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Show Dice of Destiny By JACKSON GREGORY ! Copyright & ON THE MEXICAN BORDER Action, always action, is the outstanding feature of this stirring stir-ring romance by Jackson Gregory. Greg-ory. "Dice of Destiny" is a tale of the Mexican border, about as lively a spot as there is in the world. The actors in the story are interesting for themselves, aside from their thrilling story a fine old Spaniard living on his ancestral estate this side of the border; his villainous kinsman, kins-man, with his rascally accom- ' plices; his entirely charming granddaughter; his efficient young American neighbor, and various Mexican bandits from across the border. Love, danger, dan-ger, fighting, a just retribution and a happy ending all the elements of a thrilling tale are here. And the tale is well told. CHAPTER I. An Error Rectified. I'edro, t lie mestlLO, having lighted (lie wiix tnpors in the massive candlesticks, candle-sticks, having placed bottle and glasses upon the great mahogany table, tobacco to-bacco and papers upon the small mahogany ma-hogany table, withdrew silently, as was his way, swiftly, as was his training. train-ing. Ills old master, Senor don Antonio (If In GueiTU, looking as genuinely antique an-tique in his old-fashioned black coat, small, high-heeled boots and curled while hair and mustache as any article ar-ticle of the antique furniture in the vast drawing room of the hacienda, turned his lively black eyes upon his guest. l'Vm will forgive the rudeness of an old man. Senor Dempton," he said softly, his English perfect, his utterance utter-ance still the honeyed speech of Castile, Cas-tile, "but may I ask you to understand that I know nothing of what you Americanos call business? And that I have no wish to learn? That is why I place these matters in the hands of an nitorney." He bowed after the way of the old school, and ended, smiling, "in the hands of a thoroughly competent compe-tent attorney, senor." Dempton. a little man with a restless, rest-less, nervous manner and eyes like a rat's, shifted in his chair, cleared his throat and thanked his patron, looking pleased on the whole. "This is a very Important matter, Mr. de la Guerra," he offered, a trifle hesitantly and with keen eyes upon his host. "To be sure." the old man cut in impatiently, though with no lessening of the courtesy of his speech. "A will is always important." He loaned forward, poured himself a glass of the red southern wine, lift ed it so tnat tne still canaie names shone in it brightly, and drank slowly. Already Dempton had been asled to drink, as he was always asked when he came to the Eancho de la Guerra ; already he had refused, as he always 'refused. The old man set down his glass and took tobacco and fine white paper from the tray upon the smaller table, his steady, slim white hands making the cigarette swiftly. "You say, Senor Dempton," he said when he had lighted a paper lighter at the nearest candlestick, "that you have found a flaw in the original will?" "Yes, sir." Dempton spoke hurriedly hurried-ly and ran on very much after the manner of a schoolboy who has gotten his lesson by heart and wants to "say" it before he forgets;. "Only a small matter, a technical error, which might never be noticed. And -yet there is a risk there is danger dan-ger that the will might eventually be set aside; because of it that your desires de-sires might come to naught ; in a word, that the Senorita Teresa, whom you wish to make your sole legatee, might never come into the fortune you have willed to her. I have thought it best, sir, to draw up a new document." "You have done so?" inquired the old Spaniard, his eyes musingly upon the thin wisp of smoke from the cigarette. ciga-rette. "Yes." Dempton slipped a red band into his breast pocket. "If you will read it and sign it, sir if we can get the matter settled right away, destroying de-stroying the original documents " "The details, Senor Dempton, I trust I may leave with you." De la Guerra waved a white hand gracefully. "You have attended to my business for me for seventeen years now, and I have never found cause for criticism." "You do not even care to have me go into detail concerning the flaw which I allowed to creep in?" Dempton had leaned forward a little in his chair, his eager eyes upon the other's. De la Guerra laughed softly and shook his head. "You would force me to appear stupid." stu-pid." lie put his hand upon the bell cord banging from the edge of the big table and a bell tinkled from beyond be-yond the door. "Let me have the papers pa-pers yon vi-di me to sign." !. -: :h' pen and ink, retreat ed upon nnother errand, and once more returned, bringing with him two of the other servants about the great adobe house to witness the signature. The old man looked at the new will carelessly and signed carelessly, asking ask-ing merely if the will were in all essentials es-sentials the same as the original one. The servants withdrew with their master's thanks and loose sliver, and De la Guerra, retrnlng to Dempton one copy of the paper which was intended in-tended after his death to dispose of the hacienda, a great range heavily slocked and an Indefinite sum In gold and silver, folded the other and placed it upon the shining table top. "I shall read It tomorrow," he said lightly. "You know that I do not read after the candles are lighted, senor." Dempton, his errand done, was already al-ready upon his feet, his eyes roving for the hat which Pedro had taken from him a few minutes ago. "But," cried De la Guerra, "you are not going back tonight, senor? Surely you would not think of putting my hospitality so to shame 1 You must spend the night with us." Dcmpton's eye had found his hat and he speedily crossed the room to take it up. "Thank you, Mr. de la Guerra," he said hastily. "But I must return to I, a Tanzn immediately." He managed a bow with a poor trial at 1 he Spaniard's dignified grace, put out his hand quickly as though to have the farewells over and done with, and Sfjllll "Thank You, Mr. de