v *b9 ^ J ^o1 fiw1: ** •'few' "«»* •'HP'*- **o< :^ -«,>♦ :£ ^V %'^^V9 V^SV* v^Sv V™ ,* • * V ♦ « _«,* ,* **J MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE 1 ASK YOUR LIBRARIAN Which Encyclopaedia is of Greatest Practical Value He is in the best position to advise you. Librarians the country over are unanimous upon the following Essentials of the Ideal Encyclopaedia It must contain latest information on all vital interests of the PRESENT DAY The legislation of the Wilson adminis- Most recent improvements in motor experts have done all the hunting for Iration -— tariff, income tax, currency cars for business and pleasure; you — have made all information in- b™. etc-i Latest advances in aerial navigation. stantly and easily accessible. History in the making, in Mexico, Ire- AH important subjects must be fully land, the Balkans, China; f R irements and accurately illustrated. 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Therefore, the Special Price q V Because of this Lateness and Comprehensiveness, it include^ can only be obtained by prompt action. ^ ,/' M. P. M. a mass of material not accessible in any other encyclopaedia. Subscribers to the Second Edition will \$ / It will answer more Questions of interest to Americans than secure Free Membership in the In- Q / 714 all other general reference works combined. ternational Research Bureau. This O ••'' ^ .. ,, . The same unique editorial methods (originated by Dodd, bureau may be freely consulted by ^ /' Uodd, Mead Mead & Co.) that made the first edition the Standard Au- members upon all subjects of in- \ 7/ & Company thority in all important libraries and educational institutions terest arising in reading or con- V / Publishers throughout the country, govern preparation of the Secotd versation. *i>C^>i**^2S?^CWW>2^ DC : n c OH MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE TABLE OF CONTENTS, AUGUST, 1914 GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS: TAGE Louise Glaum 9 Morris Foster 10 Fan Bourke n Ned Burton 12 Justina Hurt 13 "Hazel Buckham 14 Edward Coxen 15 Alarguerite Clayton 16 Mary Fuller 17 PAGE .. 18 .. 19 Florence LaBadie Billie Rhodes Clara Kimball Young Francis Ford 21 Harold Lockwood 22 Marguerite Gibson 23 Dorris Hollister 24 Adele Lane 25 PHOTOPLAY STORIES AND SPECIAL ARTICLES: A Romance of the Pueblo Karl Schiller The Yellow Traffic Janet Reid Across the Burning Trestle Alexander Lowell The Hope of Blind Alley : Gladys Hall Three Men and a Woman Edwin M. LaRoche Night Hawks Norman Bruce My Official Wife Dorothy Donnell Old Wine, Old Books, Old Friends William Lord Wright My Search for the Missing Link /. C. Heniment Ruth Roland, the Kalem Girl Jean Darnell Popular Plays and Players The Most Beautiful Blonde in the World Russell E. Smith Reflections of the Man in Front Harvey Peake For the Public Safety Albert Marple Alpha Sam. J. Schlappich Extracts from the Diary of Mary Puller Lure of the Cinema Ernest A. Dench 100 Expression of the Emotions Eugene V. Brewster 101 Mother Goose of Motion Pictures Harvey Peake no Chats with the Players in Interesting Picture Figures Irving Crump 113 Funny Stories That Are True Dr. Albert L. Roat 115 Progress Drawn by William Devlin 120 Great Artist Contest 121 The Spirit of the Play "Junius" 124 Greenroom Jottings 125 Penographs 129 How Freddy Won and Why A. B. Shults 132 Answers to Inquiries The Answer Man 133 27 33 38 45 52 61 67 76 77 84 86 89 92 93 96 97 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE, 175 Duffield St, B'Klyn, N. Y. Formerly "The Motion Picture Story Magazine" Copyright, 1914, by The M. P. Publishing Co. in United States and Great Britain. Entered at the Brooklyn, N. ¥"., Post Office as second-class matter. Owned and published bv The M. P. Publishing Co.. a New York corporation, its office and principal place of business, No. 175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. J. Stuart Blacktorv, President; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada, §2; in foreign countries. $2.=;o. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted (one-cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when ordered by us; these should be sent to the Photoplay Clearing House (see advertisement). Subscribers must notify us at once of any change of address, giving both old and new address. STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE: Eugene V. Brewster, Managing Editor. C. W. Fryer, Staff Artist. -Associate Editors. Guy L. Harrington. Circulation Manage--. Frank Griswold Barry, Advertising Manager. New York branch office (advertising department only) , 171 Madison Avenue, at 33d Street. Western, and New England Adv. Rep.: Bryant, Griffith & Fredricks Co., Chicago and Boston. Edwin M. La Roche, Dorothy Donnell, Gladys Hall, □ X 3 DC 3 DC 3 DC HI] 1 "0 131' ©CLB304940 VoLVIII A Romance of the Pueblo (Biograph) By KARL SCHILLER It was the time of the year, my brothers, when the shadow of the cactus is sharpest on the alkali plain, and the small, green lizard is torpid and motionless, save for its tongue of forked, red flame — the time of all times in the year, my brothers, for man and maid to gaze into each other's eyes. She was the Apache, Natoma, which is, in the tongue of the white man, the Desired One. He, Mon-a-tu, a Pueblo born, was of the despised folk who dwell in houses, shutting away the Great Spirit's blessings with walls of clay and straw. They loved, my brothers, as in your clean, white youth-days you dreamed of love. Little they spoke, never had their lips touched; yet the Great Spirit sends few sweeter things to mankind than was theirs. The town — so old that Koto, the wise eagle of stone on the promon- tory, had forgotten when it was first made — led thru narrow highways and byways, thru cobbled lanes and deserted courtyards, to the mission school in the heart of it. Here two or three pale women, in the strange clothing of the white people, taught the children of the Indians to speak a harsh and alien tongue. The 27 parents, hating the conquering race, refused instruction for themselves, but sent their children grudgingly. For English is the language in which money is made, my brothers, and the red man's herds and acres grow fewer year by year. Near-by the school was a squat old 'dobe hut that housed the mission doctor and his wife. At first, these two had an ill time of it, for the natives looked askance at the evil-tasting medicines and white, round pills. How, they asked one another, could such a small pill cure such a large ache? And there were better ways, surely, of driving the evil spirits away than by an ugly taste on the tongue. But the doctor's wife, Cecilie, was as fair as the mesqua lilies, and her smile was a thing to warm the heart. More- over, was it not the doctor's black magic that had cured old Kamo's toothache and driven the red patches from the sick children's faces? So, little by little, the men of the desert grew to trust the paleface medicine man; for, my brothers, if folly can make my sore finger well, I will honor folly and be healed. And so it was that when Natoma fell sick, in the schoolroom, of a strange faintness, Mon-a-tu, her lover, carried her in NEVER SHALL AN APACHE MATE WITH A PUEBLO his strong arms to the doctor's house and laid her upon the queer, white, soft thing that the weakly palefaces sleep upon. Opening sick eyes, after eons of travel in black, terrible, far spaces, Natoma saw bending above her the loveliest face she had ever seen — lovely, not as Apache women, but frail and pale, with sky-eyes and sun-hair. And in her heart the desert girl enshrined the face beside her dream of the Great Spirit, God. Yet — such is the way of the Indian with the white man — she could not tell of her worship, unless dark eyes and brown, tender fingertips con- fessed it. With Mon-a-tu, her lover, it was different. The bird may speak with the bird, where it cannot understand the butterflies. "Desired One," he pleaded, "how many moons must I sigh away alone ? The bright snake has his burrow, the brown, shy wood-dove his mate, yet I am heartless. How long ere I may join my life to thine, 0 long Desired One?" "My father, the chief," she shud- 28 dered in answer. "He is tall and terrible. He hates the wall-dwellers, and he has many warriors in his tents, with arrows in their quivers and swift ponies in their corral. I dare not marry without his consent, and never will he give it to thee, 0 my brave. ' ' "The squaw of the white medicine man is wise," counseled Mon-a-tu. "Let us take our severed hearts and twin longings to her." A woman, red or brown or white as her skin may be, is ever a friend of love and lovers. And it was not long before the doctor's wife had a wedding arranged. The town, she said, was far from the old chief's tents; he would never know. But, my brothers, if all went well here on earth, there would be no need of a Happy Hunting Ground. Before the words could be said that would join Natoma to Mon-a-tu until the stars should fade and the earth