1X THE MEYERSDALE COMMERCIAL ' ——i L00008008 20 28 san YOY A808 | INBOW'S END 4 By REX BEACH ¢Copyright, by Harper and Brothers) ovel |i Author of “The Iron Trail,” “The Spoilers,” “Heart of the Sunset,” Ete. < Be PAA VVVMNANAVIIRIRIR RRR ETE FOREWORD The Cuba of the days of Weyler and Gomez and the ragged, half-starved bands of “insurrectos” furnishes an admirable background for this delightful story, in which love, war and the search for a buried treasure are the principal strands that are interwoven to make a plot that is worthy of the mind of Rex Beach. The author of “The Snoilers,” “The Barrier,” and other stirring tales, has produced his most thrilling story in “Rainbow’s End.” CHAPTER |. ie The Valley of Delight. In all probability your first view of the valley of the Yumuri will be from the Hermitage of Montserrate, for it is there that the cocheros drive you. There you overlook the fairest sight in all Christendom—*the loveliest valley 0 the world,” as Humboldt called it— sor the Yumuri nestles right at your feet, a vale of pure delight, a glimpse if Paradise that bewilders the eye and fills the soul with ecstasy. Standing beside the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrate, you will see be- yond the cleft through which the river MVIWY FHV God was jealous and took here to Para- dise.” The widowed man cried out angrily: “paradise! What is this but Para- dise?’ He stared with resentful eyes at the beauty round about him. “See! The Yumuri!” Don Esteban flung a long arm outward. “Do you think there is a sight like that in heaven? Para- dise indeed! 1 gave her everything. She gained nothing by dying.” With a grave thoughtfulness which proved him superior to the ordinary slave, Sebastian replied : “True! She hat all that any wom- an’s heart could desire, but in return for your goodness she gave you chil- dren. You have lost her, but you have gained an heir, and a beautiful girl baby who will grow to be another Donna Rosa. I grieved as you grieve, once upon a time, for my woman died in childbirth, too. You remember? But my daughter lives, and she has brought sunshine into my old age. That is the purpose of children.” He paused and shifted his weight uncentainly, digging his stiff black toes into the dirt. After a time he said, slowly: “Excellency! Now, about the—well—?2” “Yes. What about it?” ’ “Did the Donna Rosa confide her share of the secret to anyone? Those priests and those doctors, you know—"" “She died without speaking.” “Then it rests between you and me?” “It does, unless you have babbled.” “Master!” Sebastian drew himself up and there was real dignity in his black face. “Understand, my whole fortune is there—everything, even to the deeds of patent for the plantations. If I thought there was danger of you betraying me I would have your tongue pulled out emerges another hill, La Cumbre, from which the view is wonderful, and your and your eyes torn from their sockets.” The black man spoke with a sim- driver may tell you about the splendid pomes that used to grace its slopes in the golden days when Cuba had an aristocracy. Your cochero may point out a certain grove of orange trees, pow little more than a rank tangle, and tell you about the quinta of Don Esteban Varona, and its hidden treas- are; about little Esteban and Rosa, the twins; and about Sebastian, the giant slave, who died in fury, taking with tim the secret of the well. The Spanish Main is rich in tales of treasure-trove, for when the Antilles were most affluent they were least se- eure, and men were put to strange shifts to protect their fortunes. Cer- tain hoards, like jewels of tragic his- tory, in time assumed a sort of evil personality, not infrequently exercising a dire influence over the lives of those who chanced to fall under their spells. it was as if the money were accursed, gor certainly the seekers often came to evil. Of such a character was the 7arona trensure. Don Esteban himself was neithsr better nor worse than other men of his time, and although part of the money he hid was wrung from the tvil of slaves and the traffic in their bodies, much of it was clean enough, and in time the earth purified it all. Since his acts made so deep an tmpress, amd since the treasure he left played so big a part in the destinies of those whi came after him, it is well that som account of these matters should be given. The story, please remember, is an old one: I't has been often told, and in the telling and retelling it is but natural (dat a ivertain glamour, a certain jropical ‘extravagance, should attach to 't, therefore you should make allow- ance for some exaggeration, some ac- ecretions due to the lapse of time. In the main, however, it is well authenti- rated and runs parallel to fact. Donna 1losa Varona lived barely long enough to learn that she had given pirth to twins. Don Esteban. whom people krew as a grim man, took the olow of his sudden bereavement as be- came one of his strong fiber. Leaving the priest upon his knees and the doc- tor busied with the babies, he strode ;hrough the house and out into the sunset, iollowed by the wails of the slave women. Don Euteban was at heart a selfish man, end now, therefore, he felt a sul- fen, fierce resentment mingled with nis grief. What trick was this? he asked himself. What had he done to merit such misfortune? Had he not made rich gifts to the church? Had he got knelt and prayed for his wife's safe delivery and then hung his gifts apon the sacred image, as Loyola had nung up his weapons before that other counterpa © of Our Lady? Don Este- pan scow’#d at the memory, for those gems were of the finest. He looked up from his unhappy musings to find a gigantic bare- footed negro standing before him. The slave was middle-aged; his kinky hair was growing gray; but he was of superb proportions, and the muscles which showed through the rents in his cotton garments were as smooth and supple as those of a stripling. His plack face was puckered with grief, as he began: «Master, is it true that Donna Rosa —» The fellow choked. “yes” Esteban nodded,” wearily, *‘she is dead, Sebastian.” Tears r=me to Sebastian's eyes and everflowed his cheeks; he stood mo- gionless, striving to voice his sympathy. length he said: : #ghe was too good for this world. plicity that carried conviction: “Times are unsettled, Don Esteban, and death comes without warning. You are known to be the richest man in this province and these government officials are robbers. Suppose—I should be left alone? What then?” The planter considered for a mo- ment. “Well, when my children are old enough to hold their tongues they will have to be told. If I'm gone, you shall be the one to tell them. Now leave me; this is no time to speak of such things.” Sebastian went as noiselessly as he had come. On his way back to his quar- ters he took the path to the well—the place where most of his time was ordi- narily spent. Sebastian had dug this well, and with his own hands he had beautified its surroundings until they were the loveliest on the Varona grounds. It was Sebastian’s task to keep this place green, and thither he took his way, from force of habit. Through the twilight came Pancho Cueto, the manager, a youngish man, with a narrow face and bold, close-set eyes. Spying Sebastian, he began: “So Don Esteban has an heir at last?” . The slave rubbed his eyes with the heel of his huge yellow palm and an- swered, respectfully: “Yes, Don Pancho. Two little angels, a boy and a girl.” His gray brows drew together in a painful frown. “Donna Rosa was a saint. No doubt there is great rejoicing in heaven at her coming. Eh? What do you think?” «Um-m! Possibly. Don Esteban will miss her for a time and then, I dare say. he will remarry.” At the negro's exclamation Cueto said: “So! And why not? Everybody knows how rich he is. From Oriente to Pinar del Rio the women have heard about his treas- ure.” “What treasure?’ asked Sebastian, after an instant’s pause. Cueto’s dark eyes gleamed resent- fully a* this show of ignorance, but he laughed. : “Ho! There's a careful fellow for you! No wonder he trusts you. But do you think I have neither eyes nor ears? My good Sebastian, you know all about that treasure; in fact, you know far more about many things than Don Esteban would care to have you tell. Come now, don’t you?” Sebastian's face was like a mask carved from ebony. “Of what does this treasure consist?’ he inquired. “I have never heard about it.” “Of gold, of jewels, of silver bars and precious ornaments.” Cueto’s head was thrust forward, his nostrils were dilated, his teeth gleamed. “Oh, it is somewhere about, as you very well know! Bah! Don’t deny it. I'm no fool. What becomes of the money from the slave girls, eh? And the sugar crops, too? Does it go to buy arms and ammunit'on for the rebels? No. Don Estebap hides it, and you help him. Come,” Le cried, disregard- ing Sebastian’s murmurs of protest, “did you ever think how fabulous that fortune must be by this time? Did you ever think that one little gem, one bag of gold, would buy your freedom?” «Don Esteban has promised to buy my freedom and the freedom of my girl.” «80? The manager was plainly surprised. “I. didn’t know that.” After a mo.xent he began to laugh. “And yet you pretend to know nothing about that treasure? Ha! You're a good boy, Sebastian, and so I am. I admire you. We're both loyal to our master, Cueto’s face took on a craftier expres- sion. “She is a likely girl, and when she grows up she will be worth more than you, her father. Don’t forget that Don Esteban is before all else a busi- ness man. Be careful that some one doesn’t make him so good an offer for your girl that he will forget nis prom- ise and—sell her.” Sebastian uttered a hoarse, animal cry and the whites of his eyes showed through the gloom. “He would never sell Evangelina!” Cueto laughed aloud once more. “Of course! He would not dare, eh? Iam only teasing you. But see! You have given yourself away. Everything you tell me proves that you know all about that treasure.” “I know but one thing” the slave declared, stiffening himself slowly, “and that is to be faithful to Don Es- teban.” He turned and departed, leav- ing Pancho Cueto staring after him meditatively. In the days following the birth of his children and the deat of his wife, Don Esteban Varona, as had been his custom, steered a middle course in politics, in that way managing to avoid a clash with the Spanish officials who ruled the island, or an open break with his Cuban neighbors, who rebelled be- neath their wrongs. Esteban dealt diplomatically with both factions and went on raising slaves and sugar to his own great profit. The twins, Esteban and Rosa, devel- oped into healthy children and became the pride of Sebastian and his daugh- ter, into whose care they had been given. As for Evangelina, the young negress, she grew tall and strong and handsome, until she was the finest slave girl in the neighborhood. Then, one day, Don Esteban Varona remarried, and the Donna Isabel, who had been a famous Habana beauty, came to live at the quinta. The daugh- ter of impoverished parents, she had heard and thought much about the mysterious treasure of La Cumbre. Before the first fervor of his honey- moon cooled the groom began to fear that he had made a serious mistake. Donna Isabel, he discovered, was both vain and selfish. Not only did she crave luxury and display, but with sin- gular persistence she demanded to know all about her husband’ financial affairs. § Now Don Esteban was no longer young; age had soured him with sus- picion, and when once he saw himself as the victim of a mercenary marriage he turned bitterly against his wife. Her curiosity he sullenly resented, and he unblushingly denied his possession of any considerable wealth. In fact, he tried with malicious ingenuity to make her believe him a poor man. But Isabel was not of the sort to be readily deceived. Finding her arts and co- quetries of no avail, she flew into a rage, and a furious quarrel ensued— the first of many. For the lady could not rest without knowing all there was to know about the treasure. She searched the quinta, of course, whenever she had a chance, but she discovered nothing—with the result that the mystery began to engross her whole thought. She pried into the ob- scurest corners, she questioned the slaves, she lay awake at night listening to Esteban’s breathing, in the hope of surprising his secret from his dreams. At length a time came when they lived in frank enmity; when Isabel never spoke to Esteban except in reproach or anger, and when Esteban unlocked his lips only to taunt his wife with the fact that she had been thwarted de- spite her cunning. It was only natural under such con- ditions that Donna Isabel should learn to disiike her stepchildren—Esteban had told her frankly that they would inherit whatever fortune he possessed. As may be imagined, she found ways fo vent her spite upon the twins. She widened her hatred so as to include old Sebastian and his daughter, and even went so far as to persecute Evange- lina’s sweetheart, a slave named Asen- sio. It had not taken Donna Isabel long to guess the reason for Sebastian’s many privileges, and one of her first efforts had been to win the