Thursday, June 7, 1934
THE NEWS, Chapel Hill, N. C.
Flame
of the
Border
By
VINGIE E. ROE
Copyright,
Doubleday, Doran & Co., Inc.
WNU Service
BORD&R ^^L.
COPYRIGHT DOUBLE DAY. DORAN & Co. Inc. W.N.U. SERVICE
THE STORY
CHAPTER I.—Seeking death by
throwing herself from the summit
of Lone Mesa, to escape dishonor,
at the hands of a drunken desperado,
Sonya Savarin allows herself to be
rescued by her suddenly sobered and
repentant attacker. The girl is a self-
appointed physician to the Navajo In
dians, living on an Arizona sheep
ranch with her brother Serge, his wife.
Lila, and their small daughter, Babs.
For a year she has been engaged to
Rodney Blake, wealthy New Yorker,
but her heart is with the friendless
Navajos and she evades a wedding.
CHAPTER II.—Sonya pulls Little
Moon, wife of Two Fingers, a Navajo,
: through the crisis of an illness. Two
Fingers is deeply grateful.
CHAPTER III.—In the desert village,
shopping, Sonya again meets the man
whose advances she had repulsed on
Lone Mesa. He tells her he bitterly
regrets his action and has never had
a minute’s peace since that day. Sonya
is affected, but unforgiving. She hears
rumors of a Border bandit "El Capitan
Diablo,” who crucifies his "double-
crossers" and has a dire reputation as
a despoiler and murderer, vaguely con
necting him with her attacker.
CHAPTER IV.—Sonya pays a visit
to Little Moon and finds her well on
her way to recovery. On her return
she rides to the top of Lone Mesa.
There she again comes upon the
strange young man. but she no longer
fears him. When he reiterates his sor
row over his misconduct she indicates
forgiveness and assures him a man
can always change for the better,
CHAPTER V.—Befriending the wife
of Hosteen Nez, a Navajo, she adds
him to her circle of devoted friends.
At a neighborhood dance she meets the
mysterious stranger of the Mesa and
demands that he tell her his name.
Finally he confides to her that his
right name is Starr Stone, that his
mother believes him dead, and that he
goes by a different name in this re
gion. He departs with a tall, fierce
Mexican, with whom he is mysterious
ly associated.
CHAPTER VI.—Sonya, with a feeling
of shame, realizes she is falling in love
with a man whom she can only class
as a renegade and outlaw, knowing
that under the circumstances she can
never marry Blake. From an odd char
acter of the desert, known as the
•servant of the Lord,” Sonya learns
Stone is alive and safe. Rodney Blake,
iroii New York, wires, demanding an
explanation of her silence. She an
swers evasively.
CHAPTER VII.—An influenza epi
demic among the Indians keeps Sonya
, busy for many days. Stone greatly
helps her in her care for the strick
en Navajos. Sonya and Stone declare
their love for each other, all doubt in
the mind of the girl being ended.
CHAPTER VIII.—The Mexican ban
dit. surprising the pair at a meeting
place, takes Stone away, and warns
me girl hereafter to let his "lieuten
ant” alone. Sonya is surprised by the
unannounced arrival of Rodney Blake
from New York.
CHAPTER IX.—With Blake is an
easterner, Marston, who announces
himself as a secret service operator,
on the trail of Mexican opium smug
glers who are believed to be working
in the vicinity of the Savarin ranch.
Serge, remembering an incident at a
dance they had all attended, connects
Stone with the smugglers whom Mars
ton is seeking. Sonya is forced to ad
mit to herself that the man she loves
is involved in the nefarious traffic. At
the general store in the desert village
Sonya inadvertently acquires knowl
edge of the store keeper's possession
of opium. On her way home she is
seized and carried away in an air
plane.
CHAPTER X.—Sonya realizes she is
in the power of El Capitan Diablo. In
his stronghold she is committed to the
care of an elderly Spanish woman, to
await the arrival of the chief. A young
er woman, Concha, views with appre
hension the arrival of Stone, whom she
loves, evidently a prisoner, with El
Capitan Diablo.
CHAPTER XI.—At the Savarin ranch
there is dire consternation over the
disappearance of Sonya. Searching par
ties, working diligently, are unable to
find any trace of the girl. Her horse,
arriving home riderless, is the first
indication of harm having come to her.
