GETTING HIS IDEAL MATE
After dinner that evening, Carl wrote a long letter to Sana, enclosing
the gift he had purchased that afternoon. In higher spirits than at any
time since that fateful morning on the desert he went to his club to
spend the evening in quiet reverie.
In the days that followed, the change in Carl became more and more
noticeable to Grace, who at last realized that all her hopes were now
gone as the winds of yesterday. This realization was a bitter pill to
swallow but she tried to make the best of it.
Weeks passed. Weeks that seemed ages to the anxious man but weeks that
were as fleeting moments to the girl who dreaded the day when another
letter should reach him from across the seas.
At last the letter came. Receiving it from the postman, Grace, without
hesitation now, placed it on Carl’s desk. What mattered it to her!
But just the same her feelings were thrown out of balance and with,
“What’s the use,” she threw her notebook angrily on her desk just as
Carl came in with his usual morning smile.
Grace made a brave attempt to appear unconcerned, saying, “Mr. Lohman,
there is a letter on your desk from your African friend.”
Carl hurried into his office and as he opened the envelope turned to
Grace, asking, “How did you know it was from Sana?”
“Oh I thought so.”
“Why, you did not know that she was alive. How did you guess it?”
“To be frank, when you received the letter from Timbuktoo and when
you forwarded the cablegram, I thought something unusual must have
happened. Isn’t that so?” looking at her chief with a smile.
“Yes, you are right, Miss Huntington. I told you that Sana had been
burned to death, but I was greatly mistaken. Sana is alive.”
“I am glad to hear it,” came the lying response.
Carl was reading the letter for a second time, when he was called to
the telephone and while still engaged in conversation over the wire, a
business friend dropped in requesting Carl to accompany him up town,
without delay, to attend to some important business matters.
As they left the office, Carl informed Grace that he did not believe
he would be back until late in the afternoon.
Later on, Grace, when placing some papers on his desk noticed Sana’s
letter. Carl in his hurry had forgotten to put it in his pocket as was
his custom with personal mail.
Without hesitation Grace picked up the letter and returning to her
desk, read:
My darling boy:
You cannot imagine how thrilled I was to get your sweet note, saying
that you are safe and happy and to know that you still love me. I am,
and I always shall be yours. I am so hungry for you, my love.
The desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose, when you are once
more with me.
Your message and the beautiful ring have removed all doubts from my
heart. Thank you, my own.
You must have been in an extremely loving mood when you wrote that
letter, and looking at its date I found that you wrote at a time when
I could not keep you out of my mind. I was longing, longing for you,
beloved. It must have been mental telepathy. At any rate that very
evening I removed an old ring of mine, something told me to do it,
and sure enough with your letter came that wonderful ring to take
the place of the one I had discarded. To think, dear, that you will
be my very very own. I wish you were here now so that I could better
express my feelings for you. But alas being so far apart I can but
press your picture to my heart and lips. I am living in my dream of
the future which like all great happenings, and like your sparkling
solitaire, casts its brilliant beams ahead.
You know I love you dearly and I hope the day of supreme joy will
soon come, when I shall register a vow before God, you and myself,
to devote my life and love to you. I will be yours, yours--entirely
yours and you will be mine, all mine! Won’t it be wonderful, too
wonderful to believe?
As you read these lines I am longing, longing for your embraces and
caresses.
When thinking of you and the short sweet hours we had together, the
mirror reflects my eyes like two bright stars of the desert night and
I shall keep them shining to lead you back across the desert to your
Sana.
Many thanks again, Carl, for the lovely surprises of today.
Having now your splendid photograph to make clearer my mental picture
of you, I am reading your character and writing down my observations
and comparing them with what astrology has to say.
This is my Carl--You are a keen observer, quick in thought,
practical, energetic, patient, good natured, self controlled and
determined. You are a planner and a diplomat. The finely chiseled
features of your head and hands, as well as your silky hair and fine
skin show natural refinement, love of beauty, harmony and quality.
This is also proven by your voice. Your forehead, nose and eyes,
prove your intellectual power.
Zodiac says: (Born between August 22nd and September 23rd). You have
a fine and discriminating mind, great endurance and aptitude in
acquisition of knowledge. You are capable of attainments in whatever
line you undertake; but if you follow literary pursuits or astronomy
you will obtain decided distinction. Whatever you do is done in an
orderly, systematic manner. You are fond of variety. You possess
great rallying powers and it would be hard to keep you down. You are
emotional, generous, large hearted, fond of music and the arts. You
are instinctively discriminating, having likes and dislikes, but do
not care to be restrained or opposed in your inclinations. You like
things tasty, rich and elegant but are still a strict observer of the
rules of health and nature.
