“We will put them on our horses,” he explained, pointing up the canyon.

I looked in the direction he indicated, to see the strangest creatures I

had ever looked upon—a string of tiny, woolly horses that were being

driven toward camp by the men who had recently gone up the canyon after

them. The little animals were scarce half the height of Red Lightning

and they moved at so slow a pace that they seemed scarce to move at all.

They had huge bellies and most enormous ears set upon great, uncouth

heads. In appearance they seemed part sheep, part horse and a great deal

of the long-eared rabbit of the desert.

They were most docile creatures, and during the business of strapping

the loads to them the children played about between their feet or were

tossed to their backs, where they frolicked, while the sad-eyed,

dejected creatures stood with drooping heads and waving ears. When we

started upon the march, the children were all mounted upon these little

horses, sometimes perched upon the top of a load, or again there would

be three or four of them upon the back of a single beast.

It did not take me long to discover that Red Lightning and I had no

place in this cavalcade, for if we went behind we were constantly

trampling upon the heels of the slow-moving little horses, and if we

went ahead we lost them in a few yards, and so I explained to Saku that

my haste made it necessary for me to go on, but that if I came to any

obstacle I could not surmount alone I would wait there for them to

overtake me. I thanked him again for his kindness to me, and we

exchanged vows of friendship which I believe were as sincere upon his

part as they were upon mine. They were a happy, lovable little people

and I was sorry to leave them.

Pushing rapidly ahead I encountered no insuperable obstacles and after a

couple of hours I came out upon a wide trail at the summit of the hills

and saw spread before me a beautiful valley extending far to the east

and to the west. At my feet was the trail leading down past the

imaginary tent of the imaginary Raban and toward this I reined Red

Lightning.

I had not yet crossed the old trail of the ancients when I heard the

sound of the flying feet of horses approaching from the west. Here the

trail winds upwards and passes around the shoulder of a hill, and as I

looked I saw a running horse come into view and at its heels another in

hot pursuit. The rider of the second horse was evidently a Kalkar

warrior, as a red robe whipped in the wind behind him, but the figure

upon the leading animal I could not identify at first; but as they drew

rapidly nearer, the streaming hair of its head suggested that it must be

a woman.

A Kalkar up to his old tricks, I thought, as I sat watching them. So

intent was the man upon his prey that he did not notice me until after

he had seized the bridle rein of his quarry and brought both animals to

a halt not a score of feet from me, then he looked up in surprise. His

captive was looking at me, too. She was a girl with wide, frightened

eyes—appealing eyes that even while they appealed were dulled by

hopelessness, for what aid might she expect from one Kalkar against

another, and, of course, she must have believed me a Kalkar.

She was a Kalkar woman, but still she was a woman, and so I was bound to

aid her. Even had I not felt thus obligated by her sex I should have

killed her companion in any event, for was he not a stranger in addition

to being a Kalkar?

I let my Kalkar cloak slip to the ground and I tossed my Kalkar bonnet

after it. “I am The Red Hawk!” I cried, as I drew the sword from my belt

and touched Red Lightning with my spurs. “Fight, Kalkar!”

The Kalkar tried to bring his spear into play, but it was slung across

his back and he couldn’t unsling it in time, so he, too, drew a sword,

and to gain time he reined his horse behind that of the girl; but she

was master of her own mount now, and with a shake of her reins she had

urged her horse forward, uncovering the Kalkar, and now he and I were

face to face. He towered above me and he had the protection of his iron

vest and iron bonnet, while I was without even the protection of a

shield; but whatever advantage these things might have seemed to give

him they were outweighed by the lightness and agility of Red Lightning

and the freedom of my own muscles, unencumbered by heavy metal

protections. His big, clumsy horse was ill-mannered, and on top of all

else, the Kalkar’s swordsmanship was so poor that it seemed ill

befitting a brave warrior to take his almost defenseless life; but he

was a Kalkar and there was no alternative. Had I found him naked and

unarmed in bed and unconscious with fever, it would still have been my

duty to dispatch him, though there had been no glory in it.

I could not, however, bring myself to the point of butchering him

without appearing, at least, to give him a chance, and so I played with

him, parrying his cuts and thrusts and tapping him now and then upon his

iron bonnet and vest. This must have given him hope, for suddenly he

drew off and then rushed me, his sword swinging high above his head. The

Flag! What a chance he offered, blundering down upon me with chest and

belly and groin exposed, for his iron shirt could never stop a Julian’s

point.

So wondrous awkward was his method of attack that I waited to see the

nature of his weird technique before dispatching him. I was upon his

left front and when he was almost upon me he struck downward at me and

to his left, but he could not think of two things at once—me and his

horse—and as he did not strike quite far enough to the left his blade

clove his mount’s skull between the ears, and the poor brute, which was

rushing forward at the time, fell squarely upon its face, and turning

completely over, pinioned its rider beneath its corpse. I dismounted to

put the man out of his misery, for I was sure he must be badly injured,

but I found that he was stone dead. His knife and spear I appropriated

as well as his heavy bow and arrows, though I was fearful as to my skill

with the last weapons, so much lighter and shorter are the bows to which

I am accustomed. I had not concerned myself with the girl, thinking, of

course, that during the duel she would take advantage of the opportunity

to escape; but when I looked up from the corpse of the Kalkar she was

still there, sitting her horse a few yards away, and eyeing me intently.

CHAPTER VII

BETHELDA

“Well!” I exclaimed; “why have you not flown?”

“And where?” she demanded.

“Back to your Kalkar friends,” I replied.

“It is because you are not a Kalkar that I did not fly,” she said.

“How do you know that I am no Kalkar,” I demanded, “and why, if I am

not, should you not fly from me, who must be an enemy of your people?”

“You called him ‘Kalkar’ as you charged him,” she explained, “and one

Kalkar does not call another Kalkar that. Neither am I a Kalkar.”

I thought then of what the Or-tis had told me of the thousand Americans

who had wished to desert the Kalkars and join themselves with us. This

girl must be of them, then.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Bethelda,” she replied; “and who are you?”

She looked me squarely in the eyes with a fearless frankness that was

anything but Kalkarian. It was the first time that I had had a good look

at her. By The Flag! She was not difficult to look at. She had large,

gray-green eyes and heavy lashes and a cheerful countenance that seemed

even now to be upon the verge of laughter. There was something almost

boyish about her and yet she was all girl. I stood looking at her for so

long a time without speaking that a frown of impatience clouded her

brow.

“I asked you who you are,” she reminded me.

“I am Julian 20th, The Red Hawk,” I replied, and I thought for an

instant that her eyes went a little wider and that she looked

frightened; but I must have been mistaken, for I was to learn later that

it took more than a name to frighten Bethelda. “Tell me where you are

going,” I said, “and I will ride with you, lest you be again attacked.”

“I do not know where to go,” she replied, “for wherever I go I meet

enemies.”

“Where are your people?” I demanded.

“I fear that they are all slain,” she told me, a quiver in her voice.

“But where were you going? You must have been going somewhere.”

“I was looking for a place to hide,” she said. “The Nipons would let me

stay with them if I could find them. My people were always kind to them.

They would be kind to me.”

“Your people were of the Kalkars, even though you say you are no Kalkar,

and the Nipons hate them. They would not take you in.”

“My people were Americans. They lived among the Kalkars, but they were

not Kalkars. We lived at the foot of these hills for almost a hundred

years and we often met the Nipons. They did not hate us, though they

hated the Kalkars about us.”

“Do you know Saku?” I asked.

“Since I was a little child I have known Saku, the Chief,” she replied.

“Come, then,” I said, “I will take you to Saku.”

“You know him? He is near?”

“Yes, come!”

She followed me down the trail up which I had so recently come and

though I begrudged the time that it delayed me, I was glad that I might

have her off my hands so easily and so quickly, for, of a certainty, I

could not leave her alone and unprotected, nor could I take her upon my

long journey with me, even could I have prevailed upon my people to

accept her.

In less than an hour we came upon Saku’s new camp, and the little people

were surprised indeed to see me, and overjoyed when they discovered

Bethelda, more than assuring me by their actions that the girl had been

far from stating the real measure of the esteem in which the Nipons held

her. When I would have turned to ride away they insisted that I remain

until morning, pointing out to me that the day was already far gone and

that being unfamiliar with the trails I might easily become lost and

thus lose more time than I would gain. The girl stood listening to our

conversation, and when I at last insisted that I must go because, having

no knowledge of the trails anyway, I would be as well off by night as by

day, she offered to guide me.