With Serge. Marston visits the village
store, the last place where Sonya is
known to have been, but find no clues.
Lila Savarin, knowing the romance
of Sonya and the mysterious stranger,
brings herself to believe Sonya has
gone away with Stone, though she
floes not admit this to her husband.
The Navaios, remembering all they owe
Sonya, take the trail, finding evidence
Sf the presence of an airship where
onya might presumably have been
•eized.
CHAPTER XII.—Sonya bravely faces
the bandit chief as he questions her
concerning her knowledge of his opium
smuggling activities. Stone, who had
not known of Sonya's kidnaping, is
brought before her. Diablo accuses
him of "double-crossing,” and denial is
futile. Firm in their mutual love the
fair listen to the pronouncement of
heir doom. Stone to a lingering death
and Sonya to be the plaything of
Manuel, Diablo’s favorite lieutenant.
The girl is recommitted to the care of
the Spanish woman who has been her
jailer.
CHAPTER XIII.—Sonya’s plea to her
keeper for a means of escape from th®
horror awaiting her. by self-destruc
tion, Is unavailing, but Concha, her
love for Stone overcoming her hatred
for her successful rival, which she
knows Sonya to be. arranges for the
escape of the pair. They flee the camp
in an airplane, but as they leave they
realize that Concha has paid, with her
life, for their chance of escape.
CHAPTER XIV.—With Diablo and
Manuel In close pursuit, the pair fly in
the direction of the girl's home. Stone,
unarmed, realizes that capture means a
cruel death for both of them, but Is
helpless. Approaching Lone Mesa, he
determines to attempt a landing on its
summit. He succeeds, but Diablo and
Manuel also land. Resigned to their
fate. Stone and Sonya are rescued by
the girl’s devoted Navajos. whom she
has so greatly befriended. Infuriated
over the situation in which they find
the girl, the Indians hurl both Diablo
and Manuel to their deaths from Lone
Mesa’s height. Following the killings,
but not seeing them, Serge Savarin,
with Rodney Blake and Marston, ar
rive. Sonya shields her Navajo friends,
allowing her brother and his compan
ions to believe that Diablo’s plane had
crashed. Blake claims Sonya, but Stone,
armed with a revolver he had taken
from El Diablo, controls the situation.
Savarin and his two friends being un
armed. Boldly declaring her right to
select her life mate, Sonya chooses
Starr Stone, rejecting Rodney Blake.
The "Servant of the Lord,” who ap-'
patently is at home on the mesa, reads
the wedding service, and Stone and
Sonya leave in the airplane, to face
life together in a "new world.”
C ARDU I
FOR
WOMEN
she was airaid and exhilarated as she
had never been in her life before—and
here he was coming toward her in the
line. He danced as she might have
known he would, like the wind blow
ing In long grass—she could sep him
sway as he weaved in and out in “al
aman-left”—and the whistle blew, and
"he was here, before her. Her hand
was in his, his arm had gone about
her, they were drifting away together
—and all the light? on the walls were
running together in a long blur.
Sonya held her breath and let it out
in a long sigh, and felt suddenly the
trembling of his arms.
Then the whistle blew again, and
some one else had caught her hand,
and she was circling right once more
in the long oval.
When the number was over she went
dizzily to where Lila sat fanning her
flushed cheeks and sat down beside
her. She wanted to rest, to gather
herself together, to still the shameful
tumult of her heart.
Some one claimed her, and Sonya
went back into the maze of moving
figures, but everywhere she went she
was conscious of the brilliant eyes
of this man. He stood against the wall
a little beyond the main door, and he
seemed to be alone. He did not dance
again, even though there was another
Paul Jones, but watched her In a grave
stillness, and Sonya could not gather
her faculties for her usual light ban
ter.
What was the matter with her?
Why did her heart hammer in her
breast with long slow beats, her blood
flow through her veins like molten gold
drenched in perfume?
She thought wildly of Rod, tried to
bring his face before her, to force her
self to feel his presence. She tried
to cling to his memory as one clings
to a sturdy rock in rising waters, and
could not. She could only see the face
of the man beside the door, the young
face that she had seen in so many
lights, drunken and wild and relent
less, sober and contrite, washed with
regret.