old man’s confidence. It was in vain, however, that she flattered and cajoled, or stormed and threatened; Sebastian withstood her as a towering ceiba with- stands the summer heat and the win- ter hurricane. His firmness made her vindictive, and so in time she laid a scheme to estrange him from his master. Donna Isabel was crafty. She began to complain about Evangelina, but it was only after many months that she ventured to suggest to her husband that he sell the girl. Esteban, of course, refused point-blank ; he was too fond of Sebastian’s daughter, he de- clared, to think of such a thing. “So, that is it,” sneered Donna Isa- bel. “Well, she is young and shapely and handsome, as wenches go. I rather suspected you were fond of her—" With difficulty Esteban restrained an oath. “You mistake my meaning,” he said stifily. “Sebastian has served me faithfully, and Evangelina plays with my children. She is good to them; she is more of a mother to them than you have ever been.” “Is that why you dress her like a tossed her fine, dark head. “I'm not blind ; I see what goes on about me. I won’t have that wench in my house.” Goaded to fury by his wife’s sense- less accusation, Esteban cried: “Your house? By what license do you call it yours?” “Am I not married to you?” “Yes—as a leech is married to its victim. You suck my blood.” : “Your blood!” The woman laughed shrilly. “You have no blood; your veins run vinegar. You are a miser.” “Miser! Miser! I grow sick of the word. It is all you find to taunt me with. Confess that you married me for my money,” he roared. “Of course I did! Do you think a woman of my beauty would marry you for anything else? But a fine bargain I made!” “Vampire!” “Wife or vampire, I intend to rule this house, and I refuse. to be shamed by a thick-lipped African. Her airs tell her story. She is insolent to me, but—I sha’n’t endure it. She laughs at me. Well, your friends shall laugh at you.” “Silence!” commanded Esteban. “Sell her, or—" Without waiting to hear her threat Esteban tossed his arms above his head and fled from the room. Flinging himself into the saddle, he spurred down the hill and through the town to the Casino de Espanol, where he spent the night at cards with the Spanish of- ficials. But he did not sell Evangelina. In the days that followed many simi- lar scenes occurred, and as Hsteban’s home life grew more unhappy his dissi- pations increased. He drank and gam- bled heavily ; he brought his friends to the quinta with him, and strove to for- get domestic unpleasantness in boister- ous revelry. His wife, however, found opportuni- ties. enough to weary and exasperate him with reproaches regarding the slave girl. CHAPTER IL. Spanish Gold. The twins were seven years old when Donna Isabel’s schemes bore their first bitter fruit, and the occasion was a particularly, uproarious night when Don Esteban entertained a crowd of his Castilian friends. Little Rosa was awakened at a late hour by the laugh- ter and shouts of her father’s guests. She was afraid, for there was some- thing strange about the voices, some quality to them which was foreign to the child's experience. Creeping into her brother’s room, she awoke him, and ( ad ns ) iD V i cl J “Your Father Has Sold Me to Him!” together they listened. Rosa began to whimper, and when Esteban tried to reassure her his own voice was thin and reedy from fright. In the midst of their agitation they heard some one weeping; there came a rush of feet down the hallway, and the next instant Evangelina flung herself into the room. She fell upon her knees before them. “Little master! Little mistress!” she sobbed. “You will save me, won't you? We love each other, eh? See then, what a crime this is! Say that you will save me!” The children were frightened, but they managed to quaver: “What has happened? Who has harmed you?” “Don Pablo Peza,” wept the negress. “Your father has sold me to him—lost me at cards. Oh, I shall die! Sebas- tian won’t believe it. He is praying. And Asensio— But what can they do to help me? You alone can save me. You won’t let Don Pablo take me away? It would kill me.” “Wait!” Esteban scrambled out of bed and stood lgfore his dusky nurse and playmate. “Don’t cry any more. I'll tell papa that you don’t like Don Pablo.” Rosa followed. brother,” she cried, shrilly. “We'll teh Don Pablo to go home and leave our Evangelina.” “My blessed doves! But will they listen to you?” moaned