“I know the valley from end to end,” she said. “Tell me where you would

go and I will lead you there as well by night as by day.”

“But how would you return?” I asked.

“If you are going to your people perhaps they would let me remain, for

am I not an American, too?”

I shook my head. “I am afraid that they would not,” I told her. “We feel

very bitterly toward all Americans that cast their lot with the

Kalkars—even more bitterly than we feel toward the Kalkars themselves.”

“I did not cast my lot with the Kalkars,” she said, proudly. “I have

hated them always—since I was old enough to hate. If four hundred years

ago my people chose to do a wicked thing is it any fault of mine? I am

as much an American as you, and I hate the Kalkars more because I know

them better.”

“My people would not reason that way,” I said. “The women would set the

hounds on you and you would be torn to pieces.” She shivered.

“You are as terrible as the Kalkars,” she said, bitterly.

“You forget the generations of humiliation and suffering that we have

endured because of the renegade Americans who brought the Kalkar curse

upon us,” I reminded her.

“We have suffered, too,” she said, “and we are as innocent as you,” and

then, suddenly, she looked me squarely in the eyes. “How do you feel

about it? Do you, too, hate me worse than as though I were a Kalkar? You

saved my life, perhaps. You could do that for one you hate?”

“You are a girl,” I reminded her, “and I am an American—a Julian,” I

added, proudly.

“You saved me only because I am a girl?” she insisted.

I nodded.

“You are a strange people,” she said, “that you could be so brave and

generous to one you hate and yet refuse the simpler kindness of

forgiveness—forgiveness of a sin that we did not commit.”

I recalled the Or-tis, who had spoken similarly, and I wondered if,

perhaps, they might not be right, but we are a proud people and for

generations before my day our pride had been ground beneath the heel of

the victorious Kalkar. Even yet the wound was still raw. And we are a

stubborn people—stubborn in our loves and our hatreds. Already had I

regretted my friendliness with the Or-tis, and now I was having amicable

dealings with another Kalkar—it was difficult for me to think of them

as other than Kalkars. I should be hating this one—I should have hated

the Or-tis—but for some reason I found it not so easy to hate them.

Saku had been listening to our conversation, a portion of which at least

he must have understood. “Wait until morning,” he said, “and then she

can at least go with you as far as the top of the hills and point out

the way for you; but you will be wise to take her with you. She knows

every trail, and it will be better for her to go with you to your own

people. She is not Kalkar, and if they catch her they will kill her.

Were she Kalkar we would hate her and chase her away; but though she is

welcome among us it would be hard for her to remain. We move camp often,

and often our trails lead where one so large as she might have

difficulty in following, nor would she have a man to hunt for her, and

there are times when we have to go without food because we cannot find

enough even for our own little people.”

“I will wait until morning,” I said, “but I cannot take her with me—my

people would kill her.”

I had two motives in remaining over night. One was to go forth early in

the morning and kill game for the little Nipons in payment for their

hospitality and the other was to avail myself of the girl’s knowledge of

the trails, which she could point out from some lofty hill top. I had

only a general idea of the direction in which to search for my people

and as I had seen from the summit that the valley beyond was entirely

surrounded by hills, I realized that I might gain time by waiting until

morning, when the girl should be able to point out the route to the

proper pass to my destination.

After the evening meal that night I kept up a fire for the girl, as the

air was chill and she was not warmly clad. The little people had only

their tents and a few skins for their own protection, nor was there room

in the former for the girl, so already overcrowded were they. The Nipons

retired to their rude shelters almost immediately after eating, leaving

the girl and me alone. She huddled close to the fire and she looked very

forlorn and alone. I could not help but feel sorry for her.

“Your people are all gone?” I asked.

“My own people—my father, my mother, my three brothers—all are dead, I

think,” she replied. “My mother and father I know are dead. She died

when I was a little girl. Six months ago my father was killed by the

Kalkars. My three brothers and I scattered, for we heard that they were

coming to kill us, also. I have heard that they captured my brothers;

but I am not sure. They have been killing many in the valley lately, for

here dwell nearly all the pure descendants of Americans, and those of us

who were thought to favor the true Or-tis were marked for slaughter by

the false Or-tis.

“I had been hiding in the home of a friend of my father, but I knew that

if I were found there, it would bring death to him and his family, and

so I came away, hoping to find a place where I might be safe from them;

but I guess there is no place for me—even my friends, the Nipons,

though they would let me stay with them, admit that it would be a

hardship to provide for me.”

“What will you do?” I asked. Somehow I felt very sorry for her.

“I shall find some nearly inaccessible place in the hills and build

myself a shelter,” she replied.

“But you cannot live here in the hills alone,” I remonstrated.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Where may I live, then?”

“For a little while, perhaps,” I suggested, “until the Kalkars are

driven into the sea.”

“Who will drive them into the sea?” she asked.

“We,” I replied, proudly.

“And if you do, how much better off shall I be? Your people will set

their hounds upon me—you have said so yourself. But you will not drive

the Kalkars into the sea. You have no conception of their numbers. All

up and down the coast, days’ journeys north and south, wherever there is

a fertile valley, they have bred like flies. For days they have been

coming from all directions, marching toward The Capital. I do not know

why they congregate now, nor why only the warriors come. Are they

threatened, do you think?” A sudden thought seemed to burst upon her.

“It cannot be,” she exclaimed, “that the Yanks have attacked them! Have

your people come out of the desert again?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Yesterday we attacked their great camp—today my

warriors must have eaten their evening meal in the stone tents of the

Kalkars.”

“You mean The Capital?”

“Yes.”

“Your forces have reached The Capital? It seems incredible. Never before

have you come so far. You have a great army?”

“Twenty-five thousand warriors marched down out of the desert beneath

The Flag,” I told her, “and we drove the Kalkars from the pass of the

ancients back to The Capital, as you call their great camp.”

“You lost many warriors? You must have.”

“Many fell,” I replied; “thousands.”

“Then you are not twenty-five thousand now, and the Kalkars are like

ants. Kill them and more will come. They will wear you down until your

few survivors will be lucky if they can escape back to their desert.”

“You do not know us,” I told her. “We have brought our women, our

children, our flocks and herds down into the orange groves of the

Kalkars and there we shall remain. If we cannot drive the Kalkars into

the sea today we shall have to wait until tomorrow. It has taken us

three hundred years to drive them this far, but in all that time we have

never given back a step that we have once gained—we have never

retreated from any position to which we have brought our families and

our stock.”

“You have a large family?” she asked.

“I have no wife,” I replied as I rose to add fuel to the fire. As I

returned with a handful of sticks I saw that she hugged closer to the

blaze and that she shivered with the cold. I removed my Kalkar robe and

threw it across her shoulders.

“No!” she cried, rising; “I cannot take it. You will be cold.” She held

it out toward me.

“Keep it,” I said. “The night will be cold, and you cannot go until

morning without covering.”

She shook her head. “No!” she repeated. “I cannot accept favors from an

enemy who hates me.” She stood there, holding the red robe out toward

me. Her chin was high and her expression haughty.

I stepped forward and took the robe, and as her hand dropped to her side

I threw the woolen garment about her once more and held it there upon

her slim figure. She tried to pull away from it, but my arm was about

her, holding the robe in place, and as I guessed her intention, I

pressed the garment more closely around her, which drew her to me until

we stood face to face, her body pressed against mine. As I looked down

into her upturned face our eyes met and for a moment we stood there as

though turned to stone. I do not know what happened. Her eyes, wide and

half frightened, looked up into mine, her lips were parted and she

caught her breath once in what was almost a sob. Just for an instant we

stood thus and then her eyes dropped and she bent her head and turned it

half away and at the same time her muscles relaxed and she went almost

limp in my arms. Very gently I lowered her to her seat beside the fire

and adjusted the robe about her. Something had happened to me. I did not

know what it was, but of a sudden nothing seemed to matter so much in

all the world as the comfort and safety of Bethelda.

In silence I sat down opposite her and looked at her as though I never

before had laid eyes upon her, and well might it have been that I never

had, for, by The Flag! I had not seen her before, or else, like some of

the tiny lizards of the desert, she had the power to change her

appearance as they change their colors, for this was not the same girl

to whom I had been talking a moment since—this was a new and wonderful

creature of a loveliness beyond all compare. No, I did not know what had

happened, nor did I care—I just sat there and devoured her with my

eyes. And then she looked up and spoke four words that froze my heart in

my bosom.

She looked up and her eyes were dull and filled with pain. Something had

happened to her, too—I could see it. She was changed.