While the stars say you are fond of art and tasty things, they do
not say you are fond of the feminine sex. I suppose that those old
astrologers who always looked at that imaginary belt in the heavens
containing the twelve constellations of the Zodiac, to forecast human
destiny, did not care anything about us women. So, this is my Carl!
Well, goodbye then for a while, with much love,
Your little girl of the desert,
Sana.
Grace, having finished reading the letter, realized that Sana was much
cleverer than herself in expressing her feelings, and able to say far
more than she would have ever attempted to put down on paper.
Comparing herself with Sana, Grace appeared to herself as a
hypocritical puritan. She hated herself now for having let Carl slip
away from her. Yet, she no longer bore him any grudge. She realized
that he had treated her more kindly than she deserved.
It did not occur to her that the greater the intelligence and culture
of a person, the greater the expression and the appreciation of
love. The less intelligent cannot understand it. The lower the plane,
the less refined, the fewer and feebler are the inner feelings. The
imagination of women plays a great role and it is just this that the
dull unsophisticated human being is unable to comprehend.
Even the mating of the intelligent with the dull does not help the
latter; it is beyond their power to learn. That they miss joys of life,
they cannot see, or know why.
Society would do well to teach the public the true meaning of love and
the part it plays in the progress of civilization. Unadvised, most
people plunge blindly and madly along, not realizing the truth and
heading straight for destruction. Much of this could be avoided were we
of today but properly versed in the real meaning of life. Of course,
such teaching would deprive many so-called vice crusaders and other
self-appointed fanatical apostles of an easy way to make a living, but
the world would be wiser and happier.
Carl was more than anxious now to have his plans and specifications
finished. Several weeks of hard work went by quickly, then came the
message that made Carl forget all about engineering problems and sent
him hurrying across the ocean to Sana’s side.
Upon going to his office one morning he found a cablegram awaiting him,
telling him that von Sarnoff and de Rochelle were causing Sana a great
deal of annoyance and that she wished he could come to aid her in her
distress.
Grace, too, had read the cablegram from Sana. Although she had long
realized that the man was slipping through her fingers, she was
determined now to go to whatever extreme might be necessary to obtain
her end.
Once more the temptation of using the machinery of the law, by means
of the Mann Act, occurred to her. Should she take advantage of it? The
more she studied the situation, the more promising did the invoking
of this law appear to her. Surely, she mused, she was in a position
to make things disagreeable for Carl. Her word, she knew, would carry
more weight with the minions of the law than his. His denials would be
useless once she had stated her case and started the wheels aturning.
Carl had certainly set the trap for himself when he had refused to
allow her to repay the money he had advanced for her passage from
Africa.
Grace could not refrain from laughing aloud as she thought of this.
At any rate, she figured, there was enough against him to prevent his
leaving the country, at least for the time being.
And in the meantime what of Sana? If Carl could not get to her side to
protect her from de Rochelle and von Sarnoff, they would, no doubt,
take care of her. With Sana out of the way, Grace saw better chances
for her own cause.
At her home that night Grace gave much thought and consideration to
the matter. Several schemes came to mind, but at last she came to the
conclusion that it would best serve her purpose to consult a lawyer.
She knew of no lawyer to whom she could entrust her case, so at the
office the following day, she called up several of her girl friends,
asking them whether they knew any such lawyer. After a few calls she
was referred to one, as being just the sort of counsel she should seek.
Upon getting his office on the ’phone she was asked to drop in during
her lunch hour to talk things over.
Grace told her side of the story, being careful not to say anything
with regard to the scheming she had done to ensnare Carl in the meshes
of her net. Being pressed for time, on account of a case in court that
afternoon, the attorney asked that she return that evening.
At the end of her office day, Grace again visited the lawyer. After
relating her story once more in detail, Grace was assured that she had
a good case.
“I would advise that you sue him for at least twenty-five thousand
dollars,” the lawyer suggested, craftily adding, “You can easily get
several thousand dollars anyway.”
“Is that all?” questioned the girl, now quite mercenary, at the thought
of getting easy money.
