Cheyenne record., January 13, 1916, Image 7

About Cheyenne record. (Cheyenne Wells, Cheyenne County, Colo.) 1913-19??

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HIS LOVE STORY
by MARIE VAN VORST
ILLUSTRATIONS by RAY WALTERS
SYNOPSIS.
—l6
L« Comte de Sabron, captain of French
cavalry, takes to his quarters to raise by
hand a motherless Irish terrier pup, and
names it Pitchoune. He dines with the
Marquise d'Escllgnac and meets Miss Ju
lia Redmond, American heiress. He is or
dered to Algiers but is not allowed to
take servants or dogs. Miss Redmond
takes care of Pitchoune, who, longing for
his master, runs away from her. The
marquise plans to marry Julia to the Due
de Tremont. Pitchoune follows Sabron to
Algiers, dog and master meet, and Sabron
gets permission to keep his dog with him.
The Due de Tremont finds the American
heiress capricious Sabron, wounded in
an engagement, falls Into the dry bed of
a river and is watched over by Pitchoune.
After a horrible night and day Pitchoune
leaves him. Tremont takes Julia and the
marquise to Algiers in his yacht but has
doubts abeut Julia’s Red Cross mission.
After long search Julia gets trace of Sa
bron’s whereabouts. Julia for the mo
ment turns matchmaker in behalf of Tre
mont. Hammet Abou tells the Mar
quise where he thinks Sabron may be
found. Tremont decides to go with Ham
met Abou to find Sabron. Pitchoune finds
a village, twelve hours Journey away, and
somehow makes Fatou Annl understand
his master’s desperate plight. Sabron is
rescued by the village men but grows
weaker without proper care. Tremont
goes into the desert with the caravan in
search of Sabron. Julia follows with
Madame de la Maine, whom Tremont
loves.
CHAPTER XXlV—Continued.
At night as he lay in his bed in his
tent, Tremont and Hammet Abon
cooled his temples with water from
the earthen bottles, where the sweet
ooze stood out humid and refreshing
on the damp clay. They gave him acid
and cooling drinks, and now and then
Sabron would smile on Tremont, call
ing him “petit frere,” and Tremont
heard the words with moisture in his
eyes, remembering what he had said
to the Marquise d’Esclignac about be
ing Sabron’s brother. Once or twice
the soldier murmured a woman’s
name, but Tremont could not catch It,
and once he said to the duke:
“Sing! Sing!”
The Frenchman obeyed docilely,
humming in an agreeable barytone the
snatches of song he could remember,
“La Fille de Madame Angot,” “II Tro
vatore;” running them into more mod
ern opera, “La Veuve Joyeuse.” But
the lines creased In Sabron’s forehead
indicated that the singer had not yet
found the music which haunted the
memory of the sick man.
“Sing!” he would repeat, fixing his
hollow eyes on his companion, and
Tremont complied faithfully. Finally,
his own thoughts going back to early
days, he hummed tunes that he and a
certain little girl had sung at their
games in the allees of an old chateau
In the valley of the Indre.
“Sonnez les matines
Ding—din—don,”
and other children’s melodies.
In thoso nights, on that desolate
way, alone, in a traveling tent, at the
side of a man he scarcely knew, Rob
ert de Tremont learned serious les
sons. He had been a soldier himself,
but his life had been an inconsequent
one. He had lived as he liked, behind
him always the bitterness of an early
deception. But he had been too young
to break his heart at seventeen. He
had lived through much since the day
his father exiled him to Africa.
Therese had become a dream, a
memory around which he did not al
ways let his thoughts linger. When
he had seen her again after her hus
band’s death and found her free, he
was already absorbed in the worldly
life of an ambitious young man. He
had not known how much he loved her
until in the Villa des Bougainvilleas
WHEN SUN “DRAWS WATER"
Some Erroneous Ideas That Seem to
Have Taken a Firm Hold on the
- People's Imagination.
