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Page 3 text:
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CCI-larry!! BY DOROTH1' KUEHN HE MAN came out of the bush at dusk. He dropped wearily from his horse, adjusted his blanket and provision sack more comfortably on the animal's hack, and walked a few steps to the edge of the hill. The sun would sink in twenty minutes, and now the valley vtas a mass of tangled undergrowth and growing shadows. The palm trees cast a yellowish hue over the landscape, and the red and purple of the sunset completed a picture of unbelievable beauty. At the eastern corner of the valley a cleared, fencedfin plot showed the only work of human hands. In the center of the plot was a large white frame building surrounded by a few peon huts. The man gazed at the ridge of the valley with uncertainty, and as his gaze fell upon the white house, his hands clenched, his jaw became firmer and his eyes hardened and narrowed. His horse trotted up to him and laid his nose upon his masters shoulder. He patted the star on the horseis nose and then climbed into the saddle again. He took one last look at the white house before he swung the horse into the wellfworn trail. As the horse slid down the steep, stony path, the mans face expanded in a grin, and the breeze, which blew his mop of red hair over his forehead, changed him into a boy of twenty. His red hair, his grin and the strong features of his face instantly proclaimed him a son of the Emerald Isle. As he checked the horse's speed down the steep path, he began to talk to it. L'Singer, he laughed, uthis is our first job and youive got to help me. Understand? I haven't studied Spanish and come to this hell hole for nothing. We're going to find out what's going on here at ll96l
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Page 4 text:
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lf Wajay, or we'll have to answer to old man Adams, and that wonlt be so good-and I'll never go back to Peoria. As he spoke, a look of hard determination came into his eyes. He came up to the vinefcovered veranda just as the sun was drop' ping behind the palms. Someone was singing an old Spanish love song in a soft, mellow voice. He climbed leisurely down from Singer and patted him, pretending not to hear the voice from the veranda. When next he turned toward it, he stepped back in astonishment at sight of a beautiful girl, who was leaning against the pillar-Hngering a revolver which half protruded from the pocket of her white riding-habit jacket. She was watching him with the expressionless and unseeing gaze of a person long accustomed to solitude. While he stood there holding the rein of Singer, the screen door opened and an elderly woman came out carrying a tall glass of pina a f'rio. She was undoubtedly the mother of the girl. Her complexion was the rich golden brown of the white long under the tropical sun, while the girl had the dusky hue of the native. The man stepped upon the low porch, and uncovered his red head slowly. Senora Barton, I suppose? he said in poor Spanish. Yes, she answered in English, and smiled pleasantly. 'Tm Larry O'Neil of the Cuban Department of Interior. l'm investigating peon conditions on the plantations and would like to spend about a week going over the ground. Here are my papers. He flushed and traced a design of the mosaic floor with his foot, as if in embarrassment, while Mrs. Barton glanced at the papers. When Larry had told Mrs. Barton the nature of his visit to the plantation, he noticed that thegirl just looked at him sharply and then began to swing her riding whip against the post and look out to the hills as if pondering upon the truthfulness of his statement. Mrs. ., ,. . . . H9711
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