CHAPTER XII THE MEETING It was between eleven o'clock in midnight when Mick Glory and his companion returned to Vandeelans. It was between ten and eleven of the same Thursday night when Axel Lindquist was taken sick on the road, not a long walk from his father's house. In less than an hour Beverage and his companions reached a turn in the road and found themselves at the top of the slope. It was hardly a hill, with Vandeelans' bridge a little way below them, in the farmyard beyond. Beverage extinguished the lantern. "'Look there,' Wilson exclaimed. "'Where?' At the house yonder. Don't you see there's a light burning. "'That's a fact. We'll move a little quietly, boys. Bert, you step around between the house and the barn and keep an eye on the back door. Harper will be with you.' They started down toward the bridge while Beverage was speaking. When they hit cross-over Harper stopped. "'Can you wait a minute? I've got a stone in my shoe.' "'We'll go ahead. Come on as soon as you can and join Bert out by the barn.' And the three passed on, leaving pink on a log at the roadside. Beverage and Smiley went up to the front door and knocked. There was no response. But for the light in one window the house might have been deserted. Beverage knocked again. "'Open up in there,' he shouted. But no one answered. Smiley turned and looked around the dim clearing with a shutter. "'Lonesome, isn't it?' he said.  Beverage's mind was bent on getting in. "'So they won't answer, eh? We'll see.' He stepped back to the ground, picked up a length of court wood, and struck a heavy blow on the door. Like this a head appeared in an upper window. "'Who's there? Open your door, and I'll tell you. Tell me who you are first. A special agent of the United States Treasury Department. What do you want me for? I don't care anything about you. I want the men you have hidden here. There ain't nobody here but my wife and me. Will you open, or shall I break in your door? "'Wait a minute. Don't break it. How do I know you're what you say you are? "'Smiley, fetch a rail, will you, please? Hold on there. I'll be down in a minute.' The minute was not a quarter gone when the same voice was heard through the door, saying, "'You haven't told me your names yet. Are you going to open the door?' "'Yes, yes. Don't get impatient now.' The bolt slid back, and the door opened a few inches. These inches were promptly occupied by Beverage's foot. "'What's your name, my friend?' asked the special agent. "'Bandeelan. I don't see what you want here. There ain't nobody here but us. We'll see about that.' Beverage, as he spoke, threw his weight on the door and forced it open so abruptly that the farmer was thrown back against the wall. He entered with Smiley close at his heels. "'Of course,' he went on as he shut it behind him. If there isn't anything really the matter here, you won't mind my looking around a little. "'Why, no. Oh, no. Only—only what? My wife's down sick and may noise or excitement might upset her. Nervous trouble, maybe? Yes, something of that sort. As to keep to her room, I suppose. "'Yes, yes.  Yes, we keep it shut. Place God on her nerves a little, maybe. I think it would be sort of monotonous here. No doctor, I suppose. No, not this side of Hewittson. How long has she been troubled? Why, sudden attack, today or yesterday? Sick headache and all that? Yes, she has a bad headache. Good deal of nausea, too. Site of food distasteful? Oh, yes, she doesn't want anything to eat. Can't keep anything on her stomach. Lost interest in living, no enthusiasm for anything? Is that the form it takes? Why, yes, yes. Curious thing seems to prevail in this neighborhood. Young Lindquist back up the road has the same trouble. Van Dylen's stolid face wore a puzzled expression. He seemed not to know how far to resent this inquisition. Say, he asked, what do you want? I want to know if you always receive folks with a shotgun. Why, bad characters in the neighborhood maybe. Have they been giving you trouble tonight? Who are you talking about? Mick Glory and the rest. When did they come? There hasn't been anybody here. Oh, all right, that's first rate. Would you mind stepping up and telling your wife the doctor has come? You ain't a doctor. Come, my friend, don't contradict. I'm afraid we'll have to take a look into her room. Oh, you will. Yes, we'll walk around this floor a little first. Will you entertain him a minute, Smiley? Beverage slipped away, leaving the two standing at the foot of the stairs. He moved from room to room, carrying a lamp which he had found in the front room and had lighted. Soon he returned, sat down the lamp where he had found it, and joined Smiley in the farmer. So Estelle's had her hair cut, he observed. Van Dylen shot a glance at him, but Beverage went easily on. Now we'll go upstairs, Dick. Van Dylen, gun in hand, retreated upward a few steps and barred the way. Beverage looked at him. Then he stepped quickly up and seized the gun by barrel and stock. The farmer could easily have shot him, but he made no attempt. And now the two men silently rustled there. Van Dylen in the more advantageous position, but Beverage showing greater strength than his figure seemed to promise. Finally, with a quick wrench, the special agent got possession of the weapon and passed it down to Smiley. Now, Mr. Van