When the sun Is to the east or west
of us on a cloudy or hazy day. beams
are often seen radiating from It toward
the horizon; then many people say
the sun Is "drawing water.” They ac
tually believe that the lines of light
and shadow appearing to converge in
the sun are great shafts of water and
the vapor that the sun is drawing up
Into the air to be precipitated later on
the earth as rain or snow. These
shafts as a matter of fact are general
ly Indicative of coming rainy weather,
but they cannot be counted on as In
fallible signs.
The Idea that the sun is "drawing
water,” however, la entirely erroneous,
for the lines seen are the result of
the passage of light through openings
In clouds already formed. The lines
that appear dark are shadows of
clouds while the light lines are rays
from the sun made visible In the air
by the presence therein of dust or wa- i
be bad seen and contrasted her with
Julia Redmond.
All the charm for him of the past
returned, and he realized that, as
money goes, he was poor—she was
poorer.
The difficulties of the marriage made
hith all the more secure In bis deter
mination that nothing should separate
him again from this woman.
By Sabron's bed he hummed his
little insignificant tunes, and his heart
longed for the woman. When once or
twice on the return journey they had
been threatened by the engulfing sand
storm he had prayed not to die before
he could again clasp her In his armi.
Bweet, tantalizing, exquisite with
the passion of young love, there came
to him the memories of the moonlight
nights on The terrace of the old cha
teau. He saw her in the pretty girl
ish dresses of long ago, the melan
choly droop of her quivering mouth,
her bare young arms, and smelled the
fragrance of her hair as he kissed
her. So humming his soothing melo
dies to the sick man, with his voice
softened by his memories, he soothed
Sabron.
Sabron closed his eyes, the creases
In hjs forehead disappeared as though
brushed away by a tender hand. Per
haps the sleep was due to the fact
that, unconsciously, Tremont slipped
into humming a tune which Miss Red
mond had sung in the Villa des Bou
gainvilleas, and of whose English
words De Tremont was quite ignorant.
“Will he last until Algiers, Hammet
Abou?”
“What will be will be. monsieur!”
Abou replied.
“He must.” De Tremont answered
fiercely. “He shall.”
He became serious and meditative
on those silent days, and his blue
eyes, where the very whites were
burned, began to wear the far-away,
mysterious look of the traveler across
long distances During the last sand
storm he stood, with the camels, round
Sabron’s litter, a human shade and
shield, and when the storm ceased he
fell like one dead, and the Arabs
pulled oft his boots and put him to bed
like a child.
One sundown, as they traveled into
the afterglow with the East behind
them, when Tremont thought he
could not endure another day of the
voyage, when the pallor and waxiness
of Sabron's face were like death itself,
Hammet Abou, who rode ahead, cried
out and pulled up his camel short.
He waved him arm.
"A caravan, monsieur.”
In the distance they saw the tents,
like lotus leaves, scattered on the pink
sands, and the dark shadows of the
Arnbs and the couchant beasts, and
the glow of the encampment fire.
“An encampment, monsieur!"
Tremont sighed. He drew the cur
tain of the litter and looked In upon
Sabron, who was sleeping. His set
features, the growth of his uncut
beard, the long fringe of his eyes, his
dark hair upon his forehead, his wan
transparency—with the peace upon his
face, he might have been a figure of
Christ waiting for sepulture.
Tremont cried to him: “Sabron,
luon vieux Charles, reveille-toil We
are in sight of human beings!”
But Sabron gave no sign that he
heard or cared.
Throughout the Journey across the
desert, Pitchoune had ridden at his
will and according to his taste, some
tery vapor, just as the dust in the
air of a room makes visible the light
that enters it through small apertures,
—The Pathfinder.
St, Bride of Ireland.