the slave. “Papa does whatever we ask,” they assured her, gravely. “If he should growl we’ll come back and hide you in the big wardrobe where nobody will ever find you.” Then hand in hand, with their long nightgowns lifted to their knees, they pattered out into the hall and down toward the living room, whence came the shouting and the laughter. Don Mario de Castano, who was fac- ing the door, stopped in the midst of a ribald song to cry: “God be praised! What's this I see?” The others looked and then burst into merriment, for across the litter of ¢ards and dice and empty glasses they saw a dimpled girl and boy, as like as two peas. They were just out of bed ; they were peering through the smoke, and blinking like two little owls. “So! You awaken the household with your songs,” some one chided Don Mario. “Pwo cherubs from heaven,” another exclaimed. But the father lurched forward, a frown upon his face. “What is this, my dears?’ he inquired, thickly. “Run back to your beds. This is no piace for you.” “We love Evangelina,” piped the twins. “You must not let Don Pablo have her—if you please.” “Evangelina?” They nodded. “We love her. . . « She plays with us every day. . . = We want her to stay here. . . . She belongs to us.” Accustomed as they were to prompt compliance with their demands, they spoke imperiously ; but they had never seen a frown like this upon their fa- ther’s face. “Go to your rooms, my sweethearts,” Don Esteban directed. “We want Evangelina. She belongs to us,” they chorused, stubbornly. Don Pablo shook with laughter. “So! She belongs to you, eh? And I'm to be robbed of my winnings. Very well, then, come and give me a kiss, both of you, and I'll see what can be done.” But the children saw that Don Pab- lo’s face was strangely flushed, that his eyes were wild and magnificent beard was wet with wine; therefore they hung back. “You won your bet fairly,” Esteban growled at him. “Pay no heed to these babies.” : “Evangelina is ours,” the little ones bravely repeated. Then their father exploded: “The devil! Am I dreaming? Where have you learned to oppose me? Back to your beds, both of you.” Seeing them hesitate, he shouted for his wife. “Ho, there! Isabel, my love! Come put these imps to rest. Or must I teach them manners with my palm? A fine thing, truly! Are they to be allowed to roam the house at will and get a fever?” : ' Mere mention of their stepmother’s name was enough for Rosa and Este- ban; they scuttled away as fast as they could go, and when Donna Isabel came to their rooms, a few moments later, she found them in their beds, with their eyes deceitfully squeezed shut. Evangelina was cowering in a corner. Isabel had overheard the wager, and her soul was evilly alight; she jerked the slave girl to her feet and with a blow of her palm sent her to her quarters. Then she turned her at- tention to the twins. When she left them they were weeping silently, both for themselves and for Evangelina, whom they dearly loved. Day was breaking when Esteban Varona bade his guests good-by at the door of his house. As he stood there Sebastian came to him out of the mists of the dawn. He was half crazed from apprehension, and now cast him- self prone before his master, begging for Evangelina. The secret of the hiding place of the buried treasure dies with the two men who pos- sess it. How this happened is told in the next installment. (TO BE CONTINUED) Prefer Musical Education. Music, more than the other arts, is a thing apart, and the instinctive knowledge of it, discovered sometimes in even the youngest children where a rich musical experience is offered, is past all computation by the educa- tional mind. The jealous tutorial mind which presumes to teach music to the young without allowing and insuring them a rich experience of music, and to detay by the penurious educational method, however well meaning, the child’s or youth’s contact with musical life, is as little thrifty as one who would dam up the springs of a river to construct a meager drain pipe.—Ex- change. 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Neat, clean, ornamental, convenient and cheap. your speech?’ “One person,” replied Senator Sorghum. “The stenographer eh? But now about Evangelina.” jady? Bah! A likely story!” Isabel “Yes, come along, 1 was obliged to get every word of it.” 2m BALD AVE., BROOKLY?, 0k Vo not benefited. Now being 84 years of = Ves Is ALL No ——