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DESERT GOLD "GOLDI” SYNOPSIS.—Seeking gold in the desert, "Cameron,’’ solitary pros pector, forms a partnership with an unknown man whom he later learns is Jonas Warren, father of a girl whom Cameron wronged, but later married, back in Illinois. Cameron’s explanations appease Warren, and the two proceed to gether. After many hardships they are reduced to the limit of physical endurance. In a dying condition they seek refuge ifi a cave, once occupied by a prehis toric people of the Southwest. Ill—Continued. Cameron stole off among the rocks. How long he absented himself or what he did he had no Idea. When he returned Warren was sitting before the campfire, and once more he ap peared composed. He spoke, and his voice had a deeper note; but other wise he seemed as usual. They packed the burros and faced the north together. Cameron experienced a singular ex altation. He had lightened his com rade’s burden. Wonderfully It came to him that he had also lightened his own. From that hour It was not tor ment to think of Nell. IV There came a morning when the sun shone angry and red through a dull, smoky haze. "We’re In for sandstorms,” said Cameron. They had scarcely covered a mile when a desert-w*le, moaning, yellov' wall of flying sand swooped down upon them. Seeking shelter In the lee of a rock, they covered their heads and patiently waited. The long hours dragged, and the storm Increffced in fury. Cameron and Wtvre.i wet scarfs with water frsrs theh canteens, and bound them rvflim their faces, and then covered their heads. The steady, hollow bellow of flying sand went on. It flew so thickly that enough gifted down under the shelving rock to weight she blankets and almost bury the men. They were frequently com pelled to shake off the sand to keep from being borne to the ground. And it was necessary to keep digging out the packs. They lost the count of time. They dared not sleep, for that would have meant being burled alive. The storm finally blew Itself out. It left the prospectors heavy and stupid for want of sleep. Their burros had wandered away, or had been buried In the sand. Far as eye could reach the desert had marvelously changed; it was now a rippling sea of sand dunes. Away to the north rose the peak that was their only guiding mark. They headed toward It, carry ing a shovel and part of their packs. At noon the peak vanished in the shimmering glare of the desert. The prospectors pushed on, guided by the sun. In every wash they tried for water. With the forked peach branch in his hands Warren always succeed ed In locating water. They dug, but It lay too deep. At length, spent and sore, they fell and slept through that night and part of the next day. Then they succeeded in getting water, and quenched their thirst, and filled the canteens, and cooked a meal. The burning day found them In an interminably wide plain, where there was no shelter from the fierce sun. Mountain peaks loomed on all sides, some near, others distant; and one, a blue spur, splitting the glaring sky far to the north, Cameron thought he recognized as a landmark. The ascent toward it was heartbreaking, not In steepness, but In its league-and-league long monotonous rise. Cameron knew there was only one hope—to make the water hold out and never stop to rest. Warren began to weaken. Often he bad to halt Cameror measured Jhe water in his canteen f wy its weight Evaporation by heat consumed as much as he drank. During one of the rests, when he had wetted his parched mouth and throat, he found opportunity to pour a little water from his canteen Into Warren’s. At first Cameron had curbed his restless activity to accommodate the pace of his elder comrade. But now he felt that he was losing something of his Instinctive and passionate zeal to get out of the desert. The thought of water came to occupy bls mind. He began to imagine that his last little store of water did not appreciably di minish. He knew he was not quite right In his mind regarding water; nevertheless, he felt this to be more of fact than fancy, and he began to ponder. When next they rested he pretended to be in a kind of stupor; but he cov ertly watched Warren. The man ap peared far gone, yet he had cunning. He cautiously took up Cameron’s can teen and poured water into It from bls own. ( This troubled Cameron. He reflect ed, and concluded that he had been unwise not to expect this very thing. Then, as his comrade dropped into weary rest, he lifted both canteens. If there were any water In Warren’s, it was only very little. Both men had been enduring the terrible desert thirst, concealing it, each giving his water to the other, and the sacrifice had been useless. Instead of ministering to the parched throats of one or both, the water had evaporated. When Cam eron made sure of this, he took one more drink, the last, and poured the By ZANE GREY Author of The Riders of the Purple Sage, Wildfire, Etc. Copyright by Harper & Brothers. little water left into Warren’s can teen. He threw his own away. Soon afterward Warren discovered the loss. ’’Where’s your canteen?” he asked. "The heat was getting my water, so I drank what was left.” "My son!” said Warren. The day opened for them in a red and green hell of rock and cactus. Like a flame the sun scorched and peeled their