“I am an Or-tis,” she said and dropped her head again.

I could not speak. I just sat there staring at the slender little figure

of my blood enemy sitting, dejected, in the firelight. After a long time

she lay down beside the fire and slept, and I suppose that I must have

slept, too, for once, when I opened my eyes, the fire was out, I was

almost frozen, and the light of a new day was breaking over rugged hill

tops to the east.

I arose and rekindled the fire. After that I would get Red Lightning and

ride away before she awakened; but when I had found him, feeding a short

distance from the camp, I did not mount and ride away, but came back to

the camp again—why, I do not know. I did not want to see her again

ever, yet something drew me to her. She was awake and standing looking

all about, up and down the canyon, when I first saw her and I was sure

that there was an expression of relief in her eyes when she discovered

me. She smiled wistfully, and I could not be hard, as I should have been

to a blood enemy.

I was friendly with her brother, I thought—why should I not be friendly

with her? Of course, I shall go away and not see her again, but at least

I may be pleasant to her while I remain. Thus I argued and thus I acted.

“Good morning,” I said, as I approached; “how are you?”

“Splendid!” she replied. “And how are you?” Her tones were rich and

mellow and her eyes intoxicated me like old wine. Oh, why was she an

enemy?

The Nipons came from their little tents. The naked children scampered

around, playing with the dogs, in an attempt to get warm. The women

built the fires around which the men huddled while their mates prepared

the morning meal.

After we had eaten, I took Red Lightning and started off down the canyon

to hunt and although I was dubious as to what results I should achieve

with the heavy Kalkar bow, I did better than I had expected, for I got

two bucks, although the chase carried me much farther from camp than I

had intended going.

The morning must have been half spent as Red Lightning toiled up the

canyon trail beneath the weight of the two carcasses and myself to the

camp. I noticed that he seemed nervous as we approached, keeping his

ears pricked forward and occasionally snorting, but I had no idea of the

cause of his perturbation and was only the more on the alert myself, as

I always am when warned by Red Lightning’s actions that something may be

amiss.

And when I came to the camp site I did not wonder that he had been

aroused, for his keen nostrils had scented tragedy long before my dull

senses could become aware of it. The happy, peaceful camp was no more.

The little tents lay flat upon the ground and near them the corpses of

two of my tiny friends—two little, naked warriors. That was all.

Silence and desolation brooded where there had been life and happiness a

few short hours before. Only the dead remained.

Bethelda! What had become of her? What had happened? Who had done this

cruel thing? There was but a single answer—the Kalkars must have

discovered this little camp and rushed it. The Nipons that had not been

killed doubtless escaped, and the Kalkars had carried Bethelda away, a

captive.

Suddenly I saw red. Casting the carcasses of the bucks to the ground I

put spurs to Red Lightning and set out up the trail where the fresh

imprint of horses’ hoofs pointed the direction in which the murderers

had gone. There were the tracks of several horses in the trail and among

them one huge imprint fully twice the size of the dainty imprint of Red

Lightning’s shoe. While the feet of all the Kalkar horses are large this

was by far the largest I had ever seen. From the signs of the trail I

judged that not less than twenty horses were in the party and while at

first I had ridden impetuously in pursuit, presently my better judgment

warned me that I could best serve Bethelda through strategy, since it

was obvious that one man could not, single-handed, overthrow a score of

warriors by force alone.

And now, therefore, I went more warily, though had I been of a mind to

do so, I doubt that I could have much abated my speed, for there was a

force that drove me on and if I let my mind dwell long on the

possibility of the dangers confronting Bethelda I forgot strategy and

cunning and all else save brute force and blood. Vengeance! It is of my

very marrow, bred into me through generations that have followed its

emblem, The Flag, westward along its bloody trail toward the sea.

Vengeance and The Flag and The Julian—they are one. And here was I,

Lord of Vengeance, Great Chief of the Julians, Protector of The Flag,

riding hot-foot to save or avenge a daughter of the Or-tis! I should

have flushed for shame, but I did not. Never had my blood surged so hot

even to the call of The Flag. Could it be, then, that there was

something greater than The Flag? No, that I could not admit; but

possibly I had found something that imparted to The Flag a greater

meaning for me.

CHAPTER VIII

RABAN

I came to the summit without overtaking them, but I could tell from the

trail that they were not far ahead of me. The canyon trail is very

winding and there is a great deal of brush, so that oftentimes a

horseman a score of yards ahead of you is out of sight and the noise of

your own mount’s passage drowns that of the others. For this reason I

did not know, as long as I was in the canyon, how close I might be to

them; but when I reached the summit it was different. Then I could see

farther in all directions. The murderers were not in sight upon the

great highway of the ancients, and I rode swiftly to where the trail

drops down upon the north side of the mountains to the great valley that

I had seen the day before. There are fewer trees and lower brush upon

this side, and below me I could see the trail at intervals as it wound

downward and as I looked, I saw the first of a party of horsemen come

into sight around the shoulder of a hill as they made their way down

into the canyon.

To my right, a short distance, was a ridge leading from the summit

downward and along the flank of the canyon into which the riders were

descending. A single glance assured me that a few minutes of hard and

rather rough riding would permit me to gain the canyon ahead of the

riders and unseen by them, unless the brush proved heavier than it

appeared or some impassable ravine intervened. At least the venture was

worth essaying and so, not waiting for a longer inspection of the enemy,

I wheeled and rode along the summit and out on the ridge which I hoped

would prove an avenue to such a position as I wished to attain, where I

might carry out a species of warfare for which we are justly famous, in

that we are adepts at it.

I found along the ridge a faint game trail and this I followed at

reckless speed, putting Red Lightning down steep declivities in a manner

that must have caused him to think me mad, so careful am I ordinarily of

his legs; but today I was as inconsiderate of them as I was of my own

life.

At one place the thing I most feared occurred—a deep ravine cut

directly through the ridge, the side nearer me dropping almost sheer to

the bottom. There was some slight footing, however, part way down and

Red Lightning never hesitated as I put him over the brink. Squatting on

his haunches, his front legs stiff before him, he slid and stumbled

downward, gaining momentum as he went, until, about twenty feet from the

bottom, we went over a perpendicular dirt cliff together, landing in the

soft sand at the foot of it a bit shaken, but unhurt.

There was no time even for an instant’s breathing spell. Before us was

the steep acclivity of the opposite side and like a cat Red Lightning

pawed and scrambled his way up, clinging motionless at times for an

instant, his toes dug deep into the yielding earth, while I held my

breath as Fate decided whether he should hold his own or slip back into

the ravine; but at last we made it and once more were upon the summit of

the ridge.

Now I had to go more carefully, for my trail and the trail of the enemy

were converging and constantly the danger of apprehension increased. I

rode now slightly below the brow of the ridge, hidden from whomever

might be riding the trail along the opposite side, and presently I saw

the mouth of the canyon to my right and below me and across it the trail

along which the Kalkars must pass. That they had not already done so I

was confident, for I had ridden hard and almost in a straight line,

while they had been riding slowly when I saw them and the trail they

were following wound back and forth at an easy grade.

Where the ridge ended in a steep declivity at the bottom of the canyon I

drew rein and dismounted, and leaving Red Lightning hidden in the brush,

made my way to the summit where, below me, the trail lay in full view

for a distance of a hundred yards up the canyon and for half a mile

below. In my left hand I carried the heavy Kalkar bow and in my right a

bundle of arrows, while a score or more others protruded from my right

boot. Fitting an arrow to my bow I waited.

Nor did I have long to wait. I heard the clank of accouterments, the

thud of horses’ feet, the voices of men, and a moment later the head of

the little column appeared about the shoulder of a hill.

I had tried my Kalkar bow this morning upon the bucks and I was surer of

it now. It is a good bow, the principal objection to it being that it is

too cumbersome for a mounted warrior. It is very powerful, though, and

carries its heavy arrows accurately to a great distance. I knew now what

I could do with it. I waited until half a dozen riders had come into

view, covering the spot at which they appeared, and as the next one

presented himself I loosed my shaft. It caught the fellow in the groin,

and coming from above, as it did, passed through and into his horse. The

stricken animal reared and threw itself backward upon its rider; but

that I only caught with the tail of my eye, for I was loosing another

shaft at the man in front of him. He dropped with an arrow through his

neck.