dissolve, a dread figure burst like a lightning- stroke into the peace of the assembly- room. "Dog of a Pueblo!" cried Old THE DOCTOR AND CECILIE COME TO THE AID OF SHOOTING STAR Shooting Star, in a very terrible voice, "never shall an Apache mate with a Pueblo till the eagle and snake shall wed!" One wild cry from the desolate lovers, and the girl, weeping, was led away to sob her wild grief dumb upon the gay, mockingly gay blanket in her teepee. And for many a day the crumbling streets of the town knew no Apache, and Mon-a-tu strode like a restless spirit homesick beneath the sun of mortals. And then, laden with pelts and spoils of his arrows, Shooting Star strode, scornful of the walls and shut- in air, to the trading station to ex- change his wealth for the wealth of the white man. The Pueblo braves, watching him afar, noted how dusky was his face, how strangely hazed his eye. Suddenly he swayed, and his hand, so fierce to slay, so strong to strike, so cruel on the bow-string, went to his forehead like a wounded thing. And, creeping, shod with curiosity, closer, they saw dread red welts along his cheeks, like angry wounds. Then, with fierce cries, thev bent to the stones of the street and began to fling them upon the stricken man. For, my brothers, the coward carrion crows are. braggarts upon a corpse. As Shooting Star, muttering and swaying, flew from the hail of missiles down the ragged streets, the doctor and his wife came upon him and noted his sore need. And even as his daughter had come back from the barren places of death to see her loved face above her, so the warrior, hardened by hail and storm, by sun and wind, by danger and daring, awoke from his deep swoon to see Cecilie stooping graciously over him. The weeks of his sickness were many, yet the patience of the white woman was as boundless as the mercy of the Great Spirit. Shooting Star looked upon her, at first worshiping; then, as strength crept to his sinews, with desire. At length, healed and de- parting, he turned to the doctor and spoke his simple plan. "How much for your squaw?" "How much?" the doctor roared with laughter — "why, fifty ponies, man!" 29 30 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE "HOW MUCH FOR YOUR SQUAW? Shooting Star looked at the woman' and knew that she was as lovely as the dawn. So he bowed gravely and went away, back to his tents, his war- riors and his herds. For, my brothers, the red man does not know the mean- ing of the white man's laughter, nor ever shall till red and white are one with the dust of the plain. "I have brought the ponies. Give me the woman," said Shooting Star. He pointed toward the corral on the edge of the town, crowded now with shaggy, heaving flanks. The doctor stared. The white-cheeked Cecilie turned her sky-eyes first upon the corral; then, in growing amusement, upon the red man, waiting stolidly for his prize. "He thought you were in earnest, " she cried out. ' ' Oh, poor man ! Dont laugh so, George. See, you're making him angry." How angry, she could not guess. For the wrath of the white man is noisy, like the clatter of hailstones or the sputter of his own gun. But an Indian's rage is as silent and deadly as the arrow seeking the heart. "Let me go! Let me " The swift mustangs cut the wind. The beating of her frail, white hands is as impotent as a butterfly's fluttering. Behind — farther and farther b e h i n d — the doctor plods on his thank- less rounds. His wife is not with him; she has mounted her horse for a ride in the open — and on the far hori- zon the merciless hoofs beat- ing faintly, and still more faintly, till sounds and sight are lost in the blue that bounds Apache land. In the tent crouched the woman, eyes dull with hor- ror. Beyond, thru the flap, a sight more terrible than her worse nightmare dream flickered before her un- sure gaze. Like demons the figures leaped and danced to the barbaric yells and screams of the women — the wedding dance — to her the dance of death. Before her the girl knelt, knife in hand, an unwill- ing custodian at the command of her father. She spoke no words, yet her brain worked swift and sure. Sud- denly, with the lithe ease of a pan- ther, she dipped out of sight of the dancers, slit the side of the teepee farthest from the flap with one mur- derous sweep of the scalping-blade, and beckoned over her shoulder. Wild hope swept like a warm wave of strength thru the captive's veins. For, my brothers, a woman can pass from despair to joy in the twinkling of an