest we make a path that might be marked and

followed.

Presently we came to a pile of brush wood beneath one edge of which was

an opening into which, by stooping low, one might enter. It was screened

from view by a fallen tree over which had been heaped broken branches.

Even in winter time and early spring the opening in the brush beyond was

invisible to the passers-by, if there had been any passers-by, which

except upon rare occasions there were not. A man trailing lost stock

might come this way; but no others, for it was a lonely and unfrequented

spot. During the summer, the season of the year when there was the

greatest danger of discovery, the entire brush pile and its tangled

screen were hidden completely beneath a mass of wild vines, so that it

was with difficulty that we found it.

Into this opening I led Juana—taking her by the hand as one might a

blind person, although it was not so dark within that she could not see

perfectly every step she took. However, I took her by the hand, a poor

excuse being better than none. The winding tunnel beneath the brush was

a hundred yards long, perhaps—I wished then that it had been a hundred

miles—it ended abruptly before a rough stone wall in which was a heavy

door. Its oaken panels were black with age and streaked with green from

the massive hinges that ran across its entire width in three places,

while from the great lag screws that fastened them to the door, brownish

streaks of rust ran down to mingle with the green and the black. In

patches, moss grew upon it, so that all-in-all it had the appearance of

great antiquity, though even the oldest among those who knew of it at

all could only guess at its age—it had been there longer than they

could recall. Above the door, carved in the stone, was a shepherd’s

crook and the words, _Dieu et mon droit_.

Halting before this massive portal I struck the panels once with my

knuckles, counted five and struck again, once; then I counted three and,

in the same cadence, struck three times. It was the signal for the

day—never twice was it the same. Should one come with the wrong signal,

and later force the door he would find only an empty room beyond.

Now the door opened a crack and an eye peered forth, then it swung

outward and we entered a long, low room lighted by burning wicks

floating in oil. Across the width of the room were rough wooden benches

and at the far end a raised platform upon which stood Orrin Colby, the

blacksmith, behind an altar which was the sawn-off trunk of a tree, the

roots of which, legend has it, still run down into the ground beneath

the church, which is supposed to have been built around it.

CHAPTER VI

BETRAYED

There were twelve people sitting on the benches when we entered, so that

with Orrin Colby, ourselves, and the man at the door we were sixteen in

all. Colby is the head of our church, his great-grandfather having been

a Methodist minister. Father and Mother were there, sitting next to Jim

and Mollie, and there were Samuels the Jew, Betty Worth, who was Dennis

Corrigan’s woman, and all the other familiar faces.

They had been waiting for us, and as soon as we were seated the services

commenced with a prayer, everyone standing with bowed head. Orrin Colby

always delivered this same short prayer at the opening of services each

first Sunday of every month. It ran something like this:

God of our fathers, through generations of persecution and cruelty in a

world of hate that has turned against You, we stand at Your right hand,

loyal to You and to our Flag. To us Your name stands for justice,

humanity, love, happiness and right and The Flag is Your emblem. Once

each month we risk our lives that Your name may not perish from the

Earth. Amen!

From behind the altar he took a shepherd’s crook to which was attached a

flag like that in my father’s possession, and held it aloft, whereat we

all knelt in silence for a few seconds, then he replaced it and we

arose. Then we sang a song—it was an old, old song that started like

this: “Onward, Christian soldier.” It was my favorite song. Mollie

Sheehan played a violin while we sang.

Following the song Orrin Colby talked to us—he always talked about the

practical things that affected our lives and our future. It was a homely

talk; but it was full of hope for better times. I think that at these

meetings, once each month, we heard the only suggestions of hope that

ever came into our lives. There was something about Orrin Colby that

inspired confidence and hope. These days were the bright spots in our

drab existence that helped to make life bearable.

After that we sang again and then Samuels, the Jew, prayed, and the

regular service was over, after which we had short talks by various

members of our church. These talks were mostly on the subject which

dominated the minds of all—a revolution; but we never got any further

than talking. How could we? We were probably the most thoroughly

subjugated people the world ever had known—we feared our masters and we

feared our neighbors. We did not know whom we might trust, outside that

little coterie of ours, and so we dared not seek recruits for our cause

although we knew that there must be thousands who would sympathize with

us. Spies and informers were everywhere—they, The Kash Guard and The

Butcher, were the agencies by which they controlled us; but of all, we

feared most the spies and informers. For a woman, for a neighbor’s

house, and in one instance of which I know, for a setting of eggs, men

have been known to inform on their friends—sending them to the mines or

The Butcher.

Following the talks we just visited together and gossiped for an hour or

two, enjoying the rare treat of being able to speak our minds freely and

fearlessly. I had to retell several times my experiences before Or-tis’

new court-martial, and I know that it was with difficulty that they

believed that I had said the things I had to our masters and come away

free and alive. They simply could not understand it.

All were warned of Peter Johansen and the names of others under

suspicion of being informers were passed around that we might all be on

our guard against them. We did not sing again, for even on these days

that our hearts were lightest they were too heavy for song. About two

o’clock the pass signal for the next meeting was given out and then we

started away singly or in pairs. I volunteered to go last, with Juana,

and see that the door was locked, and an hour later, after the rest had

gone, we started out about five minutes behind Samuels, the Jew.

Juana and I had emerged from the wood, when we noticed a man walking

cautiously in the shade of the trees ahead of us. He seemed to be

following someone and immediately there sprang to my thoughts the

ever-near suspicion—spy.

The moment that he turned a bend in the pathway and was out of our sight

Juana and I ran forward as rapidly as we could, that we might get a

closer view of him, nor were we disappointed. We saw and recognized him,

and we also saw whom he shadowed. It was Peter Johansen, carrying one

arm in a sling, sneaking along behind Samuels.

Casting about in my mind for some plan to throw Peter off the track I

finally hit upon a scheme which I immediately put into execution. I knew

the way that the old man followed to and from church, and that presently

he would make a wide detour that would bring him back to the river about

a quarter of a mile below. Juana and I could walk straight to the spot

and arrive long before Samuels did. And this we proceeded to do.

About half an hour after we reached the point at which we knew he would

strike the river we heard him coming and withdrew into some bushes. On

he came, all oblivious of the creature on his trail, and a moment later

we saw Peter come into view and halt at the edge of the trees. Then

Juana and I stepped out and hailed Samuels.

“Did you see nothing of them?” I asked in a tone of voice loud enough to

be distinctly heard by Peter, and then before Samuels could reply I

added: “We have searched far up the river and never a sign of a goat

about—I do not believe that they came this way after all; but if they

did the hellhounds will get them after dark. Come, now, we might as well

start for home and give the search up as a bad job.”

I had talked so much and so rapidly that Samuels had guessed that I must

have some reason for it and so he held his peace, other than to say that

he had seen nothing of any goats. Not once had Juana or I let our

glances betray that we knew of Peter’s presence, though I could not help

but see him dodge behind a tree the moment that he saw us.

The three of us then continued on toward home in the shortest direction,

and on the way I whispered to Samuels what we had seen. The old man

chuckled, for he thought as I did that my ruse must have effectually

baffled Johansen—unless he had followed Moses farther than we guessed.

Very cautiously during the ensuing week the word was passed around by

means with which we were familiar that Johansen had followed Samuels

from church; but as the authorities paid no more attention to Moses than

before, we finally concluded that we had thrown Peter off the trail.

The Sunday following church we were all seated in Jim’s yard under one

of his trees that had already put forth its young leaves and afforded

shade from the sun. We had been talking of homely things—the coming

crops, the newborn kids, Mollie’s little pigs. The world seemed

unusually kindly. The authorities had not persecuted us of late—rather

they had left us alone—a respite of two weeks seemed like heaven to us.

We were quite sure by this time that Peter Johansen had discovered

nothing, and our hearts were freer than for a long time past.