la Guerra." j retreated to the door which gave passageway pas-sageway through the three-foot adobe walls from the drawing room to the patio. De la Guerra looked at him with a curious smile. "You are incomprehensible, you Americanos," he said softly. "You will insist on riding a dozen miles through the dark when there is a warm bed and bright candle light inviting you to stay. Your business must be urgent, ur-gent, Mr. Dempton, to take you out tonight alone. Your ride is not without with-out danger, and " He put his hand again to the bell cord. "At least, if you insist, you must allow me to send some of my va-queros va-queros with you." "No, no !" cried Dempton, already at the door. "It is unnecessary, Mr. de la Guerra. There Is no danger." "As you will." Senor don Antonio spread out his white hands and lifted his shoulders slightly. "But you must remember that we are only half a mile from the border, -and that those rascally ras-cally Mexicans are a thieving, treacherous treach-erous lot. "I have already given orders to close-herd my steers, and yet Gaucho, my foreman, reported to me this morning morn-ing that the rebels had crossed over and had driven off half a dozen cows for me." Again he spread out his hands and lifted his shoulders. "In the daylight it is one thing after dark it is another. I should be glad to send some of my vaqueros with you, senor." Still Dempton protested. There was a moon, his way ran across a wide open level kind, and the rebels were not looking for complications with Uncle Sam. De la Guerra, too courteous a host to insist, smiled grarely, rose and went into the patio with the lawyer, directing direct-ing Pedro to have Mr. Domplnn's hoi"1 brought up from the stables. "Miss Teresa, I did not see Ir r." Dempton remembered to say from the saddle. "She is well, I hope?" "Very well, thank you. senor. I shall tell her that you inquired. Ami it was kind of you to take this long ride to tell me about the r.israke in :l.e will." "Good night, Mr. de la Guerra." "Iiuenas noches, senor." And Lawyer Dempton, his horse's mane and tall flying, was on his way through the moonlight night, and the old man, leaving Pedro to close the door after him, had gone back to his chair and wine and cigarettes. "Los Americanos," he muttered when he was alone again, "they are all alike. You cannot trust them. That Dempton Demp-ton has the eyes of a rat, the face of a liar, the manner of a convict. Americanos Amer-icanos on the one hand, Mexicanos on the other! Sangre de Dios! I must take Teresita away from them. Pedro 1" "Si, senor." - "Where is the senorita?" "In her rooms, I think, senor." "Bueno. Convey to her my affectionate affec-tionate compliments, and tell her that I shall be for the half-hour adding a certain note to my American memoirs. After that I shall be pleased if she will come to me." "Si, senor." Swift and silent, Pedro went upon his errand. Senor don Antonio de la Guerra, pushing the will to one side, drew a thick manuscript from the table drawer, and, writing in a fine, scholarly schol-arly hand, began to add certain highly insulting commentaries to the chapter dealing with the vitriolic description of the character of "Los Americanos." (The book he planned to print in Spain.) Meantime the Senorita Teresa de la Guerra, his demure granddaughter, was not in her room but upon her little rose-twined balcony, and the moonlight, bright about her, was not more bright than the laughing eyes she turned downward toward the adoring ador-ing face of an Americano! CHAPTER II. Abduction. . The hacienda where Antonio de la Guerra had lived ' for the fifty-odd years of his exile from his beloved Spain, where his granddaughter had been bora and reared, was one of the landmarks which linger on in stately white walls under dark red tiles from the time of the Spanish occupation. The old Spaniard was overlord of what had once been a grant from his grandfather's king, the' boundaries carelessly marked in leagues instead of miles. He bred cattle and fine horses, intrusted in-trusted Gaucho Morales, his foreman, with the business details, and yet managed, man-aged, so large and fertile was his empire, em-pire, to go on from year to year swelling swell-ing his wealth. The widc-verandaed house with none of its walls less than three feet thick, with great, spacious rooms, spread out across a wide extent of the shaded lana among me onve anu pear ana pepper trees. In the time of the father fa-ther of Antonio de la Guerra there had been fourteen rooms now there, were twenty. No less could suffice for the master of the estate and his cherished granddaughter. There was the patio with its flowering flower-ing garden and leaping fountain. About it were the rooms, all on the ground floor with the exception of the three rooms added by the old man for the use of la senorita. Here at the southeastern exposure of the rambling dwelling, a wide and winding staircase had been constructed lo lead upward to a spacious landing. Then came broad doors, a deep window, win-dow, and beyond the senorita's private sitting room. Her bedroom was high-ceiled, high-ceiled, with much ornate embellishment embellish-ment after the Moorish fashion, and a lavish display of gilt under the domed roof. Upon the landing a couch where each night Pedro lay across his mistress' mis-tress' doorway. And then the balcony. Teresa must pick up her skirts daintily dain-tily to step out through the deep windows win-dows to it from her bedroom, and once there she was all hut lost behind the bank of flowering roses, swallowed by a dim dusk through which the moon had difficulty in filtering, lapped in the perfume of the flowers which clung about the balcony in the warm June night. And from here, while her scholarly grandfather annotated his remarks concerning the hated Americano, Teresa Te-resa leaned out, her beauty as soft and delicate a thing as that of the rose brushing her cheek, and talked with one particular Americano. Reader, meet the adorable adora-ble Senorita Teresa and the adoring Billy Stanway. ITU BE LO-ST1-N Li-u. |