“Yes--that is unless you happen to have something in writing to hold
against him.”
“I have nothing.”
“Too bad. If you did it would be worth a hundred thousand to you.”
“A hundred thousand!”
“Yes, easily--but never mind, I can make it worth your while, as it is.”
“Are you sure we have a good case against him?”
“Positively--when he paid your fare to this country he committed a
criminal offense, if we want to look at it that way--and when it
comes to a show-down that is the way we look at it. He has a year of
imprisonment staring him in the face. I believe it will be well worth
his while to pay you to keep quiet.”
“Yes”--replied Grace, thinking of Carl’s eagerness to get to Sana, “I
think he would.”
“Well then, do you want me to take your case?”
“Of course”--responded Grace. “Why do you ask?”
“You know, without doubt, that the profession cannot handle cases of
this sort without a retainer being paid in advance.”
“Oh, I see--what retainer would you like?”
“One thousand dollars. As soon as you pay it, I shall proceed against
Mr. Lohman. There will be no notoriety attached; simply a case of
making him come across on the quiet.”
“But I haven’t a thousand dollars,” Grace objected faintly.
“No? Then I’m sorry that I cannot be of assistance to you.”
Grace had had visions of fur coats and luxurious gowns, purchased with
the gold she and her attorney would squeeze from Carl. Blackmail, you
may call it if you wish--but the nastiness of the name means nothing
in the life of a “gold digger.” Now those fanciful dreams were fading
from sight, just because she did not happen to have a paltry thousand
dollars with which to satisfy the greed of the lawyer. She called it
greed, as she sat there, trying to find a way out of the quandary,
giving no thought to the fact that even “gold diggers” are often
“played” for all they are worth.
The attorney, too, saw some easy money slipping through his fingers, so
turning to Grace he said, in rather a patronizing tone, “Well--I could
consider five hundred.”
But that sum was just as unavailable as the first and Grace hastened to
tell him so, suggesting that he take the case on a fifty-fifty basis.
“Nothing doing,” came the quick response. Although he didn’t tell her,
the lawyer wasn’t so positive that they would get anything out of Carl,
as he had appeared to be in his conversation. Why then, should he waste
his time on a far fetched gamble?
This outcome of her plans took Grace rather by surprise. She had hoped
to hold Carl by hook or by crook, and failing to hold him, the next
best thing seemed the getting of some of his money. Now it looked as if
she would have neither the man nor the gold. So far she had not struck
“pay dirt” in her gold digging.
But like all fortune hunters, one failure did not mean utter disaster
and rout to Grace’s plans. There must be some way, she told herself, on
her way home. Yes, there must be a way and she would sooner or later
find it. Then she would show Carl she was not to be trifled with!
Suppose there was notoriety and scandal connected with it. What cared
she? Like so many other women she would, no doubt, gain by it. And
that alone was her object.
Luckily, Carl was entirely unaware of Grace and her scheming. He had
troubles enough of his own, without being further burdened by any such
menace as blackmail.
He spent the day going from one steamship office to another in an
effort to book passage for an immediate sailing to Africa. But his
hunt was fruitless. There were no vessels leaving for Africa within a
week--neither passenger nor freight.
The best he could do was arrange to go by boat to Cadiz in Spain,
trusting to his luck to be able to secure quick passage from there on
some coastwise steamer, touching at different African ports.
Returning to his office he attended to a few of the most important
matters that required his personal attention and prepared to leave.
His baggage was already on its way to the steamer, which sailed the
following morning. Before saying “goodbye” however, he gave specific
instructions as to the completion of the competitive irrigation plans,
and their delivery to the New York office of the Sahara Development
Organization.
As Carl shook hands with Grace, she made a brave attempt at smiling,
saying, “Don’t forget to send us a wireless, so that I can meet you at
the dock when you return.”
After Carl had gone, and she was alone in the outer office, Grace sank
heavily into her chair, and pointing her finger at the door through
which he had just passed, she muttered, through clinched teeth, “I’ll
get you yet. Yes, I’ll be at the dock when you return, all right. And
what will happen then will be some surprise to you and your desert
vamp.”
When one is in a hurry, delay sets in. Such were Carl’s thoughts when
the hour of sailing had long passed, and still the steamer remained
in her berth. But all delays come to an end sometime, and at noon the
vessel was warped from the dock, and soon Carl was waving a farewell to
New York’s skyscrapers.