We were sitting thus in quiet and contentment enjoying a brief rest from

our lives of drudgery, when we heard the pounding of horses’ hoofs upon

the hard earth of the path that leads down the river in the direction of

the market place. Suddenly the entire atmosphere changed—relaxed nerves

became suddenly taut; peaceful eyes resumed their hunted expression.

Why? The Kash Guard rides.

And so they came—fifty of them, and at their head rode Brother General

Or-tis. At the gateway of Jim’s house they drew rein and Or-tis

dismounted and entered the yard. He looked at us as a man might look at

carrion; and he gave us no greeting, which suited us perfectly. He

walked straight to Juana, who was seated on a little bench beside which

I stood leaning against the bole of the tree. None of us moved. He

halted before the girl.

“I have come to tell you,” he said to her, “that I have done you the

honor to choose you as my woman, to bear my children and keep my house

in order.”

He stood then looking at her and I could feel the hair upon my head

rise, and the corners of my upper lip twitched—I know not why. I only

know that I wanted to fly at his throat and kill him, to tear his flesh

with my teeth—to see him die! And then he looked at me and stepped

back, after which he beckoned to some of his men to enter. When they had

come, he again addressed Juana, who had risen and stood swaying to and

fro, as might one who has been dealt a heavy blow upon the head and

half-stunned.

“You may come with me now,” he said to her, and then I stepped between

them and faced him, and again he stepped back a pace.

“She will not come with you now, or ever,” I said, and my voice was very

low—not above a whisper. “She is my woman—I have taken her!”

It was a lie—the last part; but what is a lie to a man who would commit

murder in the same cause. He was among his men now—they were close

around him and I suppose they gave him courage, for he addressed me

threateningly.

“I do not care whose she is,” he cried, “I want her and I shall have

her. I speak for her now, and I speak for her when she is a widow. After

you are dead I have first choice of her and traitors do not live long.”

“I am not dead yet,” I reminded him. He turned to Juana.

“You shall have thirty days as the law requires; but you can save your

friends trouble if you come now—they will not be molested then and I

will see that their taxes are lowered.”

Juana gave a little gasp and looked around at us and then she

straightened her shoulders and came close to me.

“No!” she said to Or-tis. “I will never go. This is my man—he has taken

me. Ask him if he will give me up to you. You will never have

me—alive.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” he growled. “I believe that you are both

lying to me, for I have had you watched and I know that you do not live

under the same roof. And you!” he glared at me. “Tread carefully, for

the eyes of the law find traitors where others do not see them.” Then he

turned and strode from the yard. A minute later they were gone in a

cloud of dust.

Now our happiness and peace had fled—it was always thus—and there was

no hope. I dared not look at Juana after what I had said; but then, had

she not said the same thing? We all talked lamely for a few minutes and

then Father and Mother rose to go, and a moment later Jim and Mollie

went indoors. I turned to Juana. She stood with her eyes upon the ground

and a pretty flush upon her cheek. Something surged up in me—a mighty

force, that I had never known, possessed me, and before I realized what

it impelled me to do I had seized Juana in my arms and was covering her

face and lips with kisses.

She fought to free herself; but I would not let her go.

“You are mine!” I cried. “You are my woman. I have said it—you have

said. You are my woman. God, how I love you!”

She lay quiet then, and let me kiss her, and presently her arms stole

about my neck and her lips sought mine in an interval that I had drawn

them away, and they moved upon my lips in a gentle caress, that was yet

palpitant with passion. This was a new Juana—a new and very wonderful

Juana.

“You really love me?” she asked at last—“I heard you say it!”

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you looking up at me from

beneath the hellhound,” I replied.

“You have kept it very much of a secret to yourself then,” she teased

me. “If you loved me so, why did you not tell me? Were you going to keep

it from me all my life, or—were you afraid? Brother Or-tis was not

afraid to say that he wanted me—is my man, my Julian, less brave than

he?”

I knew that she was only teasing me, and so I stopped her mouth with

kisses and then: “Had you been a hellhound, or Soor, or even Or-tis,” I

said, “I could have told you what I thought of you; but being Juana and

a little girl the words would not come. I am a great coward.”

We talked until it was time to go home to supper and I took her hand to

lead her to my house. “But first,” I said, “you must tell Mollie and Jim

what has happened, and that you will not be back. For a while we can

live under my father’s roof; but as soon as may be I will get permission

from the teivos to take the adjoining land and work it and then I shall

build a house.”

She drew back and flushed. “I cannot go with you yet,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You are mine!”

“We have not been married,” she whispered.

“But no one is married,” I reminded her. “Marriage is against the law.”

“My mother was married,” she told me. “You and I can be married. We have

a church and a preacher. Why cannot he marry us? He is not ordained

because there is none to ordain him; but being the head of the only

church that he knows of or that we know of, it is evident that he can be

ordained only by God and who knows but that he already has been

ordained!”

I tried to argue her out of it, as now that heaven was so near I had no

mind to wait three weeks to attain it; but she would not argue—she just

shook her head and at last I saw that she was right and gave in—as I

would have had to do in any event.

I went to Pthav, who was one of our representatives in the teivos, and

asked him to procure for me permission to work the vacant land adjoining

my father’s. The land all belonged to the community; but each man was

allowed what he could work as long as there was plenty, and there was

more than plenty for us all.

Pthav was very ugly—he seemed to have forgotten that I had saved his

child’s life—and said that he did not know what he could do for

me—that I had acted very badly to General Or-tis and was in disfavor,

beside being under suspicion in another matter.

“What has General Or-tis to do with the distribution of land by the

teivos?” I asked. “Because he wants my woman will the teivos deny me my

rights?”

Pthav’s woman came in while I was talking and recognized me; but she

said nothing to me other than to mention that the child had asked for

me. Pthav scowled at this and ordered her from the room just as a man

might order a beast around. It was nothing to me, though, as the woman

was a renegade anyway.

Finally I demanded of Pthav that he obtain the concession for me unless

he could give me some valid reason for refusing.

“I will ask it,” he said, finally; “but you will not get it—be sure of

that.”

As I was leaving the house Pthav’s woman stopped me. “I will do what I

can for you,” she whispered. She must have seen me draw away

instinctively as from an unclean thing, for she flushed and then said:

“Please don’t! I have suffered enough. I have paid the price of my

treachery; but know, Yank,” and she put her lips close to my ear, “that

at heart I am more Yank than I was when I did this thing. And,” she

continued, “I have never spoken a word that could harm one of you. Tell

them that—please tell them! I do not want them to hate me so, and God

of our Fathers, how I have suffered—the degradation, the

humiliation—it has been worse than what you are made to suffer. The

creatures are lower than the beasts of the forest. When his friends come

he serves them food and drink and—me! Ugh! I could kill him, if I were

not such a coward. I have seen and I know how they can make one suffer

before death.”

I could not but feel sorry for her, and I told her so. The poor creature

appeared very grateful and assured me that she would aid me.

“I know a few things about Pthav that he would not want Or-tis to know,”

she said, “and even though he beats me for it I will make him get the

land for you.”

Again I thanked her and departed, realizing that there were others worse

off than we—that the closer one came to the Kalkars the more hideous

life became.

At last the day came and we set out for the church. As before I took

Juana, though she tried to order it differently; but I would not trust

her to the protection of another. We arrived without mishap—sixteen of

us—and after the religious services were over Juana and I stood before

the altar and were married—much after the fashion of the ancients, I

imagine.

Juana was the only one of us who was at all sure about the ceremony and

it had been she who trained Orrin Colby—making him memorize so much

that he said his head ached for a week. All I can recall of it is that

he asked me if I would take her to be my lawfully wedded wife—I lost my

voice and only squeaked a weak “yes”—and that he pronounced us man and

wife, and then something about not letting anyone put asunder what God

had joined together. I felt very much married and very happy, and then

just as it was all nicely over and everybody was shaking hands with us

there came a loud knocking at the door and the command: “Open, in the

name of the law!”