By now all was pandemonium. Yelling and cursing, the balance of the

troop galloped into sight and with them I saw such a man as mortal eye

may never have rested upon before this time and, let us pray, never may

again. He sat a huge horse, which I instantly recognized as the fellow

who had made the great imprints in the trail I had been following to the

summit, and was himself a creature of such mighty size that he dwarfed

the big Kalkars about him.

Instantly I saw in him the giant, Raban, whom I had thought but the

figment of Saku’s imagination or superstition. On a horse at Raban’s

side rode Bethelda. For an instant I was so astonished by the size of

Raban that I forgot my business upon the ridge, but only for an instant.

I could not let drive at the giant for fear of hitting Bethelda, but I

brought down in quick succession the man directly in front of him and

one behind.

By now the Kalkars were riding around in circles looking for the foe,

and they presented admirable targets, as I had known they would. By the

blood of my fathers! But there is no greater sport than this form of

warfare. Always outnumbered by the Kalkars we have been forced to adopt

tactics aimed to harass the enemy and wear him down a little at a time.

By clinging constantly to his flanks, by giving him no rest, by cutting

off detachments from his main body and annihilating them, by swooping

down unexpectedly upon his isolated settlements, by roving the country

about him and giving battle to every individual we met upon the trails,

we have driven him two thousand miles across the world to his last stand

beside the sea.

As the Kalkars milled about in the canyon bottom I drove shaft after

shaft among them, but never could I get a fair shot at Raban the giant,

for always he kept Bethelda between us after he had located me,

guessing, evidently, that it was because of her that I had attacked his

party. He roared like a bull as he sought to urge his men up the ridge

to attack me, and some did make the attempt, half-heartedly, prompted,

no doubt, by fear of their master—a fear that must have been a little

greater than fear of the unknown enemy above them; but those who started

up after me never came far, for they and I soon discovered that with

their heavy bow I could drive their heavy arrows through their iron

vests as if they had been wool.

Raban, seeing that the battle was going against him, suddenly put spurs

to his great mount and went lumbering off down the canyon, dragging

Bethelda’s horse after him, while those of his men who remained covered

his retreat.

This did not suit me at all. I was not particularly interested in the

Kalkars he was leaving behind, but in him and his captive, and so I ran

to Red Lightning and mounted. As I reined down the flank of the ridge

toward the canyon bottom I saw the Kalkars drawing off after Raban.

There were but six of them left and they were strung out along the

trail. As they rode they cast backward glances in my direction as though

they were expecting to see a great force of warriors appear in pursuit.

When they saw me they did not return to engage me, but continued after

Raban.

I had reslung my bow beneath my right stirrup leather and replaced the

few arrows in my quiver as Red Lightning descended the side of the

ridge, and now I prepared my lance. Once upon the level trail of the

canyon bottom I whispered a word into the pointed ear before me, couched

my lance, and crouched in the saddle as the thirtieth descendant of the

first Red Lightning flattened in swift charge.

The last Kalkar in the retreating column, rather than receive my spear

through the small of his unprotected back, wheeled his horse, unslung

his spear and awaited me in the middle of the trail. It was his undoing.

No man can meet the subtle tricks of a charging lancer from the back of

a standing horse, for he cannot swerve to one side or the other with the

celerity oft necessary to elude the point of his foe’s lance, or take

advantage of what opening the other may inadvertently leave him, and

doubly true was this of the Kalkar upon his clumsy, splay-footed mount.

So awkward were the twain that they could scarcely have gotten out of

their own way, much less mine, and so I took him where I would as I

crashed into him, which was the chest, and my heavy lance passed through

him, carrying him over his horse’s rump, splintering as he fell to

earth. I cast the useless stump aside as I reined Red Lightning in and

wheeled him about. I saw the nearer Kalkar halted in the trail to watch

the outcome of the battle, and now that he saw his companion go down to

death and me without a lance he bore down upon me, and I guess he

thought that he had me on the run, for Red Lightning was indeed racing

away from him, back toward the fallen foe; but with a purpose in my mind

that one better versed in the niceties of combat might have sensed. As I

passed the dead Kalkar I swung low from my saddle and picked his lance

from where it lay in the dust beside him, and then, never reducing our

speed, I circled and came back to meet the rash one riding to his doom.

Together we came at terrific speed, and as we approached one another I

saw the tactics that this new adversary was bent upon using to my

destruction and I may say that he used judgment far beyond the seeming

capacity of his low forehead, for he kept his horse’s head ever straight

for Red Lightning’s front with the intention of riding me down and

overthrowing my mount, which, considering the disparity of their

weights, he would certainly have accomplished had we met full on; but we

did not. My reins lay on Red Lightning’s withers. With a touch of my

left knee I swung the red stallion to the right and passed my spear to

my left hand, all in a fraction of the time it takes to tell it, and as

we met I had the Kalkar helpless, for he was not expecting me upon his

left hand, his heavy horse could not swerve with the agility of Red

Lightning, and so I had but to pick my target and put the fellow out of

his misery—for it must be misery to be a low creature of a Kalkar. In

the throat my point caught him, for I had no mind to break another lance

since I saw two more of the enemy riding toward me, and being of tough

wood, the weapon tore out through the flesh as the fellow tumbled

backward into the dust of the trail.

There were four Kalkars remaining between me and the giant who,

somewhere down the canyon and out of sight now, was bearing Bethelda

off, I knew not where or to what fate. The four were strung out at

intervals along the trail and seemed undecided as to whether to follow

Raban or wait and argue matters out with me. Perhaps they hoped that I

would realize the futility of pitting myself against their superior

numbers, but when I lowered my lance and charged the nearer of them,

they must have realized that I was without discretion and must be ridden

down and dispatched. Fortunately for me they were separated by

considerable intervals and I did not have to receive them all at once.

The nearer, fortified by the sound of his companions’ galloping

approach, couched his lance and came halfway to meet me, but I think

much of his enthusiasm must have been lost in contemplation of the fate

that he had seen overtake the others that had pitted their crude skill

against me, for certainly there were neither fire nor inspiration in his

attack, which more closely resembled a huge, senseless boulder rolling

down a mountainside than a sentient creature of nerves and brain driven

by lofty purposes of patriotism and honor.

Poor clod! An instant later the world was a better place in which to

live, by at least one less Kalkar; but he cost me another lance and a

flesh wound in the upper arm, and left me facing his three fellows, who

were now so close upon me that there was no time in which to retrieve

the lance fallen from his nerveless fingers. There was recourse only to

the sword, and drawing, I met the next of them with only a blade against

his long lance; but I eluded his point, closed with him and, while he

sought to draw, clove him open from his shoulder to the center of his

chest.

It took but an instant, yet that instant was my undoing, for the

remaining two were already upon me. I turned in time to partially dodge

the lance point of the foremost, but it caught me a glancing blow upon

the head and that is the last that I remember of immediately ensuing

events.

When next I opened my eyes I was jouncing along, lashed to a saddle,

belly down across a horse. Within the circumscribed limits of my vision

lay a constantly renewed circle of dusty trail and four monotonously

moving, gray, shaggy legs. At least I was not on Red Lightning.

I had scarcely regained consciousness when the horse bearing me was

brought to a stop, and the two accompanying Kalkars dismounted and

approached me. Removing the bonds that held me to the saddle, they

dragged me unceremoniously to the ground and when I stood erect they

were surprised to see that I was conscious.

“Dirty Yank!” cried one and struck me in the face with his open palm.

His companion laid a hand upon his arm. “Hold, Tav,” he expostulated;

“he put up a good fight against great odds.” The speaker was a man of

about my own height and might have passed as a full-blood Yank, though,

as I thought at the time, doubtless he was a half-breed.

The other gestured his disgust. “A dirty Yank,” he repeated. “Keep him

here, Okonnor, while I find Raban and ask what to do with him.” He

turned and left us.

We had halted at the foot of a low hill upon which grew tremendous old

trees and of such infinite variety that I marveled at them. There were

pine, cypress, hemlock, sycamore and acacia that I recognized and many

others the like of which I never before had seen, and between the trees

grew flowering shrubs, and where the ground was open it was carpeted

with flowers—great masses of color; and there were little pools choked

with lilies, and countless birds and butterflies. Never had I looked

upon a place of such wondrous beauty. Through the trees I could see the

outlines of the ruins of one of the stone tents of the ancients sitting

upon the summit of the low hill. It was toward this structure that he

who was called Tav was departing from us.

“What place is this?” I asked the fellow guarding me, my curiosity

overcoming my natural aversion to conversation with his kind.

“It is the tent of Raban,” he replied. “Until recently it was the home

of Or-tis the Jemadar—the true Or-tis. The false Or-tis dwells in the

great tents of The Capital. He would not last long in this valley.”