faces. Warren went blind from the glare, and Cameron had to lead him. At last Warren plunged down, exhausted, In the shade of a ledge. Cameron rested and waited, hope less, with not, weary eyes gazing dowa from their height where he sat. Movement on the part of Warren at tracted his attention. Evidently the old prospector had recovered his sight and some of his strength. For he had arisen, and now began to walk along the arroyo bed with his forked peach branch held before him. He had clung to that precious bit of wood. Warren, however, stepped in a deep pit, and, cutting his canteen in half, began to use one side of it as a scoop. He scooped out a wide hollow, so wide that Cameron was certain he had gone crazy. Cameron gently urged him to stop, and then forcibly tried to make him. But these efforts were futile. Warren worked with slow, ceaseless, methodical movement. He tolled for what seemed hours. Cameron, seeing the darkening, dampening sand, real ized a wonderful possibility of water, and he plunged Into the pit with the other half of the canteen. Then both men tolled, round and round the wide hole, down deeper and deeper. The sand grew moist, then wet. At the bottom of the deep pit the sand coars ened, gave place to gravel. Finally water welled in, a stronger volume than Cameron ever remembered find ing on the desert. The finding of water revived Cam eron’s flagging hopes. But they were short-lived. Warren had spent him self utterly. "I’m done. Don’t linger,” he whis pered. "My son, go—go I” Then he fell. Cameron dragged him out of the sand pit to a sheltered place under the ledge. While sitting beside the failing man Cameron dis covered painted images on the wall. Often in the desert be had found these evidences of a prehistoric people. Then, from long habit, he picked up a piece of rock and examined It. Its weight made him closely scrutinize It. The color was a peculiar black. He scraped through the black rust, to find a piece of gold. Around him lay scattered heaps of black pebbles and bits of black, weathered rock and t i I M J / 1/ LBI/V "Warrenl Look! See It! Feel It! Gold!" pieces of broken ledge, and they showed gold. "Warrenl Look! See It! Feel It! Gold 1” But Warren was too blind to see. "Go—go!” he whispered. Cameron gazed down the gray reaches of that forlorn valley, and something within him that was nei ther Intelligence nor emotion—some thing Inscrutably strange—lmpelled him to promise. Then Cameron built up stone monu ments to mark his gold strike. That done, he tarried beside the uncon scious Warren. Moments passed— grew Into hours. Cameron still had strength left to make an effort to get out of the desert. But that same In scrutable something which had or dered his strange, Involuntary promise to Warren held him beside his fallen comrade. As the long hours wore on he felt creep over him the comfort ing sense that he need not forever fight sleep. Absolute silence claimed the desert. It was mute. Then that Inscrutable something breathed to him, telling him when he was alone. He need not have looked at the dark, still face beside him. Another face haunted Cameron's—a woman’s face. It was there in the white moonlit shadows; it drifted in the darkness beyond; it softened, changed to that of a young girl, sweet, with the same dark, haunting eyes of her mother. Cameron prayed to that nameless thing within him, the spirit of something deep and mystical as life. He prayed for mercy to a wom an—for happiness to her child. Both mother and daughter were close to him then. Time and distance were annihilated. He had faith—he saw Into the future. The fateful threads of the past, so inextricably woven with his error, wound out their tragic length here in this forlorn desert. Cameron then took a little tin box from his pocket, and, opening it, re moved a folded certificate. He had kept a pen, and now he wrote some thing upon the paper, and In lieu of ink he wrote with blood. The moon afforded him enough light to see; and having replaced the paper, he laid the little box upon a shelf of rock. It would remain there unaffected by dust, moisture, heat, time. How long had those painted images been there clear and sharp on the dry stone walls? Years would pass. Cameron seemed to see them, too; and likewise destiny leading a child down into this forlorn waste, where she would find love and fortune, and the grave of her father. Cameron covered the dark, still face of his comrade from the light of the waning moon. That action was the severing of his hold on realities. They fell froip him In final separation. Vaguely, dreamily he seemed to behold his soul. Night merged into gray day; and night came again, weird and dark. Then up out of the vast void of the desert, from the silence and 1111m -1 tableness, trooped his phantoms of peace. Majestically they formed around him, marshaling and muster ing in ceremonious state, and moved to lay upon him their passionless serenity. CHAPTER I Old Friends. Richard Gale reflected that his so journ in the West bad been what his disgusted father had predicted— idling here and dreaming there, with no objective point or purpose. It was reflection such ak this, only more sei ions and perhaps somewhat desperate, that had brought Gale down to the border. For some time the newspapers had been printing news of the Mexican