We looked at one another and gasped. Orrin Colby put a finger to his

lips for silence and led the way toward the back of the church where a

rough niche was built in, containing a few shelves upon which stood

several rude candle sticks. We knew our parts and followed him in

silence, except one who went quickly about putting out the lights. All

the time the pounding on the door became more insistent, and then we

could hear the strokes of what must have been an ax beating at the

panels. Finally, a shot was fired through the heavy wood and we knew

that it was the Kash Guard.

Taking hold of the lower shelf Orrin pulled upward with all his strength

with the result that all the shelving and woodwork to which it was

attached slid upward revealing an opening beyond. Through this we filed,

one by one, down a flight of stone steps into a dark tunnel. When the

last man had passed I lowered the shelving to its former place, being

careful to see that it fitted tightly.

Then I turned and followed the others, Juana’s hand in mine. We groped

our way for some little distance in the stygian darkness of the tunnel

until Orrin halted and whispered to me to come to him. I went and stood

at his side while he told me what I was to do. He had called upon me

because I was the tallest and the strongest of the men. Above us was a

wooden trap. I was to lift this and push it aside.

It had not been moved for generations and was very heavy with earth and

growing things above; but I put my shoulders to it and it had to

give—either it or the ground beneath my feet and that could not give.

At last I had it off and in a few minutes I had helped them all out into

the midst of a dense wood. Again we knew our parts, for many times had

we been coached for just such an emergency, and one by one the men

scattered in different directions, each taking his woman with him.

Suiting our movements to a prearranged plan, we reached our homes from

different directions and at different times, some arriving after

sundown, to the end that were we watched, none might be sure that we had

been upon the same errand or to the same place.

CHAPTER VII

THE ARREST OF JULIAN 8TH

A week later, Pthav sent for me and very gruffly told me that the teivos

had issued the permit for me to use the land adjoining that allotted to

my father. As before, his woman stopped me as I was leaving.

“It was easier than I thought,” she told me, “for Or-tis has angered the

teivos by attempting to usurp all its powers and knowing that he hates

you they were glad to grant your petition over his objection.”

During the next two or three months I was busy building our home and

getting my place in order. I had decided to raise horses and obtained

permission from the teivos to do so—again over Or-tis’ objections. Of

course the government controlled the entire horse traffic; but there

were a few skilled horsemen permitted to raise them, though at any time

their herds could be commandeered by the authorities. I knew that it

might not be a very profitable business; but I loved horses and wanted

to have just a few—a stallion and two or three mares. These I could use

in tilling my fields and in the heavier work of hauling, and at the same

time I would keep a few goats, pigs and chickens to insure us a living.

Father gave me half his goats and a few chickens, and from Jim I bought

two young sows and a boar. Later I traded a few goats to the teivos for

two old mares that they thought were no longer worth keeping and that

same day I was told of a stallion—a young outlaw—that Hoffmeyer had.

The beast was five years old and so vicious that none dared approach him

and they were on the point of destroying him.

I went to Hoffmeyer and asked if I could buy the animal—I offered him a

goat for it, which he was glad to accept and then I took a strong rope

and went to get my property. I found a beautiful bay with the temper of

a hellhound. When I attempted to enter the pen he rushed at me with ears

back and jaws distended; but I knew that I must conquer him now or never

and so I met him with only a rope in my hand, nor did I wait for him.

Instead, I ran to meet him and when he was in reach I struck him once

across the face with the rope, at which he wheeled and let both hind

feet fly out at me. Then I cast the noose that was at one end of the

rope and caught him about the neck and for half an hour we had a battle

of it.

I never struck him unless he tried to bite or strike me and finally I

must have convinced him that I was master, for he let me come close

enough to stroke his glossy neck, though he snorted loudly all the while

that I did so. When I had quieted him a bit I managed to get a half

hitch around his lower jaw and after that I had no difficulty in leading

him from the pen. Once in the open I took the coils of my rope in my

left hand and before the creature knew what I was about, had vaulted to

his back.

He fought fair, I’ll say that for him, for he stood on his feet; but for

fifteen minutes he brought into play every artifice known to horse-kind

for unseating a rider. Only my skill and my great strength kept me on

his back and at that even the Kalkars who were looking on had to applaud

my horsemanship.

After that it was easy. I treated him with kindness, something he had

never known before, and as he was an unusually intelligent animal, he

soon learned that I was not only his master but his friend, and from

being an outlaw he became one of the kindest and most tractable animals

I have ever seen, so much so in fact, that Juana used to ride him

bareback.

I love all horses and always have; but I think I never loved any animal

as I did Red Lightning, as we named him.

The authorities left us pretty well alone for some time because they

were quarreling among themselves. Jim said there was an ancient saying

about honest men getting a little peace when thieves fell out and it

certainly fitted our case perfectly; but the peace didn’t last forever

and when it broke the bolt that fell was the worst calamity that had

ever come to us.

One evening Father was arrested for trading at night and taken away by

the Kash Guard. They got him as he was returning to the house from the

goat pens and would not even permit him to bid good-bye to Mother. Juana

and I were eating supper in our own house about three hundred yards away

and never knew anything about it until Mother came running over to tell

us. She said that it was all done so quickly that they had Father and

were gone before she could run from the house to where they arrested

him. They had a spare horse and hustled him onto it—then they galloped

away toward the lake front. It seems strange that neither Juana nor I

heard the hoof beats of the horses; but we did not.

I went immediately to Pthav and demanded to know why Father had been

arrested; but he professed ignorance of the whole affair. I had ridden

to his place on Red Lightning and from there I started to the Kash Guard

barracks where the military prison is. It is contrary to law to approach

the barracks after sunset without permission, so I left Red Lightning in

the shadow of some ruins a hundred yards away and started on foot toward

that part of the post where I knew the prison to be located. The latter

consists of a high stockade around the inside of which are rude shelters

upon the roofs of which armed guards patrol. The center of the rectangle

is an open court where the prisoners exercise, cook their food, and wash

their clothing—if they care to. There are seldom more than fifty

confined here at a time as it is only a detention camp where they hold

those who are awaiting trial and those who have been sentenced to the

mines. The latter are usually taken away when there are from twenty-five

to forty of them.

After I reached the stockade I was at a loss to communicate with my

father, since any noise I might make would doubtless attract the

attention of the guard; but finally, through a crack between two boards,

I attracted the attention of a prisoner. The man came close to the

stockade and I whispered to him that I wished to speak with Julian 8th.

By luck I had happened upon a decent fellow, and it was not long before

he had brought Father and I was talking with him, in low whispers.

He told me that he had been arrested for trading by night and that he

was to be tried on the morrow. I asked him if he would like to

escape—that I would find the means if he wished me to, but he said that

he was innocent of the charge as he had not been off our farm at night

for months and that doubtless it was a case of mistaken identity and

that he would be freed in the morning.

I had my doubts; but he would not listen to escape as he argued that it

would prove his guilt and then they would have him for sure.

“Where may I go,” he asked, “if I escape? I might hide in the woods; but

what a life! I could never return to your mother, and so sure am I that

they can prove nothing against me that I would rather stand trial than

face the future as an outlaw.”

I think now that he refused my offer of assistance not because he

expected to be released but rather that he feared that evil might befall

me were I to connive at his escape. At any rate I did nothing, since he

would not let me, and went home again with a heavy heart and dismal

forebodings.

Trials before the teivos were public, or at least were supposed to be,

though they made it so uncomfortable for spectators that few, if any,

had the temerity to attend; but under Jarth’s new rule the proceedings

of the military courts were secret and Father was tried before such a

court.