What was happening to her? To her
life Itself? To her destiny and her
hopes?
Tears came in her eyes, and she did
not hear what her chance partner was
saying. Fear was in her heart, and a
certain terrible fire that mounted and
grew. Time passed, and she was not
.conscious of it.
Finally, late in the night, the fiddles
struck up the sweet old strains of
“Home, Sweet Home,” and the dance
was over. This was the last number.
A cowboy from the K Bar Z with
whom she always liked to dance was
asking her for it. She had just held
out her hand when some one reached
forward from the side and took it
Next moment she was gone out along
the floor in the dreamy rhythm of the
■ sweet old tune, and this time she was
held so close that she could feel the
beating of his heart, a thundering rev-
, erberation like tides on the shore. Des
perately she raised her eyes and
looked at him.
“Tell me,” she whispered thickly,
“what are you? Who are you?”
“Nothing,” he said bitterly, “to you.
■Nothing—ever—and I’d give half my
life to kiss one curl on your head—
with a decent man’s right”
( The words came through his set
teeth, and even in the tensity of the
imoment she noticed that he did not
■slur his words at the ends.
“Then be decent!” she cried pas
sionately. “Be decent!”
“Too late. I’m only looking in win
dows—from the outside—and I built
the wall between, myself.”
I “Tell me your name,” she said, “tell
me.”
, “No.”
“Yes. Tell me now.”
“I can’t. I haven’t a name—any
more.”
“You have. Your own name. Not
what you—you go by—where—where
you answer roll call.”
“Answer roll call! That’s good. What
do you know about me? What have
you heard?”
“Nothing. I’m guessing, fitting things
In places,” she said swiftly, “and
there’s some one across the Border
who crucifies—”
’ “Hush! For God’s sake, don’t speak
of that again, ever, anywhere! Where
did you hear of—such ?”
' “No matter. There is—and someway
you’re connected! It cuts me like a
knife—you’ve got to tell me. Who are
i you?”
i “If I tell you my name, will you
keep it like you would your oath?”
I “Yes. You know I will.”
“Of course I know. I’m Starr Stone
to my mother, who thinks I’m dead
and buried. In this—country—I go by
something different. Now are you sat-
' Isfled?”
’ “No. I’ve got to know the rest. I
will know it.”
“Why? Heaven knows, you have
little to thank me for—little to think
of me for. I’ve blackened your first
memory of me beyond all hope.”
“Why do you speak carelessly some
times and now correctly?”
“I’ve been two men. I am two men.”
"What kind of men?”
“What does it matter? I’m a dead
man—dead and damned and rotten!
Don’t trouble your darling head about
me. I’m running true to form right
now in being here, In holding you in
. my arms, in looking in your face. If
anyone this side the Border—anyone
who counted—knew me, Pd not have
done it. There’s that much decency
left in me. But no one knows, and I’m
illite a dying _man begging for water.
I c^me back to look at you again and
again. I’d crawl on my knees around
the world to change my — leopard
spots,” he finished bitterly, “to look
In your eyes with a clear conscience.”
Suddenly the fire and the fear and
the ecstasy which had warred in Son
ya all night seemed to rise above her
like a tide of sorrow and disaster.
She felt as if she sank in swirling
waters, drowned in tears.
Her throat closed with an aching
pain and one hard sob escaped her.
Instantly the man looked down,
holding her from him.
“My G—d!” he said, “what—what—
Why, my G—d!”
Then he drew her to him close and
hard, and the trembling of his arms in
tensified. The face above her small
black head had gone haggard as an
old man’s.
The last soft strains of the tender
tune were dying.
The feet of the dancers slowed.
And suddenly from nowhere, out of
the very night beyond the doors, it
seemed, a hand fell on his shoulder, a
powerful grasp whirled him about,
Sonya with him.
A stranger stood there, a stranger
so fierce and terrible In aspect that
one knew him at once for a man of
violence, of cruelty and death.
It was in his small black eyes above
his olive cheeks black with shaven
beard, in his hawkbill nose, in his
thin-lipped mouth merciless as a pan
ther’s. He stood six feet two in his
spurred boots, and he wore the wide
sombrero of the Mexican hidalgo, fine
of material and ornamented with sil
ver. A studded belt circled his narrow
waist; a braided velvet jacket showed
the muscled strength of his wide
shoulders.