revolution, guerrilla warfare. United States cavalry pa trolling the International line, Ameri can cowboys fighting with the rebels, and wild stories of bold raiders and bandits. Regarding these rumors Gale was skeptical. But as opportunity, and adventure, too, had apparently given him a wide berth in Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, he had struck southwest for the Arizona border, where he hoped to see some stirring life. It was after dark one evening in early October when Richard arrived in Caslta. There was a Jostling, Jab bering, sombreroed crowd of Mexicans around the railroad station. He felt as if he were in a foreign country. After a while he saw several men of his nationality, one of whom he en gaged to carry his luggage to a hotel. Os the many people encountered by Gale most were Mexicans. His guide explained that the smaller half of Caslta lay In Arizona, the other half in Mexico, and of several thousand inhabitants the majority belonged on the southern side of the street, which was the boundary line. He alsr? said that rebels had entered the town tliat day, causing a good deal of ex citement. Gale was almost at the end of his financial resources, which fact occa sioned him to turn away from a pre tentious hotel and ask his guide for a cheaper lodging house. When this was found, a sight of the loungers in the office, and also a desire for com fort, persuaded Gale to change his traveling clothes for rough outing garb and boots. "Well, I*m almost broke,” he solilo quized, thoughtfully. "The governor said I wouldn’t make any money. He’s right-—so far. And he said I’d be coming home beaten. There he’s wrong. I’ve got a hunch that some thing ’ll happen to me in this Greaser town.” He went out into the wide, white washed, high-celled corridor, and from that into an Immense room which, but for pool tables, bar and benches, would have been like a courtyard. Bare-legged, sandal-footed Mexicans In white rubbed shoulders with Mexicans mantled In black and red. There were black-bearded, coarse-visaged Americans, some gam bling round the little tables, others drinking. There were khaki-clad cav alrymen strutting in ana out. At one end of the room, somewhat apart from the general melee, was a group of six men round a little table, four of wem were seated, the other two standing. These last two drew a second glance from Gale. The sharp-featured bronzed faces and piercing eyes, the tall, slender, loosely Jointed bodies, the quiet, easy, reck less air that seemed to be a part of the men—these tilings would plainly have stamped them as cowboys with out the buckled sombreros, the col ored scarfs the high-topped, high heeled boots with great silver-roweled spurs. He satisfied his hunger In a restau rant adjoining, and as be stepped back Into the saloon a man wearing a military cape jostled him. Apolo gies from both were Instant. Gale was moving on when the other stopped short as if startled, and, leaning for ward, exclaimed: "Dick Gale? If this isn’t great! Don’t you know me?” "I’ve heard your voice somewhere,” replied Gale. “Maybe I’ll recognize you If you came out from under that bonnet.” For answer the man, suddenly mani festing thought of himself, hurriedly drew Gale into the restaurant, where he thrust back his hat to disclose a handsome, sunburned face. "George Thorne 1 So help me— M " ’S-s-ssh. You needn’t yell,” Inter rupted the other, as he met Gale’s outstretched hand. There was a close, hard, straining grip. "1 must not be recognized here. There are reasons. I’ll explain In a minute. Say, but it’s fine to see you! Five years, Dick, five years since I saw you run down Uni versity field and spread-eagle the whole Wisconsin football team.” "Don’t recollect that,* replied Dick, laughing. "George, I’ll bet you I’m gladder to see you than you are to see me. It seems so long. You went into the army, didn’t you?” “I did. I’m here now with the Ninth cavalry. But—never mind me. What’re you doing way down here?” "On the square, George, I don’t know any more why I’m here than — than you know.” "Well, that beats me!” ejaculated Thorne, sitting back in his chair, amaze and concern in his expression. “What the devil’s wrong? Your old man’s got too much money for you ever to be up against it. Dick, you couldn’t have gone to the bad?” A tide of emotion surged over Gale. How good it was to meet a friend — someone to whom to talk! He had never appreciated his loneliness until that moment. "George, how I ever drifted down here I don’t know. I didn’t exactly quarrel with the governor. But— d —n it, Dad hurt me—shamed me. and I dug out for the West. It was this way. After leaving college I tried to please him by tackling one thing after another that he set me to do On the square, 1 had no head for business. I made a mess of every thing. The governor got sore. When I quit—when I told him straight out that I was going west to fare for my self, why, it wouldn’t have been so tough if he hadn’t laughed at me. He .