CHAPTER VIII

I HORSEWHIP AN OFFICER

We passed days of mental anguish—hearing nothing, knowing nothing—and

then one evening a single Kash Guard rode up to Father’s house. Juana

and I were there with Mother. The fellow dismounted and knocked at the

door—a most unusual courtesy from one of these. He entered at my

bidding and stood there a moment looking at Mother. He was only a lad—a

big, overgrown boy, and there was neither cruelty in his eyes nor the

mark of the beast in any of his features. His mother’s blood evidently

predominated, and he was unquestionably not all Kalkar. Presently he

spoke.

“Which is Julian 8th’s woman?” he asked; but he looked at Mother as

though he already guessed.

“I am,” said Mother.

The lad shuffled his feet and caught his breath—it was like a stifled

sob.

“I am sorry,” he said, “that I bring you such sad news,” and then we

guessed that the worst had happened.

“The mines?” Mother asked him, and he nodded affirmatively.

“Ten years!” he exclaimed, as one might announce a sentence of death,

for such it was. “He never had a chance,” he volunteered. “It was a

terrible thing. They are beasts!”

I could not but show my surprise that a Kash Guard should speak so of

his own kind, and he must have seen it in my face.

“We are not all beasts,” he hastened to exclaim.

I commenced to question him then and I found that he had been a sentry

at the door during the trial and had heard it all. There had been but

one witness—the man who had informed on Father, and Father had been

given no chance to make any defense.

I asked him who the informer was.

“I am not sure of the name,” he replied; “he was a tall,

stoop-shouldered man. I think I heard him called Peter.”

But I had known even before I asked. I looked at Mother and saw that she

was dry-eyed and that her mouth had suddenly hardened into a firmness of

expression such as I had never dreamed it could assume.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“No,” replied the youth, “it is not. I am instructed to notify you that

you have thirty days to take another man, or vacate these premises,” and

then he took a step toward Mother. “I am sorry, Madam,” he said. “It is

very cruel; but what are we to do? It becomes worse each day. Now they

are grinding down even the Kash Guard, so that there are many of us

who—;” but he stopped suddenly as though realizing that he was on the

point of speaking treason to strangers, and turning on his heel he quit

the house and a moment later was galloping away.

I expected Mother to break down then; but she did not. She was very

brave; but there was a new and terrible expression in her eyes—those

eyes that had shone forth always with love. Now they were bitter,

hate-filled eyes. She did not weep—I wish to God she had. Instead she

did that which I had never known her to do before—she laughed aloud.

Upon the slightest pretext, or upon no pretext at all, she laughed. We

were afraid for her.

The suggestion dropped by the Kash Guard started in my mind a train of

thought of which I spoke to Mother and Juana, and after that Mother

seemed more normal for a while, as though I had aroused hope, however

feeble, where there had been no hope before. I pointed out that if the

Kash Guard was dissatisfied, the time was ripe for revolution, for if we

could get only a part of them to join us there would surely be enough of

us to overthrow those who remained loyal to The Flag. Then we would

liberate all prisoners and set up a republic of our own such as the

ancients had had.

It took time to develop my plan. I talked with everyone I could trust

and found them all willing to join me when we had enough. In the

meantime, I cared for my own place and Father’s as well—I was very busy

and time flew rapidly.

About a month after Father was taken away, I came home one day with

Juana who had accompanied me up-river in search of a goat that had

strayed. We had found its carcass, or rather its bones, where the

hellhounds had left them. Mother was not at our house, where she now

spent most of her time, so I went over to Father’s to get her. As I

approached the door I heard sounds of an altercation and scuffling that

made me cover the few remaining yards at a rapid run.

Without waiting to knock, as Mother had taught me always to do, I burst

into the living room to discover Mother in the clutches of Peter

Johansen. She was trying to fight him off; but he was forcing her slowly

toward her bedroom, for he was a large and powerful man. He heard me

just as I leaped for him and turning, grappled with me. He tried to hold

me off with one hand then while he drew his knife; but I struck him in

the face with one fist and knocked him from me, way across the room. He

was up again in an instant, bleeding from nose and mouth, and back at me

with his knife in his hand, slashing furiously. Again I struck him and

knocked him down and when he arose and came again I seized his

knife-hand and tore the weapon from him. He had no slightest chance

against me, and he saw it soon, for he commenced to back away and beg

for mercy.

“Kill him, Julian,” said Mother; “kill the murderer of your father.”

I did not need her appeal to influence me, for the moment that I had

seen Peter there I knew my long awaited time had come to kill him. He

commenced to cry then—great tears ran down his cheeks and he bolted for

the door and tried to escape. It was my pleasure to play with him as a

cat plays with a mouse.

I kept him from the door, seizing him and hurling him bodily across the

room, and then I let him reach the window, through which he tried to

crawl—and I permitted him to get so far that he thought he was about to

escape and then I seized him again and dragged him back to the floor and

lifting him to his feet I made him fight.

I struck him lightly in the face many times and then I laid him on his

back across the table and kneeling on his chest I spoke to him, softly.

“You had my friend, old Samuels, murdered and my father, too, and now

you come to befoul my mother. What did you expect, swine, but this? Have

you no intelligence? You must have known that I would kill you—speak!”

“They said that they would get you today,” he whimpered. “They lied to

me. They went back on me. They told me that you would be in the pen at

the barracks before noon. Damn them, they lied to me!”

So! that was how it was, eh? And the lucky circumstance of the strayed

goat had saved me to avenge my father and succor my mother; but they

would come yet. I must hurry or they might come before I was through,

and so I took his head between my hands and bent his neck far back over

the edge of the table until I heard his spine part—and that was the end

of the vilest traitor who ever lived—one who professed friendship

openly and secretly conspired to ruin us. In broad daylight I carried

his body to the river and threw it in. I was past caring what they knew.

They were coming for me and they would have their way with me whether

they had any pretext or not; but they would have to pay a price for me,

that I determined, and I got my knife and strapped it in its scabbard

about my waist beneath my shirt; but they did not come—they had lied to

Peter just as they lie to everyone.

The next day was market day and tax day, so I went to market with the

necessary goats and produce to make my trades and pay my taxes. As Soor

passed around the market place making his collections, or rather his

levies, for we had to deliver the stuff to his place ourselves, I saw

from the excited conversation of those in his wake that he was spreading

alarm and consternation among the people of the commune.

I wondered what it might all be about, nor had I long to wait to

discover, for he soon reached me. He could neither read nor write; but

he had a form furnished by the government upon which were numbers that

the agents were taught how to read and which stood for various classes

of produce, livestock and manufactures. In columns beneath these numbers

he made marks during the month for the amounts of my trades in each

item—it was all crude, of course, and inaccurate; but as they always

overcharged us and then added something to make up for any errors they

might have made to our credit, the government was satisfied, even if we

were not.

Being able to read and write, as well as to figure, I always knew to a

dot just what was due from me in tax and I always had an argument with

Soor, from which Government emerged victorious every time.

This month I should have owed him one goat, but he demanded three.

“How is that?” I asked.

“Under the old rate you owed me the equivalent of a goat and a half; but

since the tax had been doubled under the new law you owe me three

goats.” Then it was I knew the cause of the excitement in other parts of

the market place.

“How do you expect us to live if you take everything from us?” I asked.

“The government does not care whether you live or not,” he replied, “as

long as you pay taxes while you do live.”

“I will pay the three goats,” I said, “because I have to; but next

market day I will bring you a present of the hardest cheese I can find.”

He did not say anything, for he was afraid of me unless he was

surrounded by Kash Guards; but he looked ugly.

The commander of the Kash Guard company must have noticed the crowd

around us, for he rode straight toward me, alone. I would not give him

the satisfaction of thinking that I feared him and so I stood there

waiting.

The officer reined in before me.

“What are you doing here?” he barked.

“Minding my own business, as you had better do,” I replied.

“You swine are becoming insufferable,” he cried. “Get to your pen, where

you belong—I will stand for no mobs and no insolence.”