“What is this Raban?” I asked.

“He is a great robber. He preys upon all, and to such an extent has he

struck terror to the hearts of all who have heard of him that he takes

toll as he will, and easily. They say that he eats the flesh of humans,

but that I do not know—I have been with him but a short time. After the

assassination of the true Or-tis I joined him because he preys upon the

Kalkars. He lived long in the eastern end of the valley where he could

prey upon the outskirts of The Capital and then he did not rob or murder

the people of the valley; but with the death of Or-tis he came and took

this place and now he preys upon my people as well as upon the Kalkars,

but I remain with him since I must serve either him or the Kalkars.”

“You are not a Kalkar?” I asked, and I could believe it because of his

good old American name, Okonnor.

“I am a Yank; and you?”

“I am Julian 20th, The Red Hawk,” I replied.

He raised his brows. “I have heard of you in the past few days,” he

said. “Your people are fighting mightily at the edge of The Capital; but

they will be driven back—the Kalkars are too many. Raban will be glad

of you if the stories they tell of him are true. One is that he eats the

hearts of brave warriors that fall into his hands.”

I smiled. “What is the creature?” I asked again. “Where originates such

a breed?”

“He is only a Kalkar,” replied Okonnor; “but even a greater monstrosity

than his fellows. He was born in The Capital, of ordinary Kalkar

parents, they say, and early developed a lust for blood that has

increased with the passing years. He boasts yet of his first murder—he

killed his mother when he was ten.”

I shuddered. “And it is into the hands of such that a daughter of the

Or-tis has fallen,” I said, “and you, an American, aided in her

capture.”

He looked at me in startled surprise. “The daughter of an Or-tis?” he

cried.

“Of _the_ Or-tis,” I repeated.

“I did not know,” he said. “I was not close to her at any time and

thought that she was but a Kalkar woman.”

“What are you going to do? Can you save her?”

He drew his knife and cut the bonds that held my arms behind me. “Hide

here among the trees,” he said, “and watch the Raban until I return. It

will be after dark, but I will bring help. This valley is almost

exclusively peopled by those who have refused to intermarry with the

Kalkars and have brought down their strain unsullied from ancient times.

There are almost a thousand fighting men of pure Yank blood within its

confines. I should be able to gather enough to put an end to Raban for

all time, and if the danger of a daughter of Or-tis cannot move them

from their shame and cowardice they are hopeless indeed.”

He mounted his horse. “Quick!” he cried, “get among the trees.”

“Where is my horse?” I called as he was riding away. “He was not

killed?”

“No,” he called back; “he ran off when you fell. We did not try to catch

him.” A moment later he disappeared around the west end of the hill and

I entered the miniature forest that clothed it. Through the gloom of my

sorrow broke one ray of happiness—Red Lightning lived.

About me grew ancient trees of enormous size with boles five or six feet

in diameter and their upper foliage waving a hundred and more feet above

my head. Their branches excluded the sun where they grew thickest and

beneath them baby trees struggled for existence in the wan light, or

hoary monsters, long fallen, lay embedded in leaf mold, marking the spot

where some long dead ancient set out a tiny seedling that was to outlive

all his kind.

It was a wonderful place in which to hide, though hiding is an

accomplishment that we Julians have little training in and less stomach

for. However, in this instance it was in a worthy cause—a Julian hiding

from a Kalkar in the hope of aiding an Or-tis! Ghosts of nineteen

Julians! To what had I brought my proud name? And yet I could not be

ashamed. There was something stubbornly waging war against all my

inherited scruples, and I knew that it was going to win—had already

won. I would have sold my soul for this daughter of my enemy.

I made my way up the hill toward the ruined tent, but at the summit the

shrubbery was so dense that I could see nothing. Rose bushes fifteen

feet high and growing as thickly together as a wall hid everything from

my sight. I could not even penetrate them. Near me was a mighty tree

with a strange, feathery foliage. It was such a tree as I had never seen

before, but that fact did not interest me so much as the discovery that

it might be climbed to a point that would permit me to see above the top

of the rose bushes.

What I saw included two stone tents not so badly ruined as most of those

one comes across, and between them a pool of water—an artificial pool

of straight lines. Some fallen columns of stone lay about it and the

vines and creepers fell over its edge into the water, almost concealing

the stone rim. As I watched, a group of men came from the ruin to the

east through a great archway, the coping of which had fallen away. They

were all Kalkars and among them was Raban. I had my first opportunity to

view him closely. He was a most repulsive appearing creature. His great

size might easily have struck with awe the boldest heart, for he stood a

full nine feet in height and was very large in proportion about the

shoulders, chest and limbs. His forehead was so retreating that one

might with truth say he had none, his thick thatch of stiffly erect hair

almost meeting his shaggy eyebrows. His eyes were small and set close to

a coarse nose and all his countenance was bestial. I had not dreamed

that a man’s face could be so repulsive.

He was speaking to that one of my captors who had left me at the foot of

the hill to apprise Raban of my taking—that fellow who struck me in the

face while my hands were bound and whose name was Tav. He spoke in a

roaring, bull-like voice which I thought at the time was, like his

swaggering walk and his braggadocio, but a pose to strike terror in

those about him. I could not look at the creature and believe that real

courage lay within so vile a carcass. I have known many fearless

men—The Vulture, The Wolf, The Rock and hundreds like them—and in

each, courageousness was reflected in some outward physical attribute of

dignity and majesty.

“Fetch him!” he roared at Tav. “Fetch him! I will have his heart for my

supper,” and after Tav had gone to fetch me, the giant stood there with

his other followers, roaring and bellowing and always about himself and

what he had done and what he would do. He seemed to me an exaggeration

of a type I had seen before, wherein gestures simulate action, noise

counterfeits courage, and wind passes for brains. The only impressive

thing about him was his tremendous bulk and yet even that did not

impress me greatly—I have known small men, whom I respected, that

filled me with far greater awe. I did not fear him. I think only the

ignorant could have feared him at all, and I did not believe all the

pother about his eating human flesh. I am of the opinion that a man who

really intended eating the heart of another would say nothing about it.

Presently Tav came running back up the hill. He was much excited, as I

had known that he would be, even before he started off to fetch me.

“He is gone!” he cried to Raban. “They are both gone—Okonnor and the

Yank. Look!” he held out the thongs that had fastened my wrists. “They

have been cut. How could he cut them with his hands bound behind him?

That is what I want to know. How could he have done it? He could not

unless——”

“There must have been others with him,” roared Raban. “They followed and

set him free, taking Okonnor captive.”

“There were no others,” insisted Tav.

“Perhaps Okonnor freed him,” suggested another.

So obvious an explanation could not have originated in the pea girth

brain of Raban and so he said: “I knew it from the first—it was

Okonnor. With my own hands I shall tear out his liver and eat it for

breakfast.”

Certain insects, toads and men make a lot of unnecessary noise, but the

vast majority of other animals pass through life in dignified silence.

It is our respect for these other animals that cause us to take their

names. Whoever heard of a red hawk screeching his intentions to the

world? Silently he soars above the treetops, and as silently he swoops

and strikes.

CHAPTER IX

REUNION

Through the conversation that I overheard between Raban and his minions

I learned that Bethelda was imprisoned in the westerly ruin, but as

Raban did not go thither during the afternoon I waited in the hope that

fortune would favor me with a better opportunity after dark to attempt

her liberation with less likelihood of interruption or discovery than

would have been possible during the day, when men and women were

constantly passing in and out of the easterly tent. There was the

chance, too, that Okonnor might return with help and I did not want to

do anything while that hope remained that might jeopardize Bethelda’s

chances for escape.

Night fell and yet there was no sign of Okonnor. Sounds of coarse

laughter came from the main ruin and I could imagine that Raban and his

followers were at meat, washing down their food with the fiery liquor of

the Kalkars. There was no one in sight and so I determined to come out

of my concealment and investigate the structure in which I believed

Bethelda imprisoned. If I could release her, well and good; if not I

could but wait for Okonnor.

As I was about to descend from the tree there came down with the wind

from out of the canyon to the south a familiar sound—the nicker of a

red stallion. It was music to my ears. I must answer it even though I

chanced arousing the suspicion of the Kalkars. Just once my answering

whistle rose sharp and clear above the noises of the night. I do not

think the Kalkars heard it—they were making too much noise of their own

within doors—but the eager whinny that came thinly down the night wind

told me that two fine, slim ears had caught the familiar summons.