He was a Mexican, and a bad one,
if ever one of that brand lived.
He spoke, and the man before him
stood rooted to the spot, his arm still
around the girl.
“Hombre,” he said, In Spanish, “you
disobey! Let’s go.”
And, turning, he walked swiftly to
the door. The arm slid from Sonya’s
shoulders, and without a backward
look the Man of Lone Mesa followed.
Alone, her feet like lead, her head
whirling with a strange dizziness, her
throat aching, Sonya crossed the al
most empty floor and picked up her
coat from where Lila was waking
Babs.
Serge joined them, and they went
out into the night among the roaring
cars of the departing crowd.
Just as they passed out of the circle
of light from the open doors a fantas
tic figure loomed for a moment be
side them. Its shabby garments and
long white hair dim in the blending
shadows.
“Beelzebub,” said the soft voice of
the Servant, “leaves hell to work evil
hereabouts. Beware, innocent one.”
“What in thunder—” said Serge.
"Who was that?”
“Only a strange old man I met .at
Myra’s. You know—the old mad
preacher who rides the Reservation on
his donkeys. You’ve heard of him.”
“Oh, the Servant of the Lord? Yes,
I have. Never saw him before, though.
Well, let’s get going, girls. Babs, lazy-
bones, sit up while daddy fixes the
robe for you. That’s the girl.”
CHAPTER VI
Shadows of Death.
If Sonya Savarin had been troubled
before, had searched her soul with
fearful and bewildered eyes, that sum
mer night plunged her into chaos.
Shame was in her, and a breathless
flame of ecstasy, and a fear that
mounted hourly.
And knowledge.
Knowledge, terrible, complete, dev
astating.
Destiny had reached and taken her,
body and soul.
All that her life had meant was
gone—her plans, her future, every
thing. Rod Blake, New York, safety
and assurance, the sane and ordered
things of everyday, they were all
swept into the discard like so much
trash.
And in their place stood Starr Stone
—her blood leaped at her first con
scious use of his name—renegade,
mystery, what she did not know—and
with him danger, wrong, disaster. A
man with blue eyes had passed, and
trouble followed in his wake, as the
Servant had whispered. It was true,
all of It. He had touched .her with
his mysterious power, and she had
turned and followed him. In her soul
she had turned and followed. Like a
bird charmed to its death, she had
bent her eyes on his, and she was lost.
There was nothing in this world but
Starr Stone’s face, the blue light of his
eyes, the curve of his lips, the grace of
his lean body.
She had seen no man, ever in her
life before, with conscious eyes. She
had not seen life. She had been asleep,
a walker in dreams.
Rod Blake was a dream, a fantasy.
His face was a stranger’s face, his
voice a far-off echo. There was noth
ing real about him, had never been to
her, she knew now. There was
nothing real but this man, this rene
gade, this outlaw who followed where
a master led, and left behind him a
great flare of light that glowed with
shadows in her heart.
Fire and flame and darkness, joy and
ecstasy and sorrow, fear and a vast
strength: these were her portion, new
given to her.
Presently she pushed her hair back
from her forehead, went to the pool in
the dark corner and, kneeling, washed
her face with her hands. It was a
strange baptism of abnegation, of ac
ceptance. Whatever was to happen in
the new future she was committed to
it, body and soul. Whatever happened
to Starr Stone would happen to her:
that she knew beyond all questioning.
And so she slept, still in her pretty
dress, and did not awake until the
day was far gone toward evening and
Lila came knocking at her door.
She went out and met Lila with a
grave face, and the smart little woman
looked at her and set down the cup
she held.
“You may as well come clean, Sonya
darling,” she said gently. “Not to, will
only prolong the agony.”
“I know,” Sonya said soberly.
“Come out in the patio. There’s still
time before we have to begin supper.”
And there, with the sun going down
the western sky and the shadows
lengthening about them Sonya told the
story of the Man of Lone Mesa, and
Lila listened with inheld breath.
At its close they looked silently at
each other.
"You will understand, but Serge
never will,” said Sonya, “so we’ll not
tell him until we have to.”
Lila laid her hand on Sonya’s arm.