Dylen, he said, will you please stand aside? For reply the farmer began retreating backward up the stairway, always facing Beverage, who followed closely. Dick drew the shells from the gun, tossed it into the front room and came after. The upper hall was square, and of the three doors around it only one was closed. Beverage stepped into each of the open rooms and then tried the door of the third while Van Dylen stood sullenly by. Will you open this door? Beverage asked with the beginnings of impatience. No reply from the farmer. Smiley drew Beverage aside and whispered, maybe it's true that she's sick in there. Not much. But we haven't found her anywhere around the house. If she is there, she isn't alone. But I kind of hate to break into a woman's room that way. Don't get chickenhearted, Dick. He turned to the farmer and asked again. Will you open this door? There was no reply. Without another word Beverage threw himself against it, but it was stoutly built and did not yield. All three heard a gasp of fright from within. Hold on, Bill. Smiley exclaimed, no use breaking your collar, bone, I'll get a rail. He said this with the idea of bullying either the farmer or the persons within the room into opening the door, but Van Dylen remained sullen and motionless. Beverage, however, caught up the idea and with a, wait here, Dick, he ran down the stairs. In entering the house they had closed the door after them and now Beverage had to stop and fumble a moment with the lock. But it was only a moment and pulling it open he plunged out. A breathless man with his hat pulled down was starting up the steps. Beverage stopped short, so did the breathless man. For an instant they stood motionless, one staring down from the top step, the other staring up from the bottom. Then Beverage saw in the shadow of the hat brim a black mustache and at the same instant the owner of the mustache recognized the figure above him. Not for worlds would Beverage have called out. He had McGlory fairly in his hands. The moment he had been hoping for, almost praying for, had come and he could never have resisted the desire to take him single-handed. McGlory was heavy, muscular, desperate. These were merely additional reasons. Beverage had known little but plotting work for weeks and months. Here was where the glory came in. And Glory was what he craved, a line in the papers, the envy of his associates, the approbation of his superiors. And so, when he saw McGlory before him in the flesh, silently tugging at something in his hip pocket, he not only sprang down on him as a mountain lion might leap on its prey, not only this, but he took pains even in this whirling moment to make no noise in the take-off. McGlory got the revolver out, but he was a fifth of the second too late. Just as he swung it around, the special agent landed on him, caught his wrist, gripped him around the neck with his other arm, and bore him down in the sand of the door-yard. Neither made a sound, save for occasional grunting and heavy breathing. They rolled over and over, beverage now on top, now McGlory. McGlory was hard as steel, beverage was lithe and quick. If McGlory gripped him so tight around the body that it seemed only a question of seconds before his ribs must go, one after another, beverage never slackened his hold of that bull-like neck. McGlory struggled to turn the revolver toward beverage, but beverage held to his wrist and bent it back, back, until any other man would have dropped the weapon for the sheer pain of it. The door had swung too behind beverage as he went out, the horse with thrashing in the barn, and Dick, leaning against the closed door of Mrs. Van Dielen's bedroom, looking at the farmer, heard nothing of the struggle that was going on outside. He was wondering what interest this farmer could have in a gang of smugglers. He decided to ask. The business of standing opposite him and exchanging the glances of two hostile dogs was not a pleasant experience for a man of Dick's sociable humor. I've been wondering, Van Dielen, what's your act in this way for? A suspicious glance was all this remark drew out. I don't believe you're mixed up with that crew, and I don't see how you can be interested in covering their tracks. Are you sure you aren't taking the wrong tack? I ain't covering anybody's tracks. You don't know what you're talking about. Can't you see that we don't enjoy breaking into people's houses and prying around in bedrooms? What do you do it for, then? What do we do it for? Why, McGlory and his gang are smugglers. They're a bad lot, and this man with me is a government officer. That ain't telling why you come here. Now, Van Dielen, what's the use of keeping up that bluff? It doesn't fool anybody. We know all about their coming here. We've tracked them this far. This officer will never leave the house until he has opened this door and seen who you've got in here.  Now, don't you think it would be a good deal better just to open up and be done with it? Having no reasonable answer to this, Van Dielen fell back into his cell in silence. Wonder was taking him so long, Dick observed. Would he have to go far for a rail? There was no answer. All together it was not a cheerful situation. Dick, who had borne up capitalally so far, now experienced a sinking of spirits. He looked first at the glum figure before him, then at the dingy walls and ceiling, then down into the shadows of the stairway. Seeing nothing that could prop his spirits, he fell to humming baby mine. Oh, beg your pardon. He broke out interrupting himself. Maybe I'm disturbing your wife. There was no answer.  