adder's eye. She followed where the red maid led, and behold! before her, freedom ; behind, dishonor and danger. The horses, tethered to the willow's sweep, started to prance and whinny, but Natoma laid a hand above their nostrils and held them while the white woman mounted. A flash of small, hard hoofs, a cloud of dust Shooting Star, hideous in his wed- ding panoply, turned from the dance and crossed to the teepee where his captive, the strange, white woman of IT WAS THE WEDDING DANCE — TO HER THE DANCE OF DEATH the sun-hair, awaited him. It would be very fine, the taming of her ! Her despairing shrieks should be sweet music; her soft, futile struggling; her strained loathing and horror of him — all these things it pleased his fancy to dwell upon. For, my brothers, a native savage is a man who has not learnt to cover or dissemble, a savage at heart — there are many such among us all. The dancers paid no heed to his going, being half-intoxicated with their movements and exertions, until, with the howl of a baffled beast, he was back among them again. ' ' She is gone ! The girl, also ! Horses, my braves!" The Indian girl and the Indian chief looked into one another's eyes. Father and daughter they were not, save by accident of birth. He, a son of his wild fathers, untamed and primitive; she, school-taught, yet in her bravery and stoicism still an In- dian. For she read in his eyes her death-sentence. Her face, above the hastily exchanged clothes of the 31 white woman, did not quiver in a single coward muscle. Yet his words and ' gestures filled the half -civilized heart of her with horror and loathing. "Thou hast shown too well how loyally an Indian maid may live/' he sneered. "My little red brothers, the ants, yonder, shall prove how prettily an Indian maid may die ! ' ' Mon-a-tu prayed aloud as he rode. The wind swept beside him, not out- stripping his speed, yet it seemed he scarcely moved. The words of the spent white woman as he dragged her from her horse, gaudy in Natoma's robe, weighed so heavily on his heart that it seemed they must retard his horse 's feet : ' ' Natoma — by the lake — quick — her father " The trees widened into an open stretch of sandy shore. In the dis- tance knelt a figure, working busily. Mon-a-tu strained his eyes ; then a hoarse yelp of horror tore from his lips. The small, round object rolling on the ground teas Natoma's head protruding from an ant-heap ! THE SMALL ROUND OBJECT WAS NATOMA S HEAD PROTRUDING FROM AN ANT-HEAP Love gave him strength. A red man's love can work miracles. It ivas a miracle that happened there on the barren sand, beside the awful pain- distorted head, tossing in agony. The Apache chief was twice the size and power of the Pueblo, but it was not the youth who lay at last panting his life out on the torn ground. With wild fingers he dug and groveled. The vicious insects swarmed like a wave of fire over his flesh. He knew not whether she were yet alive; but when. at last, he stooped and dragged her body from the seething pit, her eye- lids fluttered open, and he saw the bride-look in her dark eyes. It was the time when the moon is widest and warmest, my brothers; when the coyote 's howl is hushed, and the groves are gentle with mating sounds, that Mon-a-tu, the Pueblo, took the Apache maiden to his heart- stone, his evermore, until the highest stars should fade. To Evelyn, on Going to the Movies harge me not, sweet, with faithlessness, That far from tango teas And the proved warmth of thy caress I love to take mine ease. True, a new mistress now I woo, One of a varied art, And with a joy sublime I view A full reel or a part And yet my worshipping is such As you, too, may adore, I could not love thee, dear so much, Loved I not movies more. 32 The Yellow Traffic (Blachfe) By JANET REID Their slim young figures sil- houetted against the fading skyline, they looked too light and free for aught but being poised, birdwise, for flight. "It is a nasty job," Tom was say- ing, "and they're a tough bunch to down. They've got a good thing and a choice spot, and they can twist those slimy Chings into any way or contortion they may desire. ' ' "Do you know" — the girl was em- ploying her woman's intuition — "I more than suspect Edward Allen of being the leader of the band. He seems to be crazy for Dad to sell him the Caroline, and I can think of only one use he could make of it — that use his smuggling operations " ' ' But. sweetheart ' '—Tom looked incredulous — "Allen's position is hardly calculated to make one sus- pect him of that dirty work. ' ' "I dont care," the girl retorted decisively. "He has a shifty eye and— what!" Tom was leaning far over the cliff, his keen eye following a rough-look- ing fellow skulking along the strip of beach that skirted the foot of the cliff. There was a sudden shifting of the sandy edge, and Tom was precipi- tated down, leaving Alice, tense and gasping, looking after. 