I just stood there looking at him; but there was murder in my heart. He

loosened the bull-hide whip that hung at the pommel of his saddle.

“You have to be driven, do you?” He was livid with sudden anger and his

voice almost a scream. Then he struck at me—a vicious blow—with the

heavy whip—struck at my face. I dodged the lash and seized it,

wrenching it from his puny grasp and then I caught his bridle and though

his horse plunged and fought, I lashed the rider with all my strength a

dozen times, before he tumbled from the saddle to the trampled earth of

the market place.

Then his men were upon me and I went down from a blow on the head. They

bound my hands while I was unconscious and then hustled me roughly into

a saddle. I was half dazed during the awful ride that ensued—we rode to

the military prison at the barracks and all the way that fiend of a

captain rode beside me and lashed me with his bull-hide whip.

CHAPTER IX

REVOLUTION

Then they threw me into the pen where the prisoners were kept, and after

they had left I was surrounded by the other unfortunates incarcerated

there. When they learned what I had done they shook their heads and

sighed. It would be all over with me in the morning, they said—nothing

less than The Butcher for such an offense as mine.

I lay upon the hard ground, bruised and sore, thinking not of my future

but of what was to befall Juana and Mother if I too, were taken from

them, and the thought gave me new strength and made me forget my hurts,

for my mind was busy with plans, mostly impossible plans, for

escape—and vengeance. Vengeance was often uppermost in my mind.

Above my head at intervals, I heard the pacing of the sentry upon the

roof. I could tell, of course, each time that he passed and the

direction in which he was going. It required about five minutes for him

to pass above me, reach the end of his post and return—that was when he

went west. Going east he took but a trifle over two minutes. Therefore,

when he passed me going west his back was toward me for about two and a

half minutes; but when he went east it was only for about a minute that

his face was turned from the spot where I lay.

Of course he could not see me while I lay beneath the shed; but my

plan—the one I finally decided upon—did not include remaining in the

shed. I had evolved several subtle schemes for escape; but finally cast

them all aside and chose, instead, the boldest that occurred to me. I

knew that at best the chances were small that I could succeed in any

plan and therefore the boldest seemed as likely as any other and it at

least had the advantage of speedy results—I would be free or I would be

dead in a few brief moments after I essayed it.

I waited therefore, until the other prisoners had quieted down and

comparative silence in the direction of the barracks and the parade

assured me that there were few abroad. The sentry came and went and came

again upon his monotonous round. Now he was coming toward me from the

east and I was ready, standing just outside the shed beneath the low

eaves which I could reach by jumping. I heard him pass and gave him a

full minute to gain the distance I thought necessary to drown the sounds

of my attempt from his ears and then I leaped for the eaves, caught with

my fingers and drew myself quickly to the roof.

I thought that I did it very quietly, but the fellow must have had the

ears of a hellhound, for no more had I drawn my feet beneath me for the

quick run across the roof than a challenge rang out from the direction

of the sentry and almost simultaneously the report of a rifle.

Instantly all was pandemonium. Guards ran, shouting, from all

directions, lights flashed in the barracks, rifles spoke from either

side of me and from behind me, while from below rose the dismal howlings

of the prisoners. It seemed then that a hundred men had known of my plan

and been lying in wait for me; but I was launched upon it and even

though I had regretted it, there was nothing to do but carry it through

to whatever was its allotted end.

It seemed a miracle that none of the bullets struck me; but of course,

it was dark and I was moving rapidly. It takes seconds to tell about it,

but it required less than a second for me to dash across the roof and

leap to the open ground beyond the prison pen. I saw lights moving west

of me, and so I ran east toward the lake and presently the firing ceased

as they lost sight of me, though I could hear sounds of pursuit.

Nevertheless, I felt that I had succeeded and was congratulating myself

upon the ease with which I had accomplished the seemingly impossible

when there suddenly rose before me out of the black night the figure of

a huge soldier pointing a rifle point blank at me. He issued no

challenge nor asked any question—just pulled the trigger. I could hear

the hammer strike the firing pin, but there was no explosion. I did not

know what the reason was, nor did I ever know. All that was apparent was

that the rifle missed fire and then he brought his bayonet into play

while I was springing toward him.

Foolish man! But then he did not know that it was Julian 9th he faced.

Pitifully, futilely he thrust at me and with one hand I seized the rifle

and tore it from his grasp. In the same movement I swung it behind me

and above my head, bringing it down with all the strength of one arm

upon his thick skull. Like a felled ox he tumbled to his knees and then

sprawled forward upon his face—his head crushed to a pulp. He never

knew how he died.

Behind me I heard them coming closer and they must have seen me, for

they opened fire again and I heard the beat of horses’ hoofs upon my

right and left. They were surrounding me upon three sides and upon the

fourth was the great lake. A moment later I was standing upon the edge

of the ancient breakwater while behind me rose the triumphant cries of

my pursuers. They had seen me and they knew that I was theirs.

At least, they thought they knew so. I did not wait for them to come

closer; but raising my hands above me I dove head foremost into the cool

waters of the lake, and swimming rapidly beneath the surface I kept

close in the shadows and headed north. I had spent much of my summer

life in the water of the river so that I was as much at home in that

liquid element as in air; but this of course, the Kash Guard did not

know, for even had they known that Julian 9th could swim they could not

at that time have known which prisoner it was who had escaped and so I

think they must have thought what I wanted them to think—that I had

chosen self-drowning to recapture.

However I was sure they would search the shore in both directions and so

I kept to the water after I came to the surface and when I was sure that

no one was directly above me I swam farther out until I felt there was

little danger of being seen from shore, for it was a dark night. And

thus I swam on until I thought I was opposite the mouth of the river,

when I turned toward the west, searching for it. Luck was with me. I

swam directly into it and a short distance up the sluggish stream before

I knew that I was out of the lake; but even then I did not take to the

shore, preferring to pass the heart of the ancient city before trusting

myself to land.

At last I came out upon the north bank of the river, which is farthest

from the Kash Guard barracks and made my way as swiftly as possible up

stream in the direction of my home. Here, hours later, I found an

anxious Juana awaiting me, for already she had heard what had transpired

in the market place. I had made my plans and had soon explained them to

Juana and Mother. There was nothing for them but to acquiesce, as only

death could be our lot if we remained in our homes another day. I was

astonished even, that they had not already fallen upon Juana and Mother.

As it was, they might come any minute—there was no time to lose.

Hastily wrapping up a few belongings I took The Flag from its hiding

place above the mantel and tucked it in my shirt—then we were ready.

Going to the pens we caught up Red Lightning and the two mares and three

of my best milk goats. These latter we tied, and after Juana and Mother

had mounted the mares I laid one goat in front of each across a mare’s

withers and the third before myself upon Red Lightning, who did not

relish the strange burden and gave me considerable trouble at first.

We rode out up-river, leaving the pens open that the goats might scatter

and possibly cover our trail until we could turn off the dusty path

beyond Jim’s house. We dared not stop to bid Jim and Mollie good-bye,

lest we be apprehended there by our enemies and bring trouble to our

good friends. It was a sad occasion for poor Mother, leaving thus her

home and those dear neighbors who had been as close to her as her own

people; but she was as brave as Juana, nor once did either of them

attempt to dissuade me from the wild scheme I had outlined to them.

Instead they encouraged me and Juana laid her hand upon my arm as I rode

beside her, saying: “I would rather that you died thus than that we

lived on as downtrodden serfs, without happiness and without hope.”

“I shall not die,” I said, “until my work is done at least, and then if

die I must, I shall be content to know that I leave a happier country

for my fellow men to live in.”

“Amen!” whispered Juana.