No answer. Nothing but that glum Dutch face. Oh, well go to thunder. Not even a gleam of anger disturbed those Dutch eyes. Dick, his feeble struggle over, succumbed to the gloom and was silent. In such silence as it was, the horse over in the barn had ceased kicking about. The air was still. The creakings of the old house sounded like the tread of feet. The loud breathing of the person within the closed door could be distinctly heard. There was a shot outside. Then silence. Two more shots. Again, the silence. It is curious how a revolver shot in the stillness of the night can be at once startling and insignificant. Curious, because it is not very loud, no deafening report, no reverberation, but merely a dead thud, as if the sound were smothered in a blanket, and yet it was loud enough to raise goose flesh all over Dick's body and send the creepy feeling that we all know through the roots of his hair as if a thousand ants had suddenly sprung into being there. At the first report he stiffened up. The second and third met his ears halfway down the stairs. Van Delen, frightened, bewildered, ran down close after him. Dick paused at the foot of the steps and looked around. In an instant he made out the familiar figure of beverage a dozen yards away. The special agent was standing over a prostrate man, one hand gripping a revolver, the other fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief. The sweat was glistening on his face. His collar and tie hung down his breast. His coat was torn clear across the back. Dick joined him and knelt over the man on the ground. We've wasted time enough on him, said beverage, catching his breath. Who? Oh, it's McGlory. Is he? I shouldn't wonder. Help me get a rail, will you? They started without further words toward the barnyard fence. Hold on, said Dick. There's that cordwood we used on the front door. That will do. So they went back and picked up the heavy stick. At this moment Harper came running up his shoe in his hand. I didn't know you were going to be in such a thundering hurry to begin the shooting, Mr. Beverage. I most cut my foot to pieces running up here. Come along, Dick, said Beverage. Good Lord! gasped Harper, suddenly taking in the figure of the special agent. What they've been doing to you! But Beverage gave no heed to the question. Stay here at the steps, Harper, and if any more come up, don't let them get away from you. With the cordwood on his shoulder he entered the house and started up the stairs. But Van Dielen hurried after him and caught his arm. Well, what do you want? You needn't use that. You'll let me in? Yes. Beverage promptly set down his burden on the stairs and stood aside to let the farmer take the lead. Van Dielen tapped at the door and softly called, Saskia, what is it? You have to open the door and let this gentleman in. Mercy, no! But you have to. Then the voice was very fluttery and agitated. Then wait a minute after I unlock the door. The bolt was slipped and they could hear a frantic rustling and scampering. Van Dielen opened the door and entered the room with Beverage and Smiley at his heels. As they entered, another door evidently leading to a closet was violently closed. The three men stood a moment in the middle of the room without speaking. Then Beverage walked over to the bed. The woman lying there had turned to the wall and drawn the cover lid over her face. Beverage bent over and jerked it back. Smiley, he called, come here and see if this ain't your old friend Estelle. The woman struggled to hide her face again, but Beverage rudely held her quiet. Dick would have turned away but for the special agents and patients. As it was, he made him speak twice. Then he went slowly and shame-facedly to the bed. Yes, I guess this is Estelle all right. They saw her shudder. Her face was flushed with fever.  But Beverage impatiently shook him off. Well, Estelle, he said, the game's up. We've got them. Her eyes were wild, but she managed to repeat. You've got them? Yes, you'll never see MacGlory again. And Pete, have you got Pete? Beverage glanced inquiringly at Smiley, who, after a moment of puzzling, nodded and with his lips formed the name Roque. Yes, we've got Roque. Pretty lot they were to leave you here. But Estelle had fainted. Here, Dick, said Beverage, bring some water. Van Dielen indicated the wash stand and Smiley fetched the pitcher. Beverage sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her forehead with cool water. He asked Van Dielen for some whiskey and forced a little between her teeth. Finally, her eyes opened. There, said Beverage, that's better. You'll be all right in a minute. Now tell me why they left you. Look here, Bill, said Dick. I can't stand this. Beverage paid no attention, but went on stroking her forehead. Tell me why they left you, Estelle. They weren't very square with you. It was Pete. The whiskey had revived her a very little. Bill, yes, I know. You were mistaken in Pete. He never meant to stand by you. He said, yes, go on. He said we, we could