As the boat steamed out to sea, Carl thought of the rum-runners he had
encountered on his last trip. He wondered whether the boats he saw on
the horizon were of that calling. But these were but passing fancies.
His thoughts were in Africa, beside a little lake and of a girl, who
even now might be in grave danger.
The passage to Spain was a slow one it is true, but to Carl it seemed
as if they would never get there. The hours of sea travel became days
in his fancy and the days ages. Every low-lying cloud bank, he prayed
meant land, and when it proved otherwise, he cursed the fact that
he did not have a real “Meteor,” like the one of his dream, at his
disposal.
At last Cadiz hove in sight. Assured by the Captain of the steamer
he had come over on, that he could get passage on a freighter or
cattleboat engaged in trade along the African coast, he hurried from
the ship and immediately sought the offices of the steamship people
named by the Captain.
Luck smiled kindly on him. There was a vessel leaving that day,
destined to Spanish Africa. It was a tramp freighter, but it seemed a
floating palace to Carl.
On board, Carl made plans on how to reach Timbuktoo in the quickest
possible way. The steamer would take him to Senegal. From there he
could take the railroad that runs along the Senegal River, for some
eight hundred miles, into the African interior. So far so good. At the
terminus of the railway, however, he faced a journey of some three
or four hundred miles on horseback. That was the part he dreaded. As
good a horseman as he was, he realized the strain such a journey would
place upon man and beast, especially so if they were in a hurry. But
the journey itself did not worry him as much as the procuring of
sufficient relays of horses to carry on.
Slow as the trip across the Atlantic had seemed, the passage of the
freighter along the African Coast was still slower and more tedious.
Languidly the vessel crept from port to port. Being a tramp her holds
held a general cargo consigned to hundreds of different points in the
interior of the continent, which meant a stop at a half dozen different
coast towns. The mere calling at these varied ports would not have
displeased Carl as much as did the fact that the Captain of the boat
saw fit to lay-up at each of the ports for a day or two. To plead with
him for a more hurried journey was useless. He had made the trip a half
hundred times, he told Carl, and it was always fast enough to suit him.
And when an African coaster says that, he means it.
Carl was desperate, when, one rainy morning, some four weeks after
leaving New York, he finally left the steamer at the port of Saint
Louis, lying at the mouth of the Senegal River.
Inquiring at the railroad station as to the first train for Segu
Sikoro, the last stop, on the road he was told that it would be some
hours before the train left.
Cursing the indifference to time one encounters all over Africa,
Carl turned to a little telegraph office, and from there dispatched a
message to Sana, saying he was on his way to Timbuktoo, and hoped to
see her within a week.
At last the train started its weary journey up the Senegal River. Carl
had never traveled on an African railway, but, from what he had heard
of the experiences of friends, it was something not to be considered in
the light of a pleasure trip. Just how many stops it would make from
time to time, for water and wood it used for fuel, he dared not picture
in advance. Suffice to say, they would be too many to suit anyone in as
great a hurry as he was.
From the outset the trip promised to be an unpleasant one. The rain and
the heat, together with the swarming flies, foretold as much.
Carl tried to concentrate on his books, but after a few hours dreary
ride, punctured by several jerking stops, and accompanied by shrieking
wheels, he gave it up. He would just have to sit there and wait for his
journey’s end.
So he sat looking out through the rain at the dismal waters of the
Senegal, until the train came to a halt at a little way station, the
name of which Carl could not ascertain.
Here he was joined, in way of company, by a tall rugged fellow,
wearing tweeds that looked totally out of place in that part of the
country.
As Carl looked up, the newcomer nodded pleasantly, remarking as he did
so, “Beastly weather, this.”
Carl, glad to get in conversation, replied to this greeting with a
pleasant, “Fine for ducks.”
The other, settling his bulky figure into the seat opposite Carl,
proceeded to fill and light his pipe, saying--“Not supposed to, you
know, but I’ve never been stopped yet--Smoke?” offering his tobacco
pouch.
“Yes thanks, I will,” and Carl, too, was soon wreathed in a cloud of
pipe smoke.
They sat silently for a time, each studying the other, when Carl,
anxious to renew the conversation, said “From your remarks, I take it
you have traveled this road before.”
“Many a time. Guess I know every inch of it and each different shriek
in the wheels. By the way, name is Rogers--trader and so on.”
“Mine’s Lohman, engineer from New York.”