33 "All right," Tom shouted, as he gained his feet and whipped out his pistol, to face the man who had lost no time in showing his. The struggle was brief and one-sided — Tom's young muscles were taut and respon- sive, his mind was alert; the man's senses were apparently befogged with bad whisky — and they emerged from the water, panting, captor and captured. Alice threaded her homeward way alone that night, leaving Tom to hand over his prey to the officials, and her thoughts were very busy. She knew instinctively that Allen had been there when she entered their neat frame house that night — knew it by her father's face. For only Allen, with his taunts and threatenings of foreclosure, could call that harassed expression to her father's jolly face. Tonight the strained expression was doubly evi- dent ; it was apparent that Allen had been using new force. ' ' Cant you tell me, Dad ? ' ' The girl slipped her arm around his neck and stroked his weather-beaten old face gently. Captain Rawley groaned. "It's the smuggling," he ejacu- lated despairingly; "he's been trying to rope me in — me, who've never taken a penny from the sea, or any- TOM WAS PRECIPITATED DOWN, LEAVING ALICE TENSE AND GASPING thing else, but what it's been an honest one — and now " "Now, Dad?" pressed the girl. "Now, when I'm hard put, he comes with his diabolical suggestions — offers me five hundred dollars for every d — n Ching I land without be- ing spotted. He knows I can do it, Alice — he knows no one 'd ever suspect me — and God knows we need the money!" "We need honesty more, Dad," the girl told him firmly; "even if we do lose the Caroline and our home, we'll lose them clean-handed — we wont make the sea ashamed of us. And we'll have each other — you and Jim and I." "That's what I told him," the Captain replied, a bit ruefully; "that's what I told him." "Jim," said Alice that night, as she sat with her brother while he smoked his nightly pipe, "we've got to keep our weather-eye open — you and I. And keep on teaching me how to send 'wireless' messages, brother — something tells me I will need it." The following night, when Alice 34 and Jim returned from the schooner, where they had been experimenting with the "wireless" instrument on board, they found their father in a highly jovial state of mind. "The Caroline's ordered," he said, "for quite a cruise — I've had some applicants for the crew today, but they were a rough-looking set, so I didn't engage them — but it's luck, isn't it?" ' ' Right-o ! ' ' agreed Jim. But Alice looked dubious. "It isn't any of Allen's doings, is it, Dad?" she queried. "Of course not, child," her father replied somewhat testily. "You seem to see the finger of Allen in every- thing, 'stead of the finger of God." "Well, I rather think," said Alice, quietly, "that where smug- glers are, God is not!" However strong a woman's intui- tion may be, it cannot guide the men who follow the call of the sea — that call comes first. And so it was that Captain Rawley and Jim set forth the following day to board the THE YELLOW TRAFFIC 35 Caroline, followed by the sad fore- bodings of Alice, who suspected a motive underlying. "It's going to be fair weather, lads," the grizzled Captain re- marked to his crew as he boarded the schooner. Then came a rush from the fo 'castle — an oath — a scuffle — and the clink-clank of iron anklets and wristlets in clamping. The smug- glers ! Somehow, somewhere they had stowed themselves on board. The Caroline and her crew, her Captain and her mate, were captive. Down in the dark of the tiny cabin, where t^e intruders thrust them unceremoniously, Jim Rawley was thinking hard. He saw that his father was broken and unable to maneuver with him. He recognized, too, that more ingenuity than these rough men possessed had directed the secret manning of the Caroline and the subsequent capture. And he knew that Alice had spoken truth — thet Edward Allen, suave man of the world, was the directing power. From the frequent stops, the sounds of bales and barrels, the whispers and undertones, Jim knew that the yellow men were on board — that