get away and, yes, and they were asleep and then we saw the house and oh, I can't think. Bill, for heaven's sake, cried Dick. Yes, it's all right, Estelle. You're all safe now. Try to think. I guess I fainted. Pete was gone and I, I don't know how I got to the house. That will do. Go to sleep, Estelle. We'll take good care of you. Beverage rose and looked significantly toward the closet door. Now, Mr., he said, addressing the farmer, we'll just take a look in that closet before we go and a protesting voice muffled by hanging garments, but shrill nevertheless, came from the closet and Beverage smiled. Is it your wife? He asked. Vandeeland nodded. And then the smile lingering. Beverage led the way out of the room. As they started down the stairs, Dick observed, you were awful quiet down there with Mcglory, Bill. I had heard your second shot before I knew anything was happening. You never heard my second shot. I didn't. I'd like to know why I didn't. Because I only fired once. Then who did the rest of it? By Jove, where's Wilson? Beverage turned sharply at the question. That's a fact, he muttered. They had reached the front steps by this time and could see Harper ostentatiously standing guard with drawn revolver. Say, Pink, have you seen Bert anywhere? No, thought he was inside with you. Stepper on the house quick. We'll go this way. They found Wilson lying on the ground, not far from the front of the house. He had plunged forward on his face with his arms spread out before him. Apparently he had been running around from the rear to join Beverage when the ball brought him down. In an instant the two men were kneeling by him. How is it, Bill, can you tell? He isn't gone yet. Get a light, will you? Dick ran back into the house and brought out Vandeeland with a lamp and some improvised bandages. Beverage had some practical knowledge of first aid to the injured, and the farmer seemed really to have some little skill as a man must who lives with his family 25 miles from a physician, and so between them they managed to stanch the flow of blood while Dick and Pink were carrying a small bed out of doors. With great care not to start the flow again, they carried him into the front room. Did you notice, said Beverage to Smiley, when they had made him as comfortable as they could, where he was hit? In the back, wasn't it? Yes, and a little to the right. Now if he fell straight, and I think he did, because the way he went shows that he was running and that he simply pitched forward. The shot must have come from near the bridge, maybe from those trees a little downstream from the bridge. Now there's just one man could have done it to my notion. He was an old hand because it was a pretty shot at the distance and in that light. Who do you think? Well now there's Rogue. He skipped out some time ago and left a stell in the woods. He wouldn't have done that unless he was badly scared, would he? Isn't he a pretty poor lot anyway? No nerve, just bluster? That's Pete. If he has fairly started running, he won't stop tonight. That's about what I thought about him. It's pretty plain he would never have come back here with McClory after him. You see, McClory had come after him. He was chasing Rogue because he had run off with a stell, and made such a cool shot as that was. So we'll rule out Rogue. And McClory is ruled out too, and a stell. Oh. So that leaves just the boss, Spencer. That sounds reasonable. He has nerve enough for anything, hasn't he? He looks as if he had. Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll get this Dutch woman to nurse Burt here, and then the four of us will step down to the bridge and see what we can make of it. Or hold on, I'll take Van Dielen and go to the bridge, and you and Harper can go down to the creek below the barn and work up to the bridge. What do you think of that? First rate. You aren't too fagged. Not me.  That's the talk. I'll see about the woman here. Say, Bill, wait a minute. You aren't planning to walk right up to the bridge, are you? Sure, why not? If I was you, I'd work around through the trees a little. He may be there yet, and we know how he can shoot. What's the use? It's all a gamble anyhow. The thing to do is to go on the run. A man is a good deal like a dog, you know. If you run right at him and show all over that you mean business, why, even if he thinks he is ready for you, it's likely to bother him, upsets his nerves. Starts him thinking he is on the losing side. CHAPTER XIII. WISKY GYM. Before the four men left the house, Wilson revived and asked for his chief. Beverage, his torn coat thrown aside, hurried back and bent over the bed. What is it, Bert? That's what I was going to ask you. I don't remember exactly. You were running around the house when somebody winged you. It doesn't amount to anything. You'll be around in a day or so. Oh, yes, that's it. It was some fellow behind, wasn't it? I remember I didn't see anybody ahead. Yes, he was a little below the bridge, as I can figure it. Yes, yes, don't you see, Bill? That's where Harper was. He stayed behind with some yarn about his shoe, had a stone in it. Keep quiet, Bert. Don't get worked up. Don't think of it, Bill. What are you going to do now? I'm going to find the man that hit you. Not with those two, Smiley and Harper. Why, certainly. But don't you