“Rod!” she said. “We have forgot
ten him!”
“No,” said the other, “not I. Rod
will be one of the things I’ll have to
face—one of the dangers. I shall
write to him tonight and tell him.”
“What?” The word was in Italics.
“Oh, not about Starr Stone or any
of the tragic things I’ve told you. Only
that I cannot marry him.”
"And you’ll have him here as quick
as the air lines can bring him,” said
Lila quietly.
"You’re right,” said Sonya after a
moment’s thought. “I’ll not tell him
—yet.”
So these two women, grave of face,
caught in the maelstrom of life’s
Sonya Told the Story of the Man
of Lost Mesa, and Lila Listened
With inheld Breath.
romance, its stern portents and shad
ows, re-entered the low adobe house
and went about their evening’s work
in silence.
Serge came home from his day’s rid
ing dusty and tired, weary for sleep.
As he was washing at the bench be
yond the door he called in to them.
"Sis,” he said, “I think there’s going
to be work for you ahead. I saw
old Hosteen T’so today from up Long
Ruins way, and he told me there are
two sick Indians over there.”
“Did he say just where they were?”
"Yes. In a hogan by Blue Water
hole. Said there was a rug for you
if you’d come. The medicine man’s
been making sings for them, but they’re
no better.”
“H’m. Darn these medicine men!.”
said the girl, her brows drawing to
gether. “They kill more patients than
I can ever save. I’ll start early in the
morning.”
“If you take my advice you’d better
keep a sharp eye out for that very
thing—the medicine man.”
"Don’t worry. I know that old chap.
Saw him at Two Fingers’ hogan once.
He’d take my head off, if he could.”
“Well, don’t eat anything around
where he is, and watch your trails for
traps.”
“I will,” said Sonya.
True to her plan, the girl was out on
the desert next day before the sun was
up. The thoughts which had moiled
in her mind for hours now beset her
again. Where was this man who was
her man? Where did he follow that
monstrous master and why? What
was the power which had turned him
from her without a backward look?
Was it fear, or some strange loyalty
beyond the comprehension of a nor
mal mind? What did it portend? And
who was the master? Who but that
one from across the Border whom the
mad Servant called Beelzebub? The
terrible prince of bandits who cruci
fied- those who double-crossed him.
Sonya shivered in the coming day.
I What had he said to Starr Stone?
1 “Hombre, you disobey! Let’s go.”
Where had they gone? What would
he do to him? And why had he dis
obeyed, in what? With deep intuition
she knew the disobedience had to do
with her, with his arm about her in
the public place.
It was a small thing. Not a double-
cross. Yet the very thought of the
sinister words chilled her to the bone.
“Come,” she told herself, “snap out
of it. There is something dark and
terrible here, but Starr Stone”—again
she thrilled at the mental sound of his
name—“will take care of himself.
He’ll come back to talk again.”
At Blue Water she found what she
had expected, and a grave deal more.
Two Navajos, an old man and a young
one, lay in the hogan hot with fever.
Three women stood silently around
watching her magic with the thermom
eter and medicines. From the shelter
of a skeleton brush canopy over an
outdoor cooking fire Yellow Buck,
the medicine man whom she had seen
at Two Fingers’ watched her with i
flamihg eves in his wrinkled face.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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ADMINISTRATOR’S NOTICE.
Having qualified as administra
tor of the estate of Lula Blackwells
deceased, late of Orange County.
North Carolina, this it to notify all
persons having claims against the
estate of the said deceased to ex
hibit them to the undersigned on
or before the 5th day of April,
1935, or this notice will be pleaded
in bar of their recovery. All per
sons indebted to said estate will
please make immediate payment.
This April 5th, 1934.
GEORGE BLACKWELL,
Administrator.
ADMINISTRATOR’S NOTICE.
Having qualified as administra
tor of the estate of Thos. A. At
water, deceased, late of Orangs
County, North Carolina, this is t©
notify all persons having claims
against the estate of the said de
ceased to exhibit them to the un
dersigned on or before the 26th
day of April, 1935, or this notice
will be pleaded in bar of their re
covery. All persons indebted to the
said estate will please make im
mediate payment.
This 26th day of April, 1934.
ISA ATWATER,
Administrator.
Teer, N. C., Route 1.