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Page 28 text:
figure of his brother walking down the
moonlit path, his money clasped close to
him. He called to him softly, but
Bartolo did not heed. Slipping out of
his hammock, wonderingly, he followed.
Out of the grove floated the man,
his dead eyes staring ahead, his gaping
wound ever bleeding, his face white and
lifeless. Behind him, mechanically
walked Bartolo, frantically clutching his
gold, and, closely following Bartolo, trod
his brothter, Piestro, across corrals,
through the pastures, and into the dark
menacing forest. The air was damp.
Each step along the path crushed some
delicate flower whose aroma filled the
night air. Here a snake, going on its sly
hunting, glided across the path, and
there, two large eyes gleamed menacingly
from the darkness.
On walked the three--on and on--
deeper and deeper into the dark scented
gloom. Then ahead the moonlight
streamed on the "Campo", a well known
swamp and fever spot of the tropics.
The man paused on the edge of its
dark grass-crested mud flats, then float-
ed on across it. Without hesitation, Bar-
tulo followed. Piestro stopped abruptly
on the edge and in sudden terror
tried to call to Bartolo, but his
choked. Bartolo walked onward,
ing deeper and deeper into the
death, until at length he stopped
the center, looked frantically about
and, with a long terrified scream,
slowly into the dark murky depths,
arms upraised beseechingly towards that
blood-covered figure hovering silently
That was long ago, and to-day the
Mexicans speak of it in awed tones, and
Guadalupe, the old guide, is the only one
who will lead you to the spot. After pro-
mising many pesos, I persuaded the old
native to take me there. The swamp
is gone now, and in its place is a small
clearing covered with the luxuriant
growths of the tropics. In the center of
this clearing, stands a stump strangely
like a human figure bathed in the warm
atmosphere of the south and covered with
age-old moss. As I stood looking at the
weird spot, Guadalupe leaned forward,
and, crossing himself, whispered ina
cracked, awe-stricken voice, f'That
stump, Senor, see, it is the body of Bar-
tolo, encased in its tomb of mud, and see,
in his upheld arms, the sack of pesos."
I looked more keenly and saw, clutched
in the arm-like branches of this weird
stump, an object, which, in the pale
moonlight, glittered strangely like gold.
The air was still. This was indeed a
place of death, for even the Niyaca, the
most poisonous of snakes, slipped silent-
ly away from its deadly edge. As I looked,
I could almost see the stump transform-
ed into Bartolo, his hands raised beseech-
ingly to heaven, his face distorted with
fear. Silently I turned from this place,
and, feeling strangely as though this
queer tale were true, went back to the
trail, Guadalupe cringing behind me.
Catharine Plant '22,
Uhr Sv. GD. SP.
The U.S. Shipping Board freighter
"Alaskan", plying between San Diego
and Vancouver, British Columbia, was
steaming out into the Pacific with a cargo
of fruit on board for a merchant in
Seattle. Captain Henderson, or "Old
Man Henderson" as the crew called him,
was standing just aft the foremast with
the usual angry scowl on his scarred and
homely face. He was feared by the entire
crew and his law was "might makes
John Prescott, the chief wireless
operator, was just going to relieve the
second operator when he had bumped
into the captain as he was coming up
the companionway. The captain had been
unusually cross, and as Prescott hurried
to his set, he again wondered over the
conversation he had over-heard that morn
ing. "We could run her onto Muscle
Shoals," the mate had said.
"Sh, not so loud, "the captain had
exclaimed. " I just saw that wireless guy
go down below, I'm afraid he'll spoil our
fun if he gets suspicious."
Page 27 text:
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It was one of the perfect nights
known only in the tropics. The "South-
ern Cross" hanging low in the sky, the
pale moonlight peeping inquisitively into
the huts hidden in the banana grove, and
the air heavy with the scent of flowers
betokened the arrival of summer. A soft
breeze stirred the trees, and carried the
pungent breath of the purple Passion Flow
er to the nostrils of Bartolo Gomez, lying
in his hammock.
Night life hummed softly on, broken
only by the angry snarl of a tiger foiled
in his hunt, or by the scream of some
animal caught in the strong enveloping
coils of the boa-constrictor. There was
nothing to fear in this cool beautiful
night, Bartolo tried to tell himself, but
still he was stricken with a horrible fore-
boding. One cry from him would waken
the whole finca, and there, in his gent-
ly swaying hammock, lay his brother
peacefully sleeping. Indeed, of what
was there to be afraid?