see, Bill? That's just what they want. They've got rid of me. Now they'll draw you off into the woods. Why, you're putting yourself right in their hands. You'd better try to think of something else, Bert. Mrs. Van Dielen here is going to take good care of you. I'll stop in on the way back. And Beverage slipped out the door without giving Wilson further opportunity to protest. The others were waiting impatiently at the steps. Smiley and Harper at once started off toward the creek below the barn, and Beverage set out on a run for the bridge, telling the farmer to follow. When he reached the creek, Beverage searched through the trees for some distance downstream and then upstream, but found no sign of a man. Well, he said, joining Van Dielen at the end of the bridge, he got away all right. Did you look under the bridge? Yes, nothing there. The farmer stood still for a moment thinking. Then he clambered down the bank and peered into the shadow under the bridge floor. Come down here, he said, and when Beverage had reached his side, standing ankle deep in the muddy water he went on. See that? No. Wait a minute. I can't see anything yet. What is it? Feel this rope? It's been cut. Oh, murmured Beverage. I see a boat. Yes, he has stolen my boat. Of course, and slipped off downstream as easy and quiet as you like. He's a cool hand, that Spencer. Back up here, we'll go on down and meet Smiley. Wait, though, he might be hiding somewhere down the stream here. Are there any bushes and such along the bank? Yes, it's grown up pretty heavy. I never had any reason for keeping it cleared. Well, then, we'll keep down here close to the water where we can see things. It'll be pretty wet. Will you wait while I get my boots? My rheumatism's been pretty bad this year. Go back, then. I can't wait for you. And with this, Beverage pushed off down the stream. Van Dylen, after a moment's hesitation followed, they met the other party just above the barn. See anything, asked Dick? Yes, he has gone down in a boat. Beverage turned to the farmer.  No, it turns off south pretty soon. Would it take him anywhere special? No, just into the woods. No houses south of here. Not for a long way. And it's sluggish like this all along, isn't it? Full of snags and shallows. Oh, yes, he couldn't go very fast. All right, come on, boys. On they went, walking over the spongy ground below the bank or splashing softly through the water. They did not speak, but followed their leader eagerly through the moving shadows. The trees arched over their heads. The water slipped moodily onward, blacker than the shadows. Now and then they stumbled over projecting roots or stepped down knee-deep in some muddy hole. All the while their eyes strove to pierce the dark, searching for a boat in the gloom of the opposite bank, or for a man among the bushes above, even glancing overhead into the trees where a desperate man might have hidden. At length they reached an opening in the trees of the right bank, and Beverage, stepping up, found that the road here paralleled the creek. Which way now, asked Dick? No sign of a boat, is there? No. Then keep on downstream. They divided now in order to watch both banks, for the creek had widened a little, and the shadows were dense. It was smiley and harper who waded across, stepping down waist-deep in the water and mud. Not a word was spoken. The only sound was the low splash-splash of four pairs of feet, with now and then the noise of heavy breathing or a muttered exclamation, as one or another stumbled into a hole. Hello! Ouch! The voice was pink harpers. At this point the trees had shut in overhead, and the dark was impenetrable. Beverage and Vandeeland could see nothing across the creek, not even the blot of denser black, which told smiley, only a few feet behind, where his companion had stopped. What is it? came in a low voice from Beverage. Hit my shin. Hold on. Feels like a boat. Guess you'd better come across. Without a moment's hesitation the special agent turned to the left and plunged into the stream. At this point it was deeper, and he found himself submerged to the armpits. To save time he drew up his feet and swam across until his knees struck bottom, and then the three of them, Vandeeland waited on the father-bank, now dimly visible to each other, stood side by side feeling of the boat. You'll have to come over here, said Beverage to the farmer, and tell us if it's your boat. Vandeeland had no mind to swim. Can't you strike a match, he asked? Strike your aunt, growled Beverage, wringing his wet clothes. Well, say that ain't necessary anyhow. My boat's the only one on the creek. Why didn't you say that before I swam over? Well, I—you want to watch out, or you'll be coming down with brain fever one of these days. Come, boys, we'll go back. You think what he did was to take to the road back up there and set the boat adrift? asked Pink. Of course. The words came from the deeper water where the special agent was already swimming back. A moment more, and Dick and Pink were after him. Now, Mr. Vandeeland, said Beverage, when they had gathered together, take us to the road. It's right back upstream. You know where it is as well as I do. Can't we strike right over through the woods? Why, yes, you could do. All right, Dick, it'll be lighter when we get up out of this hole. They floundered through a hundred yards of undergrowth and finally came upon the open road.  