St. Bride, the patroness of Ireland
and of Fleet street, whose feast falls
In February, was the beautiful daugh
ter of a bard who became the religious
disciple of St. Patrick and abbess of
Kildare. The story of St. Bride, or
Bridget, fired the Celtic Imagination
and in Ireland about twenty parishes
bear the name of Kilbride. The spire
of her church in Fleet street has been
twice struck by lightning and much
reduced from the original height, but
is still one of the tallest steeples In
London. It is supposed to have been
designed by Wren’s young daughter.—
Pall Mall Gazette.
Classified.
"Is that dog a pointer?” asked the
ticket agent at the village station.
“No,” replied the weary hunter who
was returning to the city with an
empty game bag, "he's a dlsap
pointer
THE CHBTENNE RECORD.
times juuiue/iug for the enure day
perched upon Tremont’s camel. He
sat like a little figurehead or a mas
cot, with ears pointed northward and
his keen nose sniffing the desert air
Sometimes he would take the same
position on one of the mules that car
ried Sabron's litter, at hiß master's
feet. There he would lie hour after
hour, with his soft eyes fixed with
understanding sympathy upon Sab
ron's face
He was, as he bad been to Fatou
Anni, a kind of fetish —the caravan
adored him. Now from his position at
Sabron's feet, he crawled up and
licked his master's hand.
"Charles!" Tremont cried, and lift
ed the soldier’s hand.
Sabron opened his eyes. He was
sane. The glimmer of a smile touched
his lipß. He said Tremont's name,
recognized him. “Are we home?" he
asked weakly. “Is It France?”
Tremont turned and dashed away a
tear.
He drew the curtains of the litter
and now walked beside it, his legs
feeling like cotton and his heart beat
ing.
As they came up toward the en
campment, two people rode out to
meet them, two women In white riding
habits, on stallions, and as the evening
breeze fluttered the veils from their
helmets, they seemed to be flags of
welcome.
Under his helmet Tremont was red
and burned. He had a short, rough
growth of beard.
Tlierese de la Maine and Julia Red
mond rode up. Tremont recognized
them, and came forward, half stagger
ing. He looked at Julia and smiled,
and pointed with his left hand toward
the litter; but he went directly up to
Madame de la Maine, who sat immov
able on her little stallion. Tremont
seemed to gather her In his arms. He
lifted her down to him.
Julia Redmond's eyes were on the
litter, whose curtains were stirring in
the breeze. Hammet Abou, with a
profound salaam, came forward to her.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, respect
fully, "he lives. 1 have kept my word "
Pitchoune sprang from the litter and
ran over the sands to Julia Redmond
She dismounted from her horse alone
and called him: “Pitchoune! Pit
choune!” Kneeling down on the des
ert, she stooped to caress him, and
he crouched at her feet, licking her
hands.
CHAPTER XXV.
As Handsome Does.
When Sabron next opened his eyes
he fancied that he was at home In his
old room in Rouen, in the house where
he was born, in the little room in
which, as a child, dressed in his dimity
night gown, he had sat up in his bed
by candle light to learn his letters
from the cookery book.
The room was snowy white. Out
side the window he heard a bird sing,
and near by, he heard a dog’s smoth
ered bark. Then he knew that he
tvas not at home or a child, for with
the languor and weakness came his
memory. A quiet nurse in a hospital
dress was sitting by his bed, and
Pitchoune rose from the foot of the
bed and looked at him adoringly.
He was in a hospital in Algiers.
“Pitchoune," he murmured, not
knowing the name of his other com
panion, “where are we, old fellow?”
The nurse replied In an agreeable)
Anglo-Saxon French:
“You are in a French hospital in A!
glers, sir, and doing well."
Tremont came up to him.
“I remember you," Sabron said. "You
have been near me a dozen times
lately."
“You must not talk, mon vieux.”
“But I feel as though I must talk a
great deal. Didn’t you come for me
into the desert?”
Tremont, healthy, vigorous, tanned,
gay and cheerful, seemed good look
ing to poor Sabron, who gazed up at
him with touching gratitude.