Instead of going at once to the westerly ruin I made my way down the

hill to meet Red Lightning, for I knew that he might mean, in the end,

success or failure for me—freedom or death for Bethelda. Already, when

I reached the foot of the declivity, I faintly heard the pounding of his

hoofs and, steadily increasing in volume the loved sound rolled swiftly

out of the darkness toward me. The hoof beats of running horses, the

rolling of the war drums! What sweeter music in all the world?

He saw me, of course, before I saw him, but he stopped in a cloud of

dust a few yards from me and sniffed the air. I whispered his name and

called him to me. Mincingly he came, stopping often, stretching his long

neck forward, poised always, ready for instant flight. A horse depends

much upon his eyes and ears and nostrils, but he is never so fully

satisfied as when his soft, inquisitive muzzle has nosed an object of

suspicion. He snorted now, and then he touched my cheek with his velvet

lip and gave a great sigh and rubbed his head against me, satisfied. I

hid him beneath the trees at the foot of the hill and bade him wait

there in silence.

From the saddle I took the bow and some arrows and following the route

that Tav had taken to the top of the hill I avoided the hedge of roses

and came presently before the south archway of the ruin. Beyond was a

small central court with windows and doors opening upon it. Light from

flares burning in some of the rooms partially illuminated the court, but

most of it was in shadow. I passed beneath the arch and to the far end

of the enclosure, where, at my right, I saw a window and a door opening

into two rooms in which a number of Kalkars were eating and drinking at

two long tables. I could not see them all. If Raban was there he was not

within range of my vision.

It is always well to reconnoiter thoroughly before carrying out any plan

of action and with this idea in mind I left the court by the way I had

entered and made my way to the east end of the structure, intending to

pass entirely around it and along the north side of the westerly ruin,

where I hoped to find Bethelda and devise means for her rescue.

At the southeast corner of the ruin are three gigantic cypress trees,

growing so closely together as to almost resemble a single huge tree,

and as I paused an instant behind them to see what lay before me, I saw

a single Kalkar warrior come from the building and walk out into the

rank grass that grew knee high on a level space before the structure.

I fitted an arrow to my bow. The fellow had that which I craved—a

sword. Could I drop him noiselessly? If he would turn I was sure of it,

and turn he did as though impelled to it by my insistent wish. His back

was toward me. I drew the shaft far back. The cord twanged as I released

it, but there was no other sound, except the muffled thud as the arrow

entered its victim’s spine at the base of the brain. Mute, he died. No

other was around. I ran forward and removed his sword belt, to which

were attached both sword and knife.

As I arose and buckled the weapons about me, I glanced into the lighted

room from which he had just come. It was the same that I had seen from

the court upon the other side and directly adjoining it was the other

room that I had seen. Now I could see all of them that I had not seen

before. Raban was not there. Where was he? A cold terror ran suddenly

through me. Could it be that in the brief interval that had elapsed

while I went down to meet Red Lightning he had left the feast and gone

to the westerly ruin? I ran swiftly across the front of the house and

along the north side toward the other structure.

I stopped before it and listened. I heard the sound of voices! From

whence came they? This was a peculiar structure, built upon a downward

sloping hill, with one floor on a level with the hilltop, another above

that level and a third below and behind the others. Where the various

entrances were and how to find the right one I did not know. From my

hiding place in the tree I had seen that the front chamber at the hill

top level was a single apartment with a cavernous entrance that

stretched the full width of the ruin, while upon the south side and to

the rear of this apartment were two doors, but where they led I could

not guess. It seemed best, however, to try these first and so I ran

immediately to them and here the sounds of voices came more distinctly

to me and now I recognized the roaring, bull-tones of Raban.

I tried the nearer door. It swung open and before me a flight of stairs

descended and at the same time the voices came more loudly to my ears—I

had opened the right door. A dim light flickered below as though coming

from a chamber near the foot of the stairs. These were but instantaneous

impressions to which I gave no conscious heed at the time, for almost as

they flashed upon me I was at the foot of the stairs, looking into a

large, high-ceiled chamber in which burned a single flare that but

diffused the gloom sufficiently for me to see the figure of Raban

towering above that of Bethelda, whom he was dragging toward the doorway

by her hair.

“An Or-tis!” he was bellowing. “An Or-tis! Who would have thought that

Raban would ever take the daughter of a Jemadar to be his woman? Ah, you

do not like the idea, eh? You might do worse, if you had a choice, but

you have none, for who is there to say ‘no’ to Raban the Giant?”

“The Red Hawk!” I said, stepping into the chamber.

The fellow wheeled, and in the flickering light of the dim flare I saw

his red face go purple and from purple to white, or rather a blotchy

semblance of dirty yellow. Blood of my fathers! How he towered above me,

a perfect mountain of flesh! I am six feet in height and Raban must have

been half again as tall, a good nine feet; but I swear he appeared all

of twenty, and broad!

For a moment he stood in silence glaring at me as though overcome by

surprise and then he thrust Bethelda aside and drawing his sword

advanced upon me, bellowing and roaring as was his wont for the purpose,

I presume, of terrifying me, and also, I could not help but think, to

attract the attention and the aid of his fellows.

I came to meet him then and he appeared a mountain, so high he loomed;

but with all his size I did not feel the concern that I have when

meeting men of my own stature whose honor and courage merited my

respect, and it is well that I had this attitude in mind to fortify me

in the impending duel, for, by The Flag! I needed whatever of

encouragement I might find in it. The fellow’s height and weight were

sufficient to overcome a mighty warrior had Raban been entirely wanting

in skill, which he by no means was. He wielded his great sword with a

master hand and because of the very cowardice which I attributed to him

he fought with a frenzy wrought by fear, as a cornered beast fights.

I needed all my skill and I doubt that that alone would have availed me

had it not been upborne and multiplied by love and the necessity for

protecting the object of my love. Ever was the presence of Bethelda, the

Or-tis, a spur and an inspiration. What blows I struck I struck for her,

what I parried, it was as though I parried from her soft skin.

As we closed he swung mightily at me a cut that would have severed me in

twain, but I parried and stooped beneath it at once, and found his great

legs unguarded before me and ran my sword through a thigh. With a howl

of pain, Raban leaped back, but I followed him with a jab of my point

that caught him just beneath the bottom of his iron vest and punctured

his belly. At that he gave forth a horrible shriek, and though sorely

wounded began to wield his blade with a skill I had not dreamed lay in

him. It was with the utmost difficulty that I turned his heavy sword,

and I saved myself as many times by the quickness of my feet as by the

facility of my blade.

And much do I owe, too, to the cleverness of Bethelda, who, shortly

after we crossed swords, had run to the great fireplace and seized the

flare from where it had reposed upon the stone shelf above, and ever

after had kept just behind my shoulder with it, so that whatever

advantage of light there might be lay with me. Her position was a

dangerous one and I begged her to put herself at a safe distance, but

she would not, and no more would she take advantage of this opportunity

to escape.

Momentarily I had expected to see Raban’s men rushing into the chamber,

for I could not understand that his yells had not reached every ear

within a mile or more, and so I fought the more desperately to be rid of

him and on our way before they came. Raban, now panting for breath, had

none left with which to yell and I could see that from exertion, terror,

and loss of blood he was weakening.

It was now that I heard the loud voices of men without and the tramp of

running feet. They were coming! I redoubled my efforts and Raban his—I

to kill, he to escape death until succor came. From a score of wounds

was he bleeding and I was sure that that in his abdomen alone must prove

fatal; but still he clung to life tenaciously, and fought with a froth

of blood upon his lips from a punctured throat.

He stumbled and went to one knee and as he staggered to rise I thought

that I had him, when we heard the hurrying feet of men descending the

stairs. Instantly Bethelda hurled the flare to the floor, leaving us in

utter darkness.

“Come!” she whispered, laying a hand upon my arm. “There will be too

many now—we must escape as they enter or we are both indeed lost.”

The warriors were cursing at the doorway now and calling for lights.

“Who hides within?” shouted one. “Stand forth, a prisoner! We are a

hundred blades.”

Bethelda and I edged nearer the doorway, hoping to pass out among them

before a light was made. From the center of the room came a deep groan

from where I had left Raban, followed by a scuffling noise upon the

floor and a strange gurgling. I came to the doorway, leading Bethelda by

the hand. I found it choked with men.

“Aside!” I said. “I will fetch a light.”

A sword point was shoved against my belly. “Back!” warned a voice behind

the point. “We will have a look at you before you pass—another is

bringing a light.”