The water in their shoes gurgled when they moved and spurred it out at the lacings and little streams. Other streams ran down their clothing to the road, where the sand drank them up. Beverage was without coat or collar, and the others were nearly as dilapidated. The physical strain of the chase and the loss of sleep, not to speak of Beverage's fight with Mick Glory, had worn them down nearly to the point at which nature asserts her peremptory claims, but not one of them knew it. They did not know that they were a desperate spectacle in the eyes of the bewildered farmer. Even if they could have stood in the light of day and looked full at one another, it is to be doubted if any of the three would have observed the deep-lined white faces, the ringed eyes of the other two, for the spirit of the chase was in them. Now Mr. Van Dielen, said Beverage, almost gaily, how far is it to the next house? Why, why—don't think too fast, a man died that way once. There's an empty house about a mile from here. All right, we'll make for that. I want you, Van Dielen, to hitch up a wagon and come on after us as quick as you can. The farmer turned at once and walked rapidly up the road. Spencer hasn't much start of us, said Beverage, as the three men started in the opposite direction. He couldn't have. It took him a good while to work down here in that boat. We'll get him if he keeps the road. We'll have to do that. If he took to the woods, he would be lost in an hour, and that means starvation. Pink venture to Pleasantry. Maybe he's got a compass, of which the special agent took not the slightest notice, but said, turning to smiley. How are your legs, Dick? Fine, trim as they make them. Feel up to a dog-trot? Half a dollar even I'll beat you to the deserted house. Hold on. Don't get to sprinting. Save your wind. An easy jog will do it. All three fell at once into an easy running gate, smiley in Beverage, side by side, pink laboring along in the rear. Five minutes later, Beverage paused for breath. We must have run nearly a mile by this time, boys. Easily. Not so loud. Doesn't it look to you as if the road turned up ahead there? It did look so, and as they went on toward the turning, it grew plain that they were approaching a clearing. Wait, boys, whispered the special agent. This ought to be the place. We don't want to move quite so carelessly now. Dick, you go around to the left, and I'll take the right. Pink, you give us two or three minutes and then move in quietly toward the clearing. In that way we shall all three close in together. Wait a few minutes now. The two men disappeared in the woods, one on each side of the road, and Pink was left alone in the shadows. At first he could hear now and then a low rustle as one or the other brushed through the bushes, but soon these sounds died away. He was standing in the shadow at the roadside, gazing with fixed eyes at the opening in the trees, and stumps a hundred yards farther along. He wondered if the three minutes were up. It was too dark to use his watch. Watching there under the stars, the minutes spun out amazingly. All sense of the passage of time seemed to have left him. He moved forward a few steps, but no, it was too early. Dick and Beverage had surely not had time to get to their positions. Still, what if he would wait too long and not arrive in time to act in concert with the others? Out on the lakes with a slanting deck underfoot and a dim shoreline somewhere off in the night, Pink's soul would have thrilled in unison with the stars, but here, buried in the gloom of the pine stumps, those straight blackened poles that stood in endless monotony, his soul was overwhelmed. A panic seized him. He knew he would be late, and he took to gliding along in the shadows, nearer and nearer, until seeing plainly that the road swung around to the right and that the clearing was overgrown with tall weeds and was surrounded by a stump fence, he paused again. His feet sinking at each step in the sand he made no sound. He stood motionless over the weeds he made out the sagging roof of a small building. Men, forgetting that his own figure was invisible against the black of the forest, he dropped to the ground and flat on his face wriggled forward. A row of sunflowers grew inside the fence. At one point was a cluster of them, standing out high above the weeds. Cautiously, inch by inch, he crept nearer. The bunched stalks, outlined so distinctly against the sky, fascinated him by the resemblance to the hat, head, and shoulders of a human being. Nearer, nearer, a moment more, and he would be able to place his hand against the fence. He was holding his breath now. Afterward he could never tell what was the slight noise he must have made, or perhaps it was the sense that tells one when a person was silently entering a room that caused the figure, just as pink lying there on the sand and looking up had made sure that it was a figure and not a clump of sunflowers, to look around, up and down. Pink scrambled to his feet and plunged recklessly forward. The man, who had been sitting on the fence, quietly dropped down on the inner side. A stump fence is not easy to climb, and pink was on the outer side, where the tangled masses of roots spread