"I think I remember everything, t
think I shall never forget It,” he said,
Vin Ordinaire.
Why, how do you do? Haven't
seen you in a long time. How are
you? That's good. Yes, I’m well.
You're looking fine No need to ask
you how you are. Yes. I've been well
all along. Hope yon have. You cer
tainly look it. No, I wouldn't say
that unless I meant it. Yes, I feel
first rate. I never felt better. I'm
mighty glad to see you looking so
well. You weren’t feeling so good at
one time, were you? No, neither was
I. But I feel fine now. I certainly
never saw you looking better. I'm
glad you think I look well. Of course,
you never know I really am feel
ing first rate. Anybody could see
you’re well—
Etc., etc., etc. —Life.
Coal for Large Cities.
The great maw of New York city,
the largest user of coal in the world,
absorbs over 10,000,000 tonR of anthra
cite a year. This rate of consumption
amounts to approximately two tons of
anthracite per Inhabitant annually
According to the Coal Trade Annual.
67.6 per cent of all the anthracite
and lifted ins nand feebly. Robert de
Tremont took It. "Haven’t we trav
eled far together. Tremont?"
"Yes,” nodded the other, affected,
“but you must sleep now. We wtll
talk about It over our cigars and
liquors soon.”
Sabron smiled faintly. Hts clear
mind was regaining its balance, and
thoughts began to sweep over it cru
elly fast. He looked at bis rescuer,
and to him the other's radiance meant
simply that he was engaged to Miss
Redmond. Of course that was natural.
Sabron tried to accept it and to be
glad for the happiness of the man
who had rescued him. But as he
thought this, he wondered why he
had been rescued and shut bis eyes
so that Tremont might not Bee his
weakness. He said hesitatingly:
"1 am haunted by a melody, a tune.
Could you help me? It won’t come.”
"It’s not the “Marseillaise?" asked
the other, sitting down by his side and
pulling Pitcliouue's ears.
“Oh, no!”
"There will be singing In the ward
shortly. A Red Cross nurse comes tc
sing to the patients. She may help
you to remember.”
Sabron renounced in despair. Haunt
ing, tantalizing in his brain and illu
sive, the notes began and stopped, be
gan and stopped. He wanted to ask
his friend a thousand questions. How
he had come to him, why be had come
to him, how he knew. ... He gave
it all up and dozed, and while he slept
the sweet sleep of those who are tc
recover, he heard the sound of a worn
Threatened by the Engulfing Sand
storm.
an's voice in the distance, singing, oni
after another, familiar melodies, ant
finally he heard the “Kyrie Eleison,’
and to its music Sabron again fei
asleep.
The next day he received a visitor
It was not an easy matter to intro
duce visitors to his bedside, for Pit
choune objected. Pitchoune received
the Marquise d’Esclignac with great
displeasure.
“Is he a thoroughbred?" asked thi
Marquise d'Escliguac.
“He has behaved like one,” replief
the officer.
There was a silence. The Marquis*
d’Esclignac was wondering what hei
niece saw in the pale man so neat
still to the borders of the othei
world.
“You will be leaving the army, ol
course," she murmured, looking at him
interestedly.
“Madame!" said the Capitaine de
Sabron, with his blood —all that was
In him—rising to his cheeks.
"I mean that France has done noth
lng for you. France did not rescue
you and you may feel like seeking >
more—another career."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Gets Hardened.
After a man has acquired a reputa
tion for being lazy his conscience
doesn’t trouble him when his wife is
doing washing for the neighbors.
shipped is sold in the three states ol
New York. New Jersey and Pennsyl
vania. Anthracite is eminently a pro
duct to be used in great cities, and the
presence In these three states of New
York, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, But
falo, Newark, Jersey City, Rochester,
Syracuse, Scranton, Paterson and A1
bany, whose populations aggregate
S,600,l)00 persons, accounts to a large
extent for the great proportion of the
output sold in them.