That night I hid them in the ruins of the old church which we found had

been partially burned by the Kalkars. For a moment I held them in my

arms—my mother and my wife—and then I left them to ride toward the

southwest and the coal mines. The mines lie about fifty miles

away—those to which our people are sent—and west of south, according

to what I had heard. I had never been to them; but I knew that I must

find the bed of an ancient canal and follow it through the district of

Joliet and between fifteen and twenty miles beyond, where I must turn

south, and after passing a large lake, I would presently come to the

mines. I rode the balance of the night and into the morning until I

commenced to see people astir in the thinly populated country through

which I passed. Then I hid in a wood through which a stream wound and

here found pasture for Red Lightning and rest for myself. I had brought

no food, leaving what little bread and cheese we had brought from the

house for Mother and Juana. I did not expect to be gone over a week and

I knew that with goat’s milk and what they had on hand in addition to

what they could find growing wild, there would be no danger of

starvation before I returned—after which we expected to live in peace

and plenty for the rest of our days.

My journey was less eventful than I had anticipated. I passed through a

few ruined villages and towns of greater or less antiquity, the largest

of which was ancient Joliet, which was abandoned during the plague of

fifty years ago, the teivos headquarters and station being removed

directly west a few miles to the banks of a little river. Much of the

territory I traversed was covered with thick woods, though here and

there were the remnants of clearings that must once have been farms

which were not yet entirely reclaimed by nature. Now and again I passed

those gaunt and lonely towers in which the ancients stored the winter

feed for their stock. Those that have endured were of concrete, and some

showed but little the ravages of time, other than the dense vines that

often covered them from base to capital, while several were in the midst

of thick forests with old trees almost entwining them, so quickly does

nature reclaim her own when man has been displaced.

After I passed Joliet I had to make inquiries, and this I did boldly of

the few men I saw laboring in the tiny fields scattered along my way.

They were poor clods, these descendants of ancient America’s rich and

powerful farming class—those people of olden times whose selfishness

had sought to throw the burden of taxation upon the city dwellers where

the ignorant foreign classes were most numerous and had thus added their

bit to fomenting the discontent that had worked the downfall of a

glorious nation. They themselves suffered much before they died, but

nothing by comparison with the humiliation and degradation of their

descendants—an illiterate, degraded, starving race.

Early in the second morning I came within sight of the stockade about

the mines. Even at a distance I could see that it was a weak,

dilapidated thing and that the sentries pacing along its top were all

that held the prisoners within. As a matter of fact, many escaped; but

they were soon hunted down and killed as the farmers in the neighborhood

always informed on them, since the commandant at the prison had

conceived the fiendish plan of slaying one farmer for every prisoner who

escaped and was not recaught.

I hid until night and then cautiously I approached the stockade, leaving

Red Lightning securely tied in the woods. It was no trick to reach the

stockade, so thoroughly was I hidden by the rank vegetation growing upon

the outside. From a place of concealment I watched the sentry, a big

fellow, but apparently a dull clod who walked with his chin upon his

breast and with the appearance of being half asleep.

The stockade was not high and the whole construction was similar to that

of the prison pen at Chicago, evidently having been designed by the same

commandant in years gone by. I could hear the prisoners conversing in

the shed beyond the wall and presently, when one came near to where I

listened, I tried to attract his attention by making a hissing sound.

After what seemed a long time to me, he heard me; but even then it was

some time before he appeared to grasp the idea that someone was trying

to attract his attention. When he did he moved closer and tried to peer

through one of the cracks; but as it was dark outside he could see

nothing.

“Are you a Yank?” I asked. “If you are, I am a friend.”

“I am a Yank,” he replied. “Did you expect to find a Kalkar working in

the mines?”

“Do you know a prisoner called Julian 8th?” I inquired.

He seemed to be thinking for a moment and then he said: “I seem to have

heard the name. What do you want of him?”

“I want to speak to him—I am his son.”

“Wait!” he whispered. “I think that I heard a man speak that name today.

I will find out—he is near by.”

I waited for perhaps ten minutes when I heard someone approaching from

the inside and presently a voice asked if I was still there.

“Yes,” I said; “is that you, Father?” for I thought that the tones were

his.

“Julian, my son!” came to me almost as a sob. “What are you doing here?”

Briefly I told him and then of my plan. “Have the convicts the courage

to attempt it?” I asked in conclusion.

“I do not know,” he said, and I could not but note the tone of utter

hopelessness in his voice. “They would wish to; but here our spirits and

our bodies both are broken. I do not know how many would have the

courage to attempt it. Wait and I will talk with some of them—all are

loyal; but just weak from overwork, starvation and abuse.”

I waited for the better part of an hour before he returned. “Some will

help,” he said, “from the first, and others if we are successful. Do you

think it worth the risk—they will kill you if you fail—they will kill

us all.”

“And what is death to that which you are suffering?” I asked.

“I know,” he said; “but the worm impaled upon the hook still struggles

and hopes for life. Turn back, my son, we can do nothing against them.”

“I shall not turn back,” I whispered. “I shall not turn back.”

“I will help you; but I cannot speak for the others.”

We had spoken only when the sentry had been at a distance, falling into

silence each time he approached the point where we stood. In the

intervals of silence I could hear the growing restlessness of the

prisoners and I guessed that what I had said to the first man was being

passed around from mouth to mouth within until already the whole

adjacent shed was seething with something akin to excitement. I wondered

if it would arouse their spirit sufficiently to carry them through the

next ten minutes. If it did, success was assured.

Father had told me all that I wanted to know—the location of the guard

house and the barracks and the number of Kash Guard posted here—only

fifty men to guard five thousand! How much more eloquently than words

did this fact bespeak the humiliation of the American people and the

utter contempt in which our scurvy masters held us—fifty men to guard

five thousand!

And then I started putting my plan into execution—a mad plan which had

only its madness to recommend it. The sentry approached and came

opposite where I stood, and I leaped for the eaves as I had leaped for

the eaves of the prison pen at Chicago, only this time I leaped from the

outside where the eaves are closer to the ground and so the task was

easier. I leaped for them and caught them, and then I scrambled up

behind the sentry and before his dull wits told him that there was

someone behind him I was upon his back and the same fingers that threw a

mad bull closed upon his wind pipe. The struggle was brief—he died

quickly and I lowered him to the roof. Then I took his uniform from him

and donned it, with his ammunition belt, and I took his bayonetted rifle

and started out upon his post, walking with slow tread and with my chin

upon my breast as he had walked.

At the end of my post I waited for the sentry I saw coming upon the next

and when he was close to me I turned back and he turned back away from

me and then I wheeled and struck him an awful blow upon the head with my

rifle. He died more quickly than the other—instantly, I should say.

I took his rifle and ammunition from him and lowered them inside the pen

to waiting hands, and then I went on to the next sentry and the next,

until I had slain five more and passed their rifles to the prisoners

below and while I was doing this, five prisoners who had volunteered to

Father climbed to the roof of the shed and stripped the dead men of

their uniforms and donned them.

It was all done quietly and in the black night none might see what was

going on fifty feet away. I had to stop when I came near to the guard

house. There I turned back and presently slid into the pen with my

accomplices who had been going among the other prisoners with Father,

arousing them to mutiny. Now were most of them ready to follow me, for

so far my plan had proven successful. With equal quietness we overcame

the men at the guard house and then moved on in a silent body toward the

barracks.

So sudden and so unexpected was our attack that we met with little

resistance and we were almost five thousand to forty now. We swarmed in

upon them like wild bees upon a foe and we shot them and bayonetted them

until none remained alive. Not one escaped. And now we were flushed with

success so that the most spiritless became a veritable lion for courage.

We who had taken the uniforms of the Kash Guard discarded them for our

own garb as we had no mind to go abroad in the hated livery of our

oppressors. That very night we saddled their horses with the fifty

saddles that were there and fifty men rode the balance of the horses

bareback—that made one hundred mounted men and the others were to

follow on foot—on to Chicago. On to Chicago, was our first slogan.