out into a chavo de frieze, which in the dark seemed insurmountable. When he had finally got to the top, at the expense of a few scratches, a disturbance in the weeds near the front of the house told him where the fugitive had taken refuge. He promptly set up a shout. Ho, ho, ho! came simultaneously from smiley and beverage. Here he is! Where? In the—pink was balancing on the fence. Before he could finish his shout, a revolver shot sounded from the house, and he went tumbling down into the enclosure. What's that? Are you hit? No! Just lost my balance! Close in! He's in the house! He was getting to his feet during this speech and feeling himself, not sure in spite of his statement whether it was the noise or the bullet that had upset him. But he could find no trace of a wound. Keep your places! Beverage was calling to the others. Keep your places! Now then, Mr. Spencer, we have you cornered. You can have your choice of giving up now or being starved out. Which will it be? No answer from the house. Speak up! I don't propose to waste much more time on you. This time the fugitive decided to reply, but his reply took the form of a second shot, sent carefully toward the spot in the weeds from which the voice seemed to be coming. Hi! shouted Pink. Did he get you? No.  The man with the revolver was plainly in old hand, for now he fired a third time, and the shot came dangerously near, whether by luck or otherwise, to shutting up the speaker for all time. Beverage dropped hastily behind a log that lay at his feet. Then disgusted with himself, he scrambled boldly up and stood on the log. Pink was obediently silent, though, trembling with excitement. The stillness of the forest fell suddenly in upon them. For a few moments nothing was said or done. The man in the house had a momentary advantage which all recognized. What light the sky gave was all upon the clearing, and to move, however cautiously, through that tangle of weeds and bushes without setting the tops to waving was impossible. The building was so small that the man could, with little effort, command all four sides, and so Beverage decided on a council of war with Smiley. At his first movement another shot came cutting through the bushes, but he laughed aloud and went deliberately on, in a quarter-circle, until he found Smiley. Well, he said softly and gleefully, we've got him. If we can keep awake as long as he can, what are you going to do now? Wait till dawn and see how he stands it. No, don't look at me. Keep your eyes on the house. He's too slippery to run chances with. It oughtn't to be so very long now. How about you? Can you keep up all right? Me? Why, certainly. All right, then. I'll go around and take the boy's place so he can rest a bit. Keep a close watch. So long. So long. The special agent went on around his circle and found pink near the fence. I'll be here for a while, Harper. You'd better try to get some sleep. Me, sleep? Take your chance while you have it. Moses and the Bullrushers. You don't think I can sleep now? Just as you like it. To the three watchers there seemed to be a breakdown somewhere on the line that leads to dawn. The hours dragged until they stopped short. All the real things of this world, cities and schooners and houses on stilts and long reaches of blue water, had slipped back into the dim land of dreams. Nothing was real but the brooding forest, the rank we ds with their tail of desolation, the sand, sand, sand. Even beverage sitting on his log gave way. At each sound from the forest, a crackle or a rustle, he started like a nervous woman. Chilled by the night air and his wet clothes, he shivered until his teeth rattled. A husky, plaintive voice rose into the night singing. It came from Harper's house, the singing. It came from Harper's post near the stump fence. A funeral per session was a passin' down a street that was lined with mansions stately rich and grand. A tiny girl was sobbing, her little heart most broke. A tear-stained hanker chiff was in her hand. A tall and stately gentleman touched by her sorry plight, for she was pale and ragged thin and wan. He stopped and took her lethal hand and gently bending o'er. Don't cry, my child, I'll help you if I can. All the horrors of the night in the forest were gathered up into that wailing voice. Beverage shuddered, but pink was warming up to it now, sharing his misery with the night. If the verse had been dullful, the refrain was worse. Mothers in the coffin, sir. Mothers left her home. The angels come and took her up on high. But if I'm good and kindly, sir, and never off to Rome, I'll meet her in the suite, by and by. Beverage rose uncertainly to his feet. The song went on. Tell me your name, my little child, the gentleman did say, and when the words she lisping did repeat, he staggered back in horror with remorse wrote on his face, and at this point Beverage began moving through the weeds. Pink sang on, and he was just breaking out into the refrain. Mothers in her coffin, sir. Mothers left her home. The angels come and took her up. When he heard a sound, a started, looked up, saw a dark figure bending over him, and stopped singing with a gasp. That'll do for you, said the dark figure.  