I stepped back and crossed my sword with his. Perhaps I could hew my way

to freedom with Bethelda in the confusion of the darkness. It seemed our

only hope, for to be caught by Raban’s minions now, after the hurts I

had inflicted upon him, would mean sure death for me and worse for

Bethelda.

By the feel of our steel we fenced in the dark, but I could not reach

him, nor he me, though I felt that he was a master swordsman. I thought

that I was gaining an advantage when I saw the flicker of a light coming

from the doorway at the head of the stairs. Someone was coming with a

flare. I redoubled my efforts, but to no avail.

And then the light came and as it fell upon the warriors in the doorway

I stepped back, astounded, and dropped my point. The light that revealed

them illumined my own face, and at sight of it my antagonist voiced a

cry of joy.

“Red Hawk!” he cried and seized me by the shoulder. It was The Vulture,

my brother, and with him were The Rattlesnake and a hundred warriors of

our own beloved clans. Other lights were brought and I saw Okonnor and a

host of strange warriors in Kalkar trappings pushing down the stairway

with my own, nor did they raise sword against one another.

Okonnor pointed toward the center of the chamber, and we looked and

there lay Raban, the giant, dead. “The Red Hawk, Julian 20th,” he said,

turning to those crowding into the chamber behind him, “Great Chief of

the Tribe of Julians—our chief!”

“And Jemadar of all America!” cried another voice and the warriors,

crowding into the room, raised their swords and their hoarse voices in

acclamation. And he who had named me thus pushed past them and faced me

and I saw that he was no other than the true Or-tis with whom I had been

imprisoned in The Capital and with whom I had escaped. He saw Bethelda

and rushed forward and took her in his arms, and for a moment I was

jealous, forgetting that he was her brother.

“And how has all this happened,” I asked, “that Or-tis and Julian come

here together in peace?”

“Listen,” said my brother, “before you pass judgment upon us. Long has

run the feud between Julian and Or-tis for the crime of a man dead now

hundreds of years. Few enough are the Americans of pure blood that they

should be separated by hate when they would come together in friendship.

Came the Or-tis to us after escaping the Kalkars and told of your escape

and of the wish of his father that peace be made between us, and he

offered to lead us against the Kalkars by ways that we did not know and

The Wolf took council with me and there was also The Rock, The

Rattlesnake and The Coyote, with every other chief who was at the front,

and in your absence I dissolved the feud that has lain between us and

the chiefs applauded my decision. Then, guided by the Or-tis, we entered

The Capital and drove the Kalkars before us. Great are their numbers,

but they have not The Flag with them and they must fall.

“Then,” he continued, “came word, brought by the little Nipons of the

hills, that you were in the mountains near the tent of Raban the Giant

and we came to find you, and on the way we met Okonnor with many

warriors and glad were they of the peace that had been made, and we

joined with them who were also riding against Raban to rescue the sister

of the Or-tis. And we are here awaiting the word of The Great Chief. If

it is for peace between the Julian and the Or-tis, we are glad; if it is

for war our swords are ready.”

“It is for peace, ever,” I replied and the Or-tis came and knelt at my

feet and took my hand in his.

“Before my people,” he said, very simply, “I swear allegiance to Julian

20th, Jemadar of America.”

CHAPTER X

PEACE

There was still much fighting to be done, for though we had driven the

Kalkars from The Capital they held the country to the south and west and

we could not be satisfied until we had driven them into the sea, and so

we prepared to ride to the front again that very night, but before we

left I wanted a word with Bethelda who was to remain here with a proper

retinue and a sufficient guard in the home of her people. Leading Red

Lightning I searched about the grounds around the ruins and at last I

came upon her beneath a great oak tree that grew at the northeast corner

of the structure, its mighty limbs outspreading above the ruin. She was

alone and I came and stood beside her.

“I am going now,” I said, “to drive your enemies and mine into the sea.

I have come to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Julian.” She held out her hand to me.

I had come full of brave words and mighty resolve, but when I took that

slim and tender hand in mine I could but stand there mute and trembling.

I, Julian 20th, The Red Hawk, for the first time in all my life, knew

fear. A Julian quailed before an Or-tis.

For a full minute I stood there trying to speak and could not, and then

I dropped to my knee at the feet of my enemy and with my lips against

her fair hand I murmured what I had been too great a coward to look into

her eyes and say: “I love you!”

She raised me to my feet then and lifted her lips to mine and I took her

into my arms and covered her mouth with kisses; and thus ended the

ancient feud between Julian and Or-tis, that had endured four hundred

years and wrecked a world.

* * * * *

Two years later and we had driven the Kalkars into the sea, the remnants

of them flying westward in great canoes which they had built and

launched upon a beauteous bay a hundred miles or more south of The

Capital.

The Rain Cloud said that if they were not overcome by storms and waves

they might sail on and on around the world and come again to the eastern

shores of America, but the rest of us knew that they would sail to the

edge of the Earth and tumble off and that would be the end of them.

We live in such peace now that it is difficult to find an enemy upon

whom to try one’s lance, but I do not mind much, since my time is taken

with the care of my flocks and herds, the business of my people and the

training of Julian 21st, the son of a Julian and an Or-tis, who will one

day be Jemadar of all America over which, once more, there flies but a

single flag—The Flag.

There’s More to Follow!

More stories of the sort you like; more, probably, by the author

of this one; more than 500 titles all told by writers of

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The Grosset & Dunlap list is not only the greatest Index of Good

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EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

NOVELS

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=BANDIT OF HELL’S BEND, THE=

=CAVE GIRL, THE=

=LAND THAT TIME FORGOT, THE=

=TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN=

=TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION=

=TARZAN THE TERRIBLE=

=TARZAN THE UNTAMED=

=JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN=

=AT THE EARTH’S CORE=

=THE MUCKER=

=A PRINCESS OF MARS=

=THE GODS OF MARS=

=THE WARLORD OF MARS=

=THUVIA, MAID OF MARS=

=THE CHESSMEN OF MARS=

PETER B. KYNE’S NOVELS

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=THE ENCHANTED HILL=

A gorgeous story with a thrilling mystery and a beautiful girl.

=NEVER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET=

A romance of California and the South Seas.

=CAPPY RICKS RETIRES=

Cappy retires, but the romance of the sea and business, keep

calling him back, and he comes back strong.

=THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR=

When two strong men clash and the under-dog has Irish blood in

his veins—there’s a tale that Kyne can tell!

=KINDRED OF THE DUST=

Donald McKay, son of Hector McKay, millionaire lumber king falls

in love with “Nan of the sawdust pile,” a charming girl who has

been ostracized by her townsfolk.

=THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS=

The fight of the Cardigans, father and son, to hold the Valley

of the Giants against treachery.

=CAPPY RICKS=

Cappy Ricks gave Matt Peasley the acid test because he knew it

was good for his soul.

=WEBSTER: MAN’S MAN=

A man and a woman hailing from the “States,” met up with a

revolution while in Central America. Adventures and excitement

came so thick and fast that their love affair had to wait for a

lull in the game.

=CAPTAIN SCRAGGS=

This sea yarn recounts the adventures of three rapscallion

seafaring men.

=THE LONG CHANCE=

Harley P. Hennage is the best gambler, the best and worst man of

San Pasqual and of lovely Donna.

JACKSON GREGORY’S NOVELS

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=DAUGHTER OF THE SUN=

A tale of Aztec treasure—of American adventurers, who seek

it—of Zoraida, who hides it.

=TIMBER-WOLF=

This it a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always

by the heroic figure of Timber-Wolf.

=THE EVERLASTING WHISPER=

The story of a strong man’s struggle against savage nature and

humanity, and of a beautiful girl’s regeneration from a spoiled

child of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.

=DESERT VALLEY=

A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold.

They meet a rancher who loses hit heart, and becomes involved in

a feud.

=MAN TO MAN=

How Steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story filled

with breathless situations.

=THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN=

Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night

journey into the strongholds of a lawless band.

=JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH=

Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is

being robbed by her foreman. With the help of Bud Lee, she

checkmates Trevor’s scheme.

=THE SHORT CUT=

Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel.

Financial complications, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, make

up a thrilling romance.

=THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER=

A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice’s Ranch much

to her chagrin. There is “another man” who complicates matters.

=SIX FEET FOUR=

Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon

Buck Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty.

=WOLF BREED=

No Luck Drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a

match in Ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and

love of the “Lone Wolf.”