We traveled cautiously, though I had difficulty in making them do so, so

intoxicated were they with their first success. I wanted to save the

horses and also I wanted to get as many men into Chicago as possible, so

we let the weakest ride, though I had a time of it getting Red Lightning

to permit another on his sleek back.

Some fell out upon the way, from exhaustion or from fear, for the nearer

Chicago we approached the more their courage ebbed. The very thought of

the feared Kalkars and their Kash Guards took the marrow from the hearts

of many. I do not know that one may blame them, for the spirit of man

can endure only so much and when it is broken only a miracle can mend it

in the same generation.

We reached the ruined church a week from the day I left Mother and Juana

there and we reached it with less than two thousand men, so rapid had

been the desertions in the last few miles before we entered the

district.

Father and I could scarcely wait to see our loved ones and so we rode on

ahead to greet them, and inside the church we found three dead goats and

a dying woman—my mother with a knife protruding from her breast. She

was still conscious when we entered and I saw a great light of happiness

in her eyes as they fell upon Father and upon me. I looked around for

Juana and my heart stood still, fearing that I would not find her—and

fearing that I would.

Mother could still speak, and as we leaned over her as Father held her

in his arms she breathed a faint story of what had befallen them. They

had lived in peace until that very day when the Kash Guard had stumbled

upon them—a large detachment under Or-tis, himself. They had seized

them to take them away; but Mother had had a knife hidden in her

clothing and had utilized it, as we saw, rather than suffer the fate she

knew awaited them. That was all, except that Juana had had no knife and

Or-tis had carried her off.

I saw Mother die then, in Father’s arms, and I helped him bury her after

our men came and we had shown them what the beasts had done, though they

knew well enough and had suffered themselves enough to know what was to

be expected of the swine.

CHAPTER X

THE BUTCHER

We went on then, Father and I filled with grief and bitterness and

hatred even greater than we had known before. We marched toward the

market place of our district, and on the way we stopped at Jim’s and he

joined us. Mollie wept when she heard what had befallen Mother and

Juana, but presently she controlled herself and urged us on and Jim with

us, though Jim needed no urging. She kissed him good-bye with tears and

pride mingled in her eyes, and all he said was: “Good-bye, girl, keep

your knife with you always.”

And so we rode away with Mollie’s “May the Saints be with you” in our

ears. Once again we stopped at our abandoned goat pens, and there we dug

up the rifle, belt and ammunition of the soldier Father had slain years

before. These we gave to Jim.

Before we reached the market place our force commenced to dwindle

again—most of them could not brave the terrors of the Kash Guard upon

which they had been fed in whispered story and in actual experience

since infancy. I do not say that these men were cowards—I do not

believe that they were cowards, and yet they acted like cowards. It may

be that a lifetime of training had taught them so thoroughly to flee the

Kash Guard that now no amount of urging could make them face it—the

terror had become instinctive as is man’s natural revulsion for snakes.

They could not face the Kash Guard any more than some men can touch a

rattler, even though it may be dead.

It was market day and the place was crowded. I had divided my force so

that we marched in from two directions in wide fronts, about five

hundred men in each party, and surrounded the market place. As there

were only a few men from our district among us I had given orders that

there was to be no killing other than that of Kash Guards until we who

knew the population could pick out the right men.

When the nearest people first saw us they did not know what to make of

it, so complete was the surprise. Never in their lives had they seen men

of their own class armed and there were a hundred of us mounted. Across

the plaza a handful of Kash Guard were lolling in front of Hoffmeyer’s

office. They saw my party first, as the other was coming up from behind

them, and they mounted and came toward us. At the same moment I drew The

Flag from my breast and waving it above my head, urged Red Lightning

forward, shouting, as I rode: “Death to the Kash Guard! Death to the

Kalkars!”

And then, of a sudden, the Kash Guard seemed to realize that they were

confronted by an actual force of armed men and their true color became

apparent—all yellow. They turned to flee, only to see another force

behind them. The people had now caught the idea and the spirit of our

purpose and they flocked around us, shouting, screaming, laughing,

crying. “Death to the Kash Guard!” “Death to the Kalkars!” “The Flag!” I

heard more than once, and “Old Glory!” from some who, like myself, had

not been permitted to forget. A dozen men rushed to my side, and

grasping the streaming banner pressed it to their lips while tears

coursed down their cheeks. “The Flag! The Flag!” they cried. “The Flag

of our fathers!”

It was then, before a shot had been fired, that one of the Kash Guard

rode toward me with a white cloth above his head. I recognized him

immediately as the youth who had brought the cruel order to Mother and

who had shown sorrow for the acts of his superiors.

“Do not kill us,” he said, “and we will join with you. Many of the Kash

Guard at the barracks will join, too.”

And so the dozen soldiers in the market place joined us, and a woman ran

from her house carrying the head of a man stuck upon a short pole and

she screamed forth her hatred against the Kalkars—the hatred that was

the common bond between us all. As she came closer I saw that it was

Pthav’s woman and the head upon the short pole was the head of Pthav.

That was the beginning—that was the little spark that was needed. Like

maniacs, laughing horribly, the people charged the houses of the Kalkars

and dragged them forth to death.

Above the shrieking and the groans and the din could be heard shouts for

The Flag and the names of loved ones who were being avenged. More than

once I heard the name of Samuels the Jew—never was a man more

thoroughly avenged than he that day.

Dennis Corrigan was with us, freed from the mines, and Betty Worth, his

woman, found him there, his arms red to the elbows with the blood of our

oppressors. She had never thought to see him alive, and when she heard

his story, and of how they had escaped she ran to me and nearly pulled

me from Red Lightning’s back, trying to hug and kiss me.

It was she who started the people shouting for me until a mad, swirling

mob of joy-crazed people surrounded me. I tried to quiet them, for I

knew that this was no way in which to forward our cause and finally I

succeeded in winning a partial silence and then I told them that this

madness must cease, that we had not yet succeeded, that we had won only

a single small district and that we must go forward quietly and in

accordance with a sensible plan if we were to be victorious.

“Remember,” I admonished them, “that there are still thousands of armed

men in the city and that we must overthrow them all, and then there are

other thousands that The Twentyfour will throw in upon us, for they will

not surrender this territory until they are hopelessly defeated from

here to Washington—and that will require months and maybe years.”

They quieted down a little then, and we formed plans for marching

immediately upon the barracks that we might take the Kash Guard by

surprise. It was about this time that Father found Soor and killed him.

“I told you,” said Father, just before he ran a bayonet through the tax

collector, “that some day I would have my little joke, and this is the

day.”

Then a man dragged Hoffmeyer from some hiding place and the people

literally tore him to pieces and that started the pandemonium all over

again. There were cries of “On to the barracks!” and “Kill the Kash

Guard!” followed by a concerted movement toward the lake front. On the

way our numbers were increased by volunteers from every house—either

fighting men and women from the houses of our class or bloody heads from

the houses of the Kalkars, for we carried them all with us, waving above

us upon the ends of poles, and at the head of all I rode with Old Glory,

now waving from a tall staff.

I tried to maintain some semblance of order; but it was impossible and

so we streamed along, screaming and killing, laughing and crying, each

as the mood claimed him. The women seemed the maddest, possibly because

they had suffered most, and Pthav’s woman led them. I saw others there

with one hand clutching a suckling baby to a bare breast while the other

held aloft the dripping head of a Kalkar, an informer, or a spy. One

could not blame them who knew the lives of terror and hopelessness they

had led—they and their mothers before them.

We had just crossed the new bridge over the river into the heart of the

great, ruined city when the Kash Guard fell upon us from ambush with

their full strength. They were poorly disciplined; but they were armed,

while we were not disciplined at all nor scarcely armed. We were nothing

but an angry mob into which they poured volley after volley at close

range. Men, women and babies went down and many turned and fled; but

there were others who rushed forward and grappled hand to hand with the

Kash Guard, tearing their rifles from them. We who were mounted rode

among them. I could not carry The Flag and fight, so I took it from the

staff and replaced it inside my shirt and then I clubbed my rifle and

guiding Red Lightning with my knees I drove into them.