His fear grew, however, with every
little sound. His body was taut,, and he
strained his eyes into the shadows about
him. The pale moonlight resting on his
face showed its ghastliness, the swarthy
skin appearing almost white. His hands,
holding the serapa covering him, shook,
and perspiration stood out on his fore-
head. It was the third night he had been
unable to sleep: the third time this hor-
rible fear had possessed him--a dread of
something undefinable--some phantom of
his mind. He put out his hand as tho to
push the fear from him, and touched a
small hard package. Ah! That was his
goldeeHhis pesos. He was the richest hom-
bre in the finca, why need he worry?
Still the fear remained. It seemed to
draw him to the pesosg it seemed to
speak and curse him and his gold. His
fingers closed convulsively on the sack.
Again he lived over the actions that had
brought him his pesos,-the ,dark wet
night-a horse coming down the trail-f
a leap and a gleam of something white
and cruelva cry-the clattering hoofs of
a frightened horse-silence-and then,
his payment, his reward which now lay
close to his heart. Bartolo closed his
eyes and smiled. He lost his fear and
It seemed but a second when he felt
himself hurled from his hammock and
found himself standing upright, staring
into the unseeing eyes of that night
rider. His hair was matted with blood,
and his glassy eyes looked through
Bartolo. Bartolo's mouth opened to
scream his terror, but no sound came.
He put out his hand, but where the man's
pointing finger had been was only ashaft
of pale moonlight. The man turned and
walked through the grove, and, drawn
bya power stronger than he, Bartolo
Piestro woke with a start to see the
Page 29 text:
But the mate had scoffed, while
Prescott pressed his ear against a crack
in the wall. "Pooh, never mind that
fellow, he's perfectly harmless. Those
wireless guys don't know anything, ex-
cept sparks and dots and dashes. I'll
take the wheel at ten or when it gets
good and dark, and you have the boat
ready. When you signal I'll lash the
wheel and head her for the shoals. After
that we'll strike out for land. It's only
twenty miles east, and then we'll hit for
South America or Alaska. Easy as fall-
ing off a log, I call it."
The captain had aquiesced, "Sure
that'll be fine, I'm expecting foggy wea-
ther in a few days and then we'll turn
the trick. You see that the wireless is out
of commission in case that Prescott fel-
low should get wise to us."
Prescott laughed to him self as he
thot of it. "Going to sink the ship and
then beat it with the money. Well, I'll
see if I can't have a little fun out of this
too. I wonder whose money they have on
board. It must belong to the company.
That old crook of a captain will get sal-
vage off the Alaskan too. I'd like to send
him up for this."
He sat down in his chair and put the
receivers on his head. The air was empty
and after he had given his position to
K.F.S., the Federal Telegraph Co's sta-
tion in San Francisco, Prescott threw
over his antenna switch for transmitting
and called N.P.G., the station at Mare
Island, and asked for the U.S.W.B. N.
P.G. gave him the report and Prescott
took it to the second mate, who had the
watch at that hour.
"I guess we are due for some foggy
days," the mate replied to his query
about the weather.
"Yes and I bet something is going to
happen," answered Prescott.
Two days later, after slow progress,
the "Alaskan" was off cape Mendocino
and the barometer was falling. About
eight o'clock that night Prescott gave his
position to Radio N. P. W., Table Bluff,
as 256 miles north of San Francisco.
A dense fog was coming in from the
west and soon the ship was enveloped in
a grey mist. One could not see ten feet
The mate called the captain and
said, "Everything is ready to turn the
trick tonight. "
"All right," the captain said, "I'll
get the money .and lower a boat and
send the crew below, on some pretext,
and you go and cut the wires so as to
stop any messages Prescott might send
In the meantime Prescott was at his
set calling Table Bluff for radio compass
hearings. As he signed off he noticed
the antenna ammeter drop to 1 ampere,
and finally his set went out of commis-
sion. Generally the ammeter read 18
amperes with a 2 k.w. and Prescott won-
dered what had happened. "Ah ha,"
he exclaimed, "I bet it's the mate trying
to cut my lead in. I'd better go out and
He stepped out side the door and
looked at the antenna. The lead in was
dangling in the air and he knew that the
mate had done his trick. He stepped a-
round the corner of the radio room
where the lead in enters the wall through
a large bushing insulator, and at the foot
of the bridge steps he saw a man lying
prone on his face clutching a pair of wire
cutters. Prescott turned the body over
and the outline to the third mate's face
could be seen distinctly. What a sight!
The electrical shock had turned the face
purple and his hands were badly burned.
Prescott tried to take the cutters from
his grasp but the cold hand held them so
tight that he could not move a finger.
Leaning down, Prescott put his hand over
the mate's heart. He did not feel a pulse
or any sign of life. Suddenly steps were
heard behind him, and Prescott saw the
captain carrying a satchel. Quietly he slid
out of sight.
Hurreidly fixing the lead in, Prescott
ran to the wireless room, and, throwing
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