EMERSON HOUGH’S NOVELS

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=THE COVERED WAGON=

=NORTH OF 36=

=THE WAY OF A MAN=

=THE STORY OF THE OUTLAW=

=THE SAGEBRUSHER=

=THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE=

=THE WAY OUT=

=THE MAN NEXT DOOR=

=THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE=

=THE BROKEN GATE=

=THE STORY OF THE COWBOY=

=THE WAY TO THE WEST=

=54-40 OR FIGHT=

=HEART’S DESIRE=

=THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE=

=THE PURCHASE PRICE=

GEORGE W. OGDEN’S WESTERN NOVELS

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=THE BARON OF DIAMOND TAIL=

The Elk Mountain Cattle Co. had not paid a dividend in years; so

Edgar Barrett, fresh from the navy, was sent West to see what

was wrong at the ranch. The tale of this tenderfoot outwitting

the buckaroos at their own play will sweep you into the action

of this salient western novel.

=THE BONDBOY=

Joe Newbolt, bound out by force of family conditions to work for

a number of years, is accused of murder and circumstances are

against him. His mouth is sealed; he cannot, as a gentleman,

utter the words that would clear him. A dramatic, romantic tale

of intense interest.

=CLAIM NUMBER ONE=

Dr. Warren Slavens drew claim number one, which entitled him to

first choice of rich lands on an Indian reservation in Wyoming.

It meant a fortune; but before he established his ownership he

had a hard battle with crooks and politicians.

=THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE=

When Jerry Lambert, “the Duke,” attempts to safeguard the cattle

ranch of Vesta Philbrook from thieving neighbors, his work is

appallingly handicapped because of Grace Kerr, one of the chief

agitators, and a deadly enemy of Vesta’s. A stirring tale of

brave deeds, gun-play and a love that shines above all.

=THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON CREEK=

John Mackenzie trod the trail from Jasper to the great sheep

country where fortunes were being made by the flock-masters.

Shepherding was not a peaceful pursuit in those bygone days.

Adventure met him at every turn—there is a girl of course—men

fight their best fights for a woman—it is an epic of the

sheeplands.

=THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE=

Jim Timberlake and Capt. David Scott waited with restless

thousands on the Oklahoma line for the signal to dash across the

border. How the city of Victory arose overnight on the plains,

how people savagely defended their claims against the “sooners;”

how good men and bad played politics, makes a strong story of

growth and American initiative.

=TRAIL’S END=

Ascalon was the end of the trail for thirsty cowboys who gave

vent to their pent-up feelings without restraint. Calvin Morgan

was not concerned with its wickedness until Seth Craddock’s

malevolence directed itself against him. He did not emerge from

the maelstrom until he had obliterated every vestige of

lawlessness, and assured himself of the safety of a certain

dark-eyed girl.

_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_

CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER’S

WESTERN NOVELS

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=THE WAY OF THE BUFFALO=

Jim Cameron builds a railroad adjacent to Ballantine’s property,

even though Ballantine threatens to kill him the day he runs it.

=BRASS COMMANDMENTS=

Stephen Lannon writes six commandments over six loaded

cartridges set out where the evil men who threaten him and the

girl he loves, may see them.

=WEST!=

When Josephine Hamilton went West to visit Betty, she met

“Satan” Lattimer, ruthless, handsome, fascinating, who taught

her some things.

=SQUARE DEAL SANDERSON=

Square Deal Sanderson rode onto the Double A just as an innocent

man was about to be hanged and Mary Bransford was in danger of

losing her property.

=“BEAU” RAND=

Bristling with quick, decisive action, and absorbing in its love

theme, “Beau” Rand, mirrors the West of the hold-up days in

remarkable fashion.

=THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y=

Calumet Marston, daredevil, returns to his father’s ranch to

find it is being run by a young woman who remains in charge

until he accepts sundry conditions.

=“DRAG” HARLAN=

Harlan establishes himself as the protector of Barbara Morgan

and deals out punishment to the girl’s enemies through the

lightning flash of drawn guns.

=THE TRAIL HORDE=

How Kane Lawler fought the powerful interests that were trying

to crush him and Ruth Hamlin, the woman he loved, makes

intensely interesting reading.

=THE RANCHMAN=

The story of a two-fisted product of the west, pitted against a

rascally spoils-man, who sought to get control of Marion Harlan

and her ranch.

=“FIREBRAND” TREVISON=

The encroachment of the railroad brought Rosalind Benham—and

also results in a clash between Corrigan and “Firebrand” that

ends when the better man wins.

=THE RANGE BOSS=

Ruth Harkness comes West to the ranch her uncle left her. Rex

Randerson, her range boss, rescues her from a mired buckboard,

and is in love with her from that moment on.

=THE VENGEANCE OF JEFFERSON GAWNE=

A story of the Southwest that tells how the law came to a

cow-town, dominated by a cattle thief. There is a wonderful girl

too, who wins the love of Jefferson Gawne.

DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER

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=THE BOROUGH TREASURER=

=THE CHARING CROSS MYSTERY=

=THE CHESTERMARKE INSTINCT=

=THE COPPER BOX=

=DEAD MEN’S MONEY=

=THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL=

=THE MARKENMORE MYSTERY=

=THE MIDDLE OF THINGS=

=THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER=

=THE MYSTERY OF LYNNE COURT=

=THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND=

=RAVENSDENE COURT=

=THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION=

=THE SAFETY PIN=

=THE SECRET WAY=

=THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN=

_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_

B. M. BOWER’S NOVELS

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=THE EAGLE’S WING=

=THE PAROWAN BONANZA=

=THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER=

=CASEY RYAN=

=CHIP OF THE FLYING U=

=COW-COUNTRY=

=FLYING U RANCH=

=FLYING U’S LAST STAND, THE=

=GOOD INDIAN=

=GRINGOS, THE=

=HAPPY FAMILY, THE=

=HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT=

=HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX, THE=

=LONG SHADOW, THE=

=LONESOME TRAIL, THE=

=LOOKOUT MAN, THE=

=LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS, THE=

=PHANTOM HERD, THE=

=QUIRT, THE=

=RANGE DWELLERS, THE=

=RIM O’ THE WORLD=

=SKYRIDER=

=STARR OF THE DESERT=

=THUNDER BIRD, THE=

=TRAIL OF THE WHITE MULE, THE=

=UPHILL CLIMB, THE=

ZANE GREY’S NOVELS

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=THE CALL OF THE CANYON=

=WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND=

=TO THE LAST MAN=

=THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER=

=THE MAN OF THE FOREST=

=THE DESERT OF WHEAT=

=THE U. P. TRAIL=

=WILDFIRE=

=THE BORDER LEGION=

=THE RAINBOW TRAIL=

=THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT=

=RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE=

=THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS=

=THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN=

=THE LONE STAR RANGER=

=DESERT GOLD=

=BETTY ZANE=

=THE DAY OF THE BEAST=

* * * * * * *

=LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS=

The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody

Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.

ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS

=KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE=

=THE YOUNG LION HUNTER=

=THE YOUNG FORESTER=

=THE YOUNG PITCHER=

=THE SHORT STOP=

=THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER=

=BASEBALL STORIES=

NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE

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=BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP, THE=

=BRAND BLOTTERS=

=BUCKY O’CONNOR=

=CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT=

=DAUGHTER OF THE DONS, A=

=DESERT’S PRICE, THE=

=FIGHTING EDGE, THE=

=GUNSIGHT PASS=

=HIGHGRADER, THE=

=IRONHEART=

=MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A=

=MAN-SIZE=

=MAVERICKS=

=OH, YOU TEX!=

=PIRATE OF PANAMA, THE=

=RIDGWAY OF MONTANA=

=SHERIFF’S SON, THE=

=STEVE YEAGER=

=TANGLED TRAILS=

=TEXAS RANGER, A=

=VISION SPLENDID, THE=

=WYOMING=

=YUKON TRAIL, THE=

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S

STORIES OF ADVENTURE

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=THE COUNTRY BEYOND=

=THE FLAMING FOREST=

=THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN=

=THE RIVER’S END=

=THE GOLDEN SNARE=

=NOMADS OF THE NORTH=

=KAZAN=

=BAREE, SON OF KAZAN=

=THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM=

=THE DANGER TRAIL=

=THE HUNTED WOMAN=

=THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH=

=THE GRIZZLY KING=

=ISOBEL=

=THE WOLF HUNTERS=

=THE GOLD HUNTERS=

=THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE=

=BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY=

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TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple

spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors

occur.