“Glad to know you, Lohman,” from the other, who, it was apparent, did
not believe much in the formalities. Of this Carl was glad. Here was a
man he could talk to without having to watch his step every inch of the
way.
The other continued, “You won’t mind my rudeness, I hope--but would you
mind my asking what you are doing here?”
“Not at all,” replied Carl; “and I’ll answer you too. I’m trying to get
to Timbuktoo in a hurry. And I’m sorry to say that ‘hurry’ seems to be
the last thing thought of here.”
“You have a long way to go, friend.” Rogers paused for a moment, then
continued with “How are you going on from Segu Sikoro?”
“I intended to go by horse if possible, but for the last few hours I
have been worrying as to how I can get the horses.”
“Well you would have good cause for worry if you hadn’t met me. But
having met me, you need not worry.”
To Carl this sounded like bragging, but he felt, from within, that the
man was sincere.
Without waiting for Carl to say anything, Rogers added “My place is but
a few miles from the station, and a servant will be waiting for me with
a buckboard. If you will accept my offer, I can fit you up.”
“I shall be greatly indebted to you.”
“Not at all, friend. My motto is ‘Help others--you may need help some
day.’ I’m not asking questions as to what you are in a hurry about and
I don’t want you to tell me, either. All I know is you are in a hurry
and that’s enough for Rogers.”
Carl was no fool, and realizing the offer was made in good faith
readily accepted it.
In due time they reached the railhead, and as predicted by Rogers, his
servant was there, waiting to take him home. He hustled Carl into the
wagon and away they went at a lively pace.
Rogers, turned to Carl, laughing and remarked “Some speed in Africa,
according to where you look for it.”
After a half hour’s drive across the grassy plains they swung through
a grove of trees, arriving shortly at the great palatial house Rogers
called home.
Inside, Rogers called for whisky and soda, after which he led Carl to
the bath where he could rid himself of the dust of the journey. It was
then late in the afternoon, and although Carl was anxious to be on his
way, he could not refuse the invitation to remain overnight.
Dawn, the following morning, found Carl up and dressed, after a night
of refreshing sleep and rest. Rogers was up before him, however, and
had seen to it that breakfast was on the table when his guest came
downstairs.
While eating, Rogers outlined his plan to Carl. A native servant, who
knew the country as only a native can, would accompany Carl the entire
distance. They would take two of Rogers’ best saddle horses and ride to
a distant ranch. There they would be given fresh horses for the next
stage of the trip. Rogers explained that they would have to go a little
out of their way, but they would make better time by having fresh
horses for about every hundred miles.
Breakfast over, Rogers led Carl out of doors, where the guide and the
horses were already awaiting him.
Thanking Rogers for his assistance and assuring him of his gratitude,
Carl mounted, and following the guide rode speedily away. As he did so,
he heard Rogers call after him “Don’t forget to let me know if you find
the girl safe.”
“How the devil did he guess it?” Carl mused. “There certainly are
strange folk in this world.”
Hour after hour they rode silently. The horses seemed to realize the
urgent need of speed and every tendon was strained as they galloped
along, placing the miles rapidly behind them. The sun rose high
overhead and sank in the distant west and still the two men rode,
urging their mounts on and on. Twilight, the short misty African
twilight, came and was swallowed by night, and yet there was no halting
in the ride.
The moon of midnight saw the weary men drop from their more weary
horses at the first stopping place, a little ranch run by a friend of
Rogers. The baying hounds had awakened the owner, who came out to see
what caused the disturbance. Recognizing Rogers’ man, he took them into
the house, and being told that Rogers desired that they be given fresh
horses the following morning, he assured them that Rogers’ wish was
his pleasure, and made haste to make the travelers comfortable for the
night.
The following day was much the same as the one previous. All day they
rode and far into the night. They came at last to a little lake, which
Carl thought he recognized as Faguibin, but to his chagrin the guide
informed him that Faguibin was still a long distance away.
They stayed overnight at a lonely ranch, and set out, once more, the
following morning, before the sun had risen above the horizon, on the
last stage of their ride. Again good fortune favored them and without
mishap their horses fairly flew over the remaining miles.
Weary to the point of exhaustion, Carl fairly staggered, late that
night, into Sana’s home.
But Sana was not there to greet him. Her mother informed him, between
her tears, that Sana had disappeared the day before while out riding.