God of our Fathers, but it was a pretty fight. If I had known that I was

to die the next minute I would have died gladly for the joy I had in

those few minutes. Down they went before me, to right and to left,

reeling from their saddles with crushed skulls and broken bodies, for

wherever I hit them made no difference in the result—they died if they

came within reach of my rifle, which was soon only a bent and twisted

tube of bloody metal.

And so I rode completely through them with a handful of men behind me.

We turned then to ride back over the crumbling ruins that were in this

spot only mounds of debris, and from the elevation of one of these

hillocks of the dead past, I saw the battle down by the river and a

great lump came into my throat. It was all over—all but the bloody

massacre. My poor mob had turned at last to flee, they were jammed and

stuck upon the narrow bridge and the Kash Guard were firing volleys into

that wedged mass of human flesh. Hundreds were leaping into the river

only to be shot from the banks by the soldiers.

Twenty-five mounted men surrounded me—all that was left of my fighting

force—and at least two thousand Kash Guards lay between us and the

river. Even could we have fought our way back we could have done nothing

to save the day or our own people. We were doomed to die; but we decided

to inflict more punishment before we died.

I had in mind Juana in the clutches of Or-tis—not once had the

frightful thought left my consciousness—and so I told them that I would

ride to headquarters and search for her and they said that they would

ride with me and that we would slay whom we could before the soldiers

returned.

Our dream had vanished, our hopes were dead. In silence we rode through

the streets toward the barracks. The Kash Guard had not come over to our

side as we had hoped—possibly they would have come had we had some

measure of success in the city; but there could be no success against

armed troops for an undisciplined mob of men, women and children.

I realized too late that we had not planned sufficiently, yet we might

have won had not someone escaped and ridden ahead to notify the Kash

Guard. Could we have taken them by surprise in the barracks the outcome

might have been what it had been in the market places through which we

had passed. I had realized our weakness and the fact that if we took

time to plan and arrange, some spy or informer would have divulged all

to the authorities long before we could have put our plans into

execution. Really, there had been no other way than to trust to a

surprise attack and the impetuosity of our first blow.

I looked about among my followers as we rode along. Jim was there, but

not Father—I never saw him again. He probably fell in the battle at the

new bridge. Orrin Colby, blacksmith and preacher, rode at my side

covered with blood—his own and Kash Guard. Dennis Corrigan was there,

too.

We rode right into the barrack yard, for with their lack of discipline

and military efficiency they had sent their whole force against us with

the exception of a few men who remained to guard the prisoners and a

handful at headquarters building. The latter we overcame with scarce a

struggle and from one whom I took prisoner I learned where the sleeping

quarters of Or-tis were located.

Telling my men that our work was done I ordered them to scatter and

escape as best they might; but they said that they would remain with me.

I told them that the business I was on was such that I must handle it

alone and asked them to go and free the prisoners while I searched for

Juana. They said that they would wait for me outside and so we parted.

Or-tis’ quarters were on the second floor of the building in the east

wing and I had no difficulty in finding them. As I approached the door I

heard the sound of voices raised in anger within and of rapid movement

as though someone was running hither and thither across the floor. I

recognized Or-tis’ voice—he was swearing foully, and then I heard a

woman’s scream and I knew that it was Juana.

I tried the door and found it locked. It was a massive door, such as the

ancients built in their great public buildings, such as this had

originally been, and I doubted my ability to force it. I was mad with

apprehension and lust for revenge, and if maniacs gain tenfold in

strength when the madness is upon them, I must have been a maniac that

moment, for when, after stepping back a few feet, I hurled myself

against the door the shot bolt tore through the splintering frame and

the barrier swung in upon its hinges with a loud bang.

Before me, in the center of the room, stood Or-tis with Juana in his

clutches. He had her partially upon a table and with one hairy hand he

was choking her. He looked up at the noise of my sudden entry, and when

he saw me he went white and dropped Juana, at the same time whipping a

pistol from its holster at his side. Juana saw me too, and springing for

his arm dragged it down as he pulled the trigger, so that the bullet

went harmlessly into the floor.

Before he could shake her off I was upon him and had wrenched the weapon

from his grasp. I held him in one hand as one might a little child—he

was utterly helpless in my grip—and I asked Juana if he had wronged

her.

“Not yet,” she said, “he just came in after sending the Kash Guard away.

Something has happened. There is going to be a battle; but he sneaked

back to the safety of his quarters,” and then she seemed to notice for

the first time that I was covered with blood. “There has been a battle!”

she cried, “and you have been in it.”

I told her that I had and that I would tell her about it after I had

finished Or-tis. He commenced to plead and then to whimper. He promised

me freedom and immunity from punishment and persecution if I would let

him live. He promised never to bother Juana again and to give us his

protection and assistance. He would have promised me the Sun and the

Moon and all the little stars had he thought I wished them; but I wished

only one thing just then and I told him so—to see him die.

“Had you wronged her,” I said, “you would have died a slow and terrible

death; but I came in time to save her and so you are saved that

suffering.”

When he realized that nothing could save him he began to weep and his

knees shook so that he could not stand, and I had to hold him from the

floor with one hand and with my other clenched I dealt him a single

terrific blow between the eyes—a blow that broke his neck and crushed

his skull—then I dropped him to the floor and took Juana in my arms.

Quickly, as we walked toward the entrance of the building, I told her of

all that had transpired since we parted and that now she would be left

alone in the world for awhile, until I could join her. I told her where

to go and await me in a forgotten spot I had discovered upon the banks

of the old canal on my journey to the mines. She cried and clung to me,

begging to remain with me; but I knew it could not be, for already I

could hear fighting in the yard below. We would be fortunate indeed if

one of us escaped. At last she promised on condition that I would join

her immediately, which, of course, I had intended doing as soon as I had

the chance.

Red Lightning stood where I had left him before the door. A company of

Kash Guard, evidently returning from the battle, were engaged with my

little band that was slowly falling back toward the headquarters

building. There was no time to be lost if Juana was to escape. I lifted

her to Red Lightning’s back from where she stooped and threw her dear

arms about my neck, covering my lips with kisses.

“Come back to me soon,” she begged, “I need you so—and it will not be

long before there will be another to need you too.”

I pressed her close to my breast. “And if I do not come back,” I said,

“take this and give it to my son to guard as his fathers before him

have,” and I placed The Flag in her hands.

The bullets were singing around us and I made her go, watching her as

the noble horse raced swiftly across the parade and disappeared among

the ruins to the west. Then I turned to the fighting to find but ten men

left to me. Orrin Colby was dead and Dennis Corrigan. Jim was left and

nine others. We fought as best we could; but we were cornered now, for

other guards were streaming onto the parade from other directions and

our ammunition was expended.

They rushed us then—twenty to one—and though we did the best we could,

they overwhelmed us. Lucky Jim was killed instantly; but I was only

stunned by a blow upon the head.

That night they tried me before a court-martial and tortured me in an

effort to make me divulge the names of my accomplices; but there were

none left alive that I knew of, even had I wished to betray them. As it

was, I just refused to speak. I never spoke again after bidding Juana

good-bye, other than the few words of encouragement that passed between

those of us who remained fighting to the last.

Early the next morning I was led forth to The Butcher.

I recall every detail up to the moment the knife touched my

throat—there was a slight stinging sensation followed instantly

by—oblivion.

* * * * *

It was broad daylight when he finished—so quickly had the night

sped—and I could see by the light from the east window of the room

where we sat that his face looked drawn and pinched and that even then

he was suffering the sorrows and disappointments of the bitter, hopeless

life he had just described.

I rose to retire. “That is all?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “that is all of that incarnation.”

“But you recall another?” I insisted. He only smiled as I was closing

the door.