they would be landed by another night- fall— and by the Caroline! And here his knowledge of the desperate gang came into play. "They'll celebrate," he thought to himself; "they've got the Chings on board, and they've got enough whisky, I'll wager, to sink the schooner — there'll be a drunken lot 'fore long. I'll wait " The cabin, with its one or two murky portholes, and with a tar- paulin drawn over its skylight, gave no indication of the passing of time ; but Jim reckoned that it must be nearly nightfall when stray snatches of maudlin song came down to him — the occasional scuffle indicating the brawls that flared up and died down on a breath — the oaths — the guffaws — the loud snores of one or two read- ily overcome. "They'll never miss me — nor hear me," Jim muttered. "I can batter that door down in a shake — there's a weak link in these infernal irons — hey, Ted!" The sailor addressed, roused from his doze, looked up alertly. "Put your two feet here," Jim in- dicated the spot in his anklets most apt to give. "Now use all your muscle — and kick," he commanded — 1 ' fine ! Now the same trick to my wrist-irons. ' ' "Dad," Jim whispered, "I'm go- in' to make for the wireless; they're dead drunk — the lot of 'em — China- men and all. I'll get to it and give Al the message — Tom '11 be with her, and they'll get the officials on the job, We'll do more yet than if this had never happened " It was a desperate chance he was taking. Jim knew that should the mob espy him, their heated blood would lead them into heaven knows what manner of brutality. The wire- less was on the fore part of the deck; the crazy crew and their yellow prizes were on the aft. The rush for it was a breathless run. Jim sent the message over the wires with a fever- ish haste, praying God, in broken fragments of speech, that Alice would pick it up. The message, urgent, desperate, in- sistent, found its way over the waters to a large wireless station on the shore, where the operator repeated the message to his assistant, with a mutual exchange of glances. "Here's our chance with Allen," almost hissed the one; "he's there with the pay when a job's done neat — how '11 we work it?" "Close down the shop — for God's sake!" yelled the other — "then beat it for the Rawley house and nab the pair o' 'em, for Tom NorthrOp'll be on hand, I'll warrant." On the schooner Caroline, crouched by the wireless in the pitchy dark, Jim waited — waited — waited. The drunken crew caroused and cursed ; the Chinamen emitted long strings of lingo, guttural from the bad spirits and the triumph. Death, skulled and crossboned, hovered close over the Caroline. 36 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE "No answer," Alice was whisper- ing to Tom, who stood close by ; "what does it mean, Tom — what does it mean?" "Try again, love " Feverishly the instrument sent its message : ' ' Answer me, Jim — Alice — Alice — Alice ' ' "No answer," she groaned. "Tom, what can it mean — ah-h-h ! ' ' She was jerked suddenly back, until her head snapped with the suddenness of the shock. Tom was struggling with a lithe, dark man, who resembled, Alice thought, the assistant at the big wireless station. In Tom's back pocket was his pistol. It was empty; but he knew that he could make a temporary get- away if he could succeed in leveling it in their faces. Alice, at least, would make good her escape, and he could hold the two at bay while she cleared space between them. "Eun!" he commanded Alice, as her captor also released, her under the threat of the round, toothless jaw of the pistol — ' ' run — for your life ! ' ' That it was her life, Alice knew well. "With a last plea for Tom to follow, she fled into the night — and, instinctively, toward the pound- ing of the surf. Behind her came Tom's footsteps; they knew it then — that the pistol was empty. He, too, was fleeing — the pretext gone. "Run!" he was commanding her harshly — '"run — and dont stop — dont —stop " The water's edge — the black iciness of it — the cruel impact of the tides on the shore — where should she turn — and "Eun!" his voice kept urging her — ' ' run — run ! ' ' There was no withdrawing. The sea — or those pursuers, black of heart and intent. She was a vigorous swimmer, and she had the instinct of self-preserva- tion strong in those of the sea. She swam now — blindly as to direction — decisively as to stroke. Something hit her outgoing hand — something hard — the bell-buoy! A great, chok- ing gasp came up in the girl's throat. "0 Mother