Where she was she did not know. All she knew was that Sana was not to
be found in the village, and that she believed Sana had been spirited
away by someone in the employ of de Rochelle.
She directed Carl to the hotel where von Sarnoff was staying, saying
that he was getting up a searching party and that no doubt, he would
assist Carl in anything he would do to find the lost one.
“Von Sarnoff?” cried Carl, “I thought he, too, was annoying Sana?”
“He was in the beginning, but when he learned the truth from Sana, he
ceased bothering her, and since then has been only trying to protect
her from de Rochelle.”
With the words--“All right, I’ll see him,” Carl rushed from the house
and hurried to the hotel.
Making himself known to von Sarnoff, Carl sought his aid. Gladly was
the request granted. The searching party would start out early the
following morning, Carl was informed, and as von Sarnoff expressed it,
they would find Sana even if they had to sift the desert sands.
No time was lost the next day in getting away on the search. As they
proceeded, von Sarnoff told Carl that he had learned that the local
telegraph operator had been bribed by de Rochelle and had handed
Carl’s message to Sana over to him.
The village had been searched thoroughly for Sana, and the leader of
the searching party directed the party to the jungle that lies close to
the town, believing that it was there that de Rochelle would take his
captive. Sana was too well known and too well liked in Timbuktoo for de
Rochelle to risk keeping her, against her wish, anywhere in the city.
All that day the little group of searchers beat the bush, but in vain;
Sana was not to be found; nor were they even sure that the hoof prints
they saw in the soft soil were those of the fugitives.
Too late to continue, they camped for the night in the deep jungle,
lying huddled on the ground, trying as best they could to keep warm.
They dared not build a fire for fear it might warn de Rochelle, if he
were near, that he was being followed.
Long before dawn Carl roused the party and again the search was on. No
light was thrown on the trail until about noon one of the hunters found
a hat. Von Sarnoff, rushing to the spot cried--“Lohman--it is Sana’s
hat--we are on the right road after all.”
But as the day went by, their hope of finding Sana grew less and less.
They were getting into the thickest of the jungle, which they were
experiencing great difficulty in penetrating.
Wearily they pushed their way through thorn and underbrush, becoming
more and more discouraged as the hours flew by.
Suddenly, to their startled ears, came the panic stricken shrieks of a
woman and the wild snorting of a horse.
There was no holding them now. No brush grew thick enough to keep them
from hurrying to the spot from which the cries had seemed to come.
They had not gone far, when, with a great crashing of branches, a madly
galloping horse plunged past them.
“Good God!” Carl gasped as he recognized Sana’s white Arab. As the
horse careened by, the watchers saw hanging from his torn and bleeding
neck, a black panther.
Again the screams resounded through the jungle depths.
Throwing all caution to the winds Carl plunged ahead. Entangling vines,
scratching thorns and bruising branches strove to hinder him. But he
was unmindful of all these. Nothing mattered! He must get to Sana, it
was she who had torn the silence with her cries.
[Illustration: Calling to von Sarnoff, “Take care of the beast!” Carl
sprang to Sana’s side and freed her from her bonds.]
Von Sarnoff hurried after him, but Carl was first to reach a little
clearing in the jungle. A wild cry escaped his lips as he beheld the
strange sight before him.
Sana was tied hand and foot to a tree. At her feet lay a heap of twigs.
Had de Rochelle dared dream of torture? The question came to Carl, as
with clenched fists, he turned to look for de Rochelle. He must answer
for that outrage.
But de Rochelle was beyond answering for the misdeeds of his life. At
the opposite edge of the clearing lay what was once a man. Tearing
savagely at the body, stood the mate of the panther that had attacked
the horse. Sensing danger, the beast raised its head to glare at Carl,
its tail swishing angrily.
Calling to von Sarnoff “Take care of that beast!” Carl sprang to Sana’s
side and freed her from her bonds. She had fainted on seeing him at
the edge of the clearing, and he picked her up tenderly, whispering,
softly, “All is well, beloved.”
Meanwhile von Sarnoff with a well directed shot had laid the panther
low.
Holding his sweetheart in his arms, Carl saw the dismal jungle
brightened with the rays of the setting sun, as Sana recovered
consciousness and with a cry of joy embraced him, realizing that she
was safe at last.
The world may be but a Fata Morgana and life an illusion to those who
keep not the faith, but to those who tend the fires of truth, the rays
of the setting sun shall be messengers of Peace.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.