Have a Good Bed.
In Farm and Fireside a contributor,
writing a practical article about mat
tresses and other provisions for beds,
makes the following general comment:
"In furnishing a home the housewife
should give most careful thought to
the beds and their equipment. We
spend at least a third of our lives In
bed, and it is worth while to make
that third pleasant and refreshing. The
6est mattresses and springs are none
too good when one is storing up
strength for some work. Besides, as is
the case with most household pur
chases, the best are really the cheap
est in the end."
Catarrh means inflammation.
Inflammation is the stagnation
of blood—the gorging of the
circulation with impure blood.
Of course you can’t be well under
this condition. It means, headaches,
indigestion, kidney trouble, coughs,
colds, etc.
Peril na ®r »«s»»r
laalt*. nutrition in
creases the circulation, invigorates the
system, removes the waste matter and
brightens you up.
Over 44 Years
Of service to the public entitles it to a
place with you.
It Makes Good
The Penma Company Cohratbos, Ohio
You can get Peruna in tablet form
lor convenience.
"-..'.-i 1 5-g
Those Family Jars.
“We are just like one big family in
our suburb."
"Is the scrapping that bad?"
endsWepsia,
INDIGESTION, GAS
“Pape’s Diapepsin” cures sick,
sour stomachs in five minutes
—Time It!
"Really does" put bad stomachs in
order— really does” overcome indiges
tion, dyspepsia, gas, heartburn and
sourness in five minutes —that —just
that —makes Pape’s Diapepsin the lar
gest selling stomach regulator in the
world. If what you eat ferments into
stubborn lumps, you belch gas and
eructate sour, undigested food and
acid: head is dizzy and aches; breath
foul; tongue coated: your ingides filled
with bile and indigestible waste, fi
[ member the moment "Pape's Diapep
sin” comes in contact with the stomach
all such distress vanishes. It’s truly
astonishing—almost marvelous, and
the joy is its harmlessness.
A large flfty-cent case of Pape's Dia
pepsin will give you a hundred dollars’
worth of satisfaction.
It’s worth its weight in gold to men
and women who can’t get their stom
achs regulated. It belongs in your
home —should always be kept handy
in case of sick, sour, upset stomach
during the day or at night. It's the
quickest, surest and most harmless
stomach doctor in the world.—Adv.
"Declined With Thanks.”
Quad—Did you get a check for that
poem you sent to Blank's magazine?
Space—Sure thing.
Quad —How much?
Space—Oh, not much —only three
words written with a blue pencil.
STOP EATING MEAT IF
KIDNEYS OR BACK HURT
Take a Glass of Salts to Clean Kid
neys If Bladder Bothers You—
Meat Forms Uric Acid.
Eating meat regularly eventually
produces kidney trouble in some form
or other, says a well-known authority,
because the uric acid in meat excites
the kidneys, they become overworked;
get sluggish; clog up and cause ail
sorts of distress, particularly backache
and misery in the kidney region; rheu
matic twinges, severe headaches, acid
stomach, constipation, torpid liver,
sleeplessness, bladder and uninary ir
ritation.
The moment your back hurts or kid
neys aren’t acting right, or if bladder
bothers you, get about four ounces of
Jad Salts from any good pharmacy;
take a tablespoonful in a glass of
water before breakfast for a few days
and your kidneys will then act fine.
This famous salts is made from the
acid of grapes and lemon juice, com
bined with lithla, and has been used
for generations to flush clogged kid
neys and stimulate them to normal
activity; also to neutralize the acids In
the urine so it no longer irritates, thus
ending bladder disorders.
Jad Salts cannot Injure anyone;
makes a delightful effervescent lithla
water drink which millions of men and
women take now and then to keep the
kidneys and urinary organs clean, thus
avoiding serious kidney disease. —Adv.
Sure Thing.
“It's the little things that count.”
"Right you are; a small ace will
take a big. fat king.”