•*afd I couldn’t earn a dollar—that I’d starve out west, and couldn’t get back home unless I sent to him for money. He said he didn’t Relieve I could fight—could really make a fight for anything under tne sun Oh—he—he shot it into me all right.” Dick dropped his head upon his hands, somewhat ashamed of the smarting dimness In his eyes. "Fight!” cried Thorne, hotly. "What’s ailing him? Didn’t they call you Biff Gale in college? Dick, you were one of the beat men Stagg ever developed.” “The governor didn’t count foot ball,” said Dick. "He didn’t mean that kind of a fight. When I left home I don’t think I had an idea what was wrong of me. But, George, I think I know now. I was a rich man’s son spoiled, dependent, absolutely Igno rant of the value of money. I haven’t yet discovered any earning capacity in me. I seem to be unable to do any thing with Thy hands. That* the trouble. But I’m at the end of my tether now. And I’m going to punch cattle or be a miner, or do some real stunt —like joining the rebels.” "Aha I I thought you’d spring that last one on me,” declared Thome, wagging his head. "Well, you just forget it. Say, old boy, there’s some thing doing in Mexico. The United States in general doesn’t realize It. But across that line there are crazy revolutionists, 111-paid soldiers, guer rilla leaders, raiders, robbers, outlaws, bandlis galore, starving peons by the thousand, girls and women !a terror. Mexico is like some of her volcanoes— ready to erupt fire and hell! Don’t make the awful mistake of Joining the rebel forces. If you didn’t starve or get shot in ambush, or die of thirst, some Greaser would knife you in the back for your belt buckle or boots. There are a good many Americans with the rebels eastward toward Agua Prleta and Juarez. Orozco Is operat ing in Chihuahua, and I guess he has some idea of warfare. But this Is So nora, a mountainous desert, the home of the slave and the Yaqul. There’s unorganized revolt everywhere. We’re patrolling the boundary line. We’re making a grand bluff. I could tell you of a dozen Instances where cavalry should have pursued raiders on the other side of the line. But we won’t do it. The officers are a grouchy lot these days. You see, of course, what significance would attach to United States cavalry going Into Mexican ter ritory. There would simply be hell. My own colonel is the sorest man on the job. We’re all sore. It's like sit thing on a powder magazine. We can’t keep the rebels and raiders from croon- ing the line. Yet we don’t fight. My commission expires soon. I’ll ba dis charged in three months. You can bet I’m glad for more reasons than I’ve mentioned.” Thorne was evidently laboring un der strong, suppresseo excitement. His face showed pale under the tan, and ills eyes gleamed with a dark fire. He had seated himself at a table near one of the doorlike windows leading into the street, and every little while he would glance sharply out. Also he kept consulting his watch. These details gradually grew upon Gale as Thorne talked. "George. It strikes me that you’re upset,’’ said Dick, presently. "I seem to remember you as a cool-headed fellow whom nothing could disturb. Has the army changed you?” Thorne laughed. It was a laugh with a strange, high note. It was reckless—lt hinted of exaltation. He peered out one window, then another. His actions were rapid. Returning to the table, he put his hands upon it and leaned over to look closely into Gale’s face. “I’m away from camp without leave,” he said. “Isn’t that a serious offense?" asked Dick. "Serious? For me, If I’m discov ered, it means ruin. There are rebels iK*Mr a! fi "Serious? For Me, ir I'm Discovered It Means R /in—" In town. Any moment we might have trouble. I ought to he ready for duty —within call. If I’m discovered II means arrest. That means delay— the failure of my plans—ruin.” Thorne bent over closer with hU dark eyes searchlngly bright. “What would you say, Dick Gale If I told you that you're tlie one mar I'd rather have come along than an. other at this crisis of my life?" The earnest gaze, the passionate voice with Its deep tremor drew Dick upright, thrilling and eager, conscious of strange, unfamiliar Impetuosity. "Thorne, I should say I was glad tw be the fellow," replied Dick. Their hands locked for the moment, and they sat down again with heads close over the table. "Listen,” began Thorne, In low, swift whisper, “a few days, a week ago—lt seems like a year!—l was of some assistance to refugees fleeing from Mexico Into the States. They were all women, and one of them was dressed ns a nun. Quito by accident I snw her face. It was flint of a beautiful girl. I observed she kept al 'of from the others. I suspected a disguise, and, when opportunity as» forded, spoke to her, offered my serv- She replied to my poor efforts at Spanish In fluent English. She had fled In terror from her home, some place down In Sinaloa. Bebels ar» active there. Her father was cap* tured and held for ransom. When the ransom was paid tha rebels killed him. The leader of these rebels was a bandit named Rojas. Rojas saw the daughter, made oft with her. But she contrived to bribe Iter guards, and escaped almost Immediately before any harm befell her. She hid among friends. Rojns nearly tore down the town In his efforts to And her. Then she disguised herself and traveled by horseback, stage and train to Caslta. "She had no friends here, no money She knew Rojas was trailing her. Thia talk I had with her was at the railroad station, where all was bustle and confusion. No one noticed us, so I thought. I advised her to remove the disguise of a nun before she left the waiting-room. And I got a boy to guide her. But he fetched her to thia house. I had promised to come In the evening to talk over the situation with her. "I found her, Dick, and when I saw her—l went stark, staring, raving mad over her. She la the most beautiful, wonderful girl I ever saw. Her name Is Mercedes Castaneda, and she be longs to one of the old wealthy Spun Ish families. She has lived abroad and In Havana. She speaks French as well as English, she Is—but 1 mutt be brief. “Dear lady, Rojaa will hound you no more tonight, nor for many nlghts."