Ocean," she sobbed, as she clung to the swaying thing — 1 ' Mother Ocean o ' Mine ! " Swinging there, drenched by the icy brine, numbed and torn between her anxiety for the dear ones on the Caroline and the probable fate of Tom, the girl lived an eternity of time. Her limp fingers were relax- ing— her tired head was drooping — Mother Ocean was claiming a well- loved child, when a voice, strained with fear, clove the night. ' ' Sweetheart, ' ' it said — ' ' Alice ! Are you there — Alice ? ' ' It was Tom, and he bore her back to the shore, using his sinewy strength for both, cheering her with words forced for her further courage. On the schooner Caroline, crouched by the wireless in the pitchy dark, Jim waited — waited — waited. The drunken crew caroused and cursed; the Chinamen emitted long strings of lingo, guttural from the bad spirits and the triumph. Death, skulled and crossboned, hovered close over the Caroline. On shore, Alice was sent a mes- sage over the waters from the instru- ment at the Eevenue Officer's — the answer came. "They are off the North Bell Eock," she told the waiting men, breathlessly — ' ' Jim answers — the Chinamen are aboard — he says — he says — to hurry — to hurry— for God's sake " On the shore of the North Bell Light a bedraggled figure met the eyes of the men who were preparing to put off for the schooner. It was Jim — Jim, exhausted, spent, wrought to the breaking-point. "They made me walk the plank!" he said. ' ' They land at Ebbing Cove — get there — the Chings are aboard ! ' ' Along the coast the word speeded. A ten-mile cordon was formed; guards and sailors were planted at points of vantage near Ebbing Cove, and Tom Northrop was to fire his pistol as the smugglers made their landing, as a signal for the attack to open. Just, however, as the news had sped along TEE YELLOW TRAFFIC 37 the coast to the authorities, so it reached Allen's ears, and he imme- diately set a spy on Tom, who was taken a second time while he lingered an instant to load his pistol. At Ebbing Cove the schooner landed. Down the gang-plank, hastily flung, the smugglers rolled their human freight, none too gently, be it said, in barrels, crates, rough bags, and the guard in wait- ing listened in vain for the sig- naling shot. The minutes passed — the landing was gag all but made, 1 when, swift and Jj sharp, the shot rang tance like out, a dis- an d away, so many ar- rows sprung from their bows, the men shot from their places of con- cealment. It was confusion in that hour — smoke and shots — and strange oaths — and blood, spluttering and choking — and hardy victories won by the guards. And, finally, t h e succumbing of the smugglers to the quicker wits and steadier nerves of the coastguards, who had wanted them so long. A great success, however, is not won in an instant. The shore battle was no sooner finished than the Caroline put out to sea, with Allen on deck and Captain Rawley and his crew below. Followed a pursuit that has marked the North Bell Light and Ebbing Cove as places of history; and, finally, the struggle on the schooner deck, that left it stained with hard-spilled blood for all time and rid the coast of Edward Allen, ON THE BELL-BUOY the secret leader of the desperate band of smugglers. Six months later, the sun shone brightly over the soughing tides. On the porch of the Rawley home, free and clear from all financial stress, Alice and Tom were united in holy matri- mony. They had helped free the coast of its ugly stain — t hey had captured a b a n d of the most desper- ate smugglers op- erating — and the Government had acknowledged it. One strange wedding gift came to them, as strange as it was beautiful and significant. It was a miniature wireless apparatus wrought in silver, with each steel pole and cluster of wires shaped in delicate filaments. "Who could have sent it?" Alice asked, rum ning her fingers over its tracery. "I can only guess," said the proud groom — "it's from the Government, Old Uncle Sam, and it's sent in appreciation of your services in those dark, terrible days." "There is something that travels farther and quicker than a wireless," she said. And as he leaned forward to kiss her, a voice came to them. "And they didn't smuggle the Chings in, for all their boasting," Jim was saying, face aglow as he reminisced to the wedding party. Tom drew his hour-old bride to him, and his eyes were tender-soft "But they did smuggle in," he whispered, "a heaven full of happi- ness— for you — and for me." tb& wpfj EDI50R) «