- <TO BBS CONTINUED.) What Wive. Know. “Expe:ience teaches u wife that ths more she agrees with her husband, na mutter how big a fool he Is, tbe bettss she gets on," said a woman ba an Ung -lab police court. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1922. I Indian | Lodge Tales By 1 Ford C. Frick n iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihiiiiitiin THE LEGEND .OF FATHER SUN XX7HEN the Navajos came up out ’ of the world of twilight into the world of sunshine and light they were very happy, and with one accord they fell on their knees and made sacrifice to the Father Sun who brightened the heavens and made the world warm and comfortable for the tribesmen. When they had b" ome settled in their new world and had bullded their homes and made their fires, then they planted their crops in order that they might live In comfort. Round about them they planted golden maize, and grain and many foods. Their flocks they took into the green fields to eat of the grass, and their horses and their cattle they turned loose to roam In the beautiful valley where they had come. But as the days went on tbe crops failed, and the grass turned brown and tbe streams dried up and the Navajos were much perturbed, for they knexv not what to do. For the sun, sweeping through the sky, had come close to earth, and the heat, which at first had seemed pleasant, became unbearable —and even the tribesmen themselves were made sick by the brightness of Its rays. Many there were among the tribesmen who wished themselves back in the world of twilight, but the road had been closed and only a great mountain re mained to mark where the roadway had been. As the summer came on many of the tribesmen became nick unto death, for the heat was terrific —but there was no place to go and no place to turn, for all the world was a vast desert, burned by the rays of the Father Sun. As matters became worse and worse the tribesmen became desperate and finally, one day, called a great council of the chief and the head men and the witch doctors. For ten days and ten nights these men sat in solemn conclave to determine what best might be done to relieve their oppressed people. Finally, nt the end of the ten days and die ten nights they called the tribe together, and the whole tribe, even the women and the children, went to the top of a high hill and there they built altars and offered up sacrifices, and prayed to the Father Sun that he might move hack Into the heaven so his rays would not be so hot When they had prayed for a long time then the Father Sun sent down to them a teaser god from the sky, and the lesser god came up to tlie chiefs and the medicine men an-.i told them that the sun had heard their prayer. "And so long as you remain faith ful to the Father Sun, who provides you with heat and with light, so long wfff he protect you,” the messenger said. “And when another day comes then will the sun move back in the heavens and the grass will grow green, and water will flow through the streams, and flowers will bloom, and the land will be a land of happiness and prosperity for the Navajos.” When he had finished speaking the messenger disappeared In a great cloud and the people marveled much and fell on their faces and gave thanks. When another day came it was as the messenger had said, for the sun had moved back into the sky, and the air was cool and the trees grew leaves and the corn sprouted and flowers bloomed and the world was a world of happiness. So it has been to this day. And the sun Who Is the father who pro tects the Navajos, has ever warmed the earth with his rayr and caused the corn to grow and the flowers to bloom. Nor have the Navajos forgotten the promise they made many years ago, on the great hilltop, when the world was young. Each morning when they arise they face toward the east and give thanks to the Father Sun who gives them warmth and light, and each night they face toward the west and give thanks for the day that has gone. Here in our village, if you will look, you will see that every house faces the east and each morning we are awakened by the early rays of the sun which come in through the doors and the windows—for that is ns It should be, and even as it was prom tsed by the great chiefs ages and ages ago when tbe Navajos came out of the world of twilight. Into the world of sunshine and light. Note—To this day the Navajo tribes es Arizona and New Mexico continue to build their houses facing the east Even in the large villages the homes are built on one side of the street only, In order that the time-honored tradition may not be broken. The Clever Fly. The housefly Is the cleverest of ln sects, its intelligence far surpassing that of the ant and the bee. A re cent world-wide authority asserts that It can think 100 tlmce more quickly than a man.