That'll do for you, understand? Pink was silent. Beverage slipped silently back to his log. Night has a way of giving place to-day, even as such interminable nights as this. Neither hastening nor arresting, with no heed for the miserable little company that surrounded the deserted house in the wilderness, the hours stepped silently on into eternity. The darkness slowly changed to blackness, then the east brightened, the sky paled, the new day tossed its first flaming spears, and the shivering dawn was upon them. Beverage got up very slowly, for a new kind of pain was shooting through his joints. Stretched and walking bent like an old man, cautiously made his way to Smiley's post. The sailor was awake, but whether he had been awake all night could hardly be decided from his face. Beverage had his suspicions, but decided not to air them. Look here, Dick, he began. All right, go ahead. How are your joints? Never worse. How about yours? Same way. I don't know how you feel, but I've had enough. Can't help that, can we? I can help it, and I'm going to. I'd like to know how. Keep your eyes open, and you'll see. I want you to stay here under cover. You aren't going to storm the house. Yes, sir, that's just what I'm going to do. Have you thought it over? He'll shoot, you know. There are two ways of leaving this world, Dick, that I know of.  The other is to let a man who can handle a revolver make a neat, clean job of it. I don't know how you feel about it, but I prefer the neat way. Now you wait here while I... Hold on, Bill. Here we have him nicely penned and our plan of siege all settled when you up and change your tactics. I don't see the use of putting yourself up for a target when we have him sure the other way. That's all right, Dick. Here's another thing. Wilson's out of the running.  What are Pink and I going to do? We have no authority to arrest the man. I'm not even sure that it would be to our interest to try it in such a case. Why not wait? Just settle down to it. We can get something to eat from Van Delen. Say, didn't you tell him to follow us with the wagon last night? Beverage indulged in a dry smile. Yes, I did, but I didn't more than half think he'd do it.  Well, if your mind's made up, I suppose. Beverage's mind was made up. He set out without further words, and Dick watched him, uncertain of his movements, until he saw that he was circling around in the direction of the stump fence and Pink. Dick's thoughts were unsettled. Such actions were foolhardy, now that it was nearly broad daylight. It would have been no trick at all to put a few balls into the body below the waving weeds that marked the progress of the special agent. For some reason, however, the shots did not come. Between Dick and the house there was a comparatively open space. By stepping forward a few yards he would emerge into full view of the man in the house, whereas on Pink's side the growth was rank, and beverage, if he should go directly to the house, after giving Pink his directions, would not be visible until he should have nearly reached the door. But the telltale weeds. There was something in the thought of beverage being shot down like a porcupine as he floundered through the tangle that made Dick shudder. It would be better to walk straight out into the open and be done with it. Peering from his hiding-place he could see that all was quiet. Beverage reached Pink and was probably talking with him, but he could not hear their voices. The clearing was absolutely still. He watched and watched. His eyes fixed on the spot where beverage had stopped. Perhaps his arguments had taken effect. Perhaps the plan had been changed. But no, the weeds were moving again. Dick's blood was up. He drew his revolver and plunged straight out into the open toward the house. Here, you in there, he shouted, come out or fight. Do you hear me? Come out or fight. We've got you on all sides. You can't hit us all. Come out and be done with it. The house was still. Beverage heard Dick's voice and knew what he was doing. He tried to run forward, tripped, and fell, headlong in the briars, cursing like a buccaneer. Pink heard both the voices in the tumble, and at the instant he too was fighting madly forward through the weeds.  Not a sound came from the house.  Come out, he called, or I'll smash it in. He heard the man stir. Come out or buy, blank. The man was walking slowly across the floor. Dick went on shouting. No tricks now. Open your door. I've got a gun on you. I've got a gun on you. The rusty old key turned and the door swung back. As it opened, beverage broke out of the weeds, with pink close after, and three men stood bewildered, motionless, staring at the square-built figure in quiet face of Henry Smiley. They could not speak. Even beverage had lowered his weapon.   I'll go back with you. END OF CHAPTER XIV Beverage recovered first, and said in a business-like way. You'll have to give me your weapons. Henry at once handed over two large-caliber revolvers and emptied his pockets of fully half a hundred cartridges. It's a lucky thing for you, Mr. Beverage, he said.  A minute more and I should have finished you. But Beverage's thoughts were not heading in the same direction. His reply was— Where's Spencer? Spencer, you didn't get him? No. Then he's in Canada. Oh, I see. Beverage churned to Smiley. Well, dick, for a man that got things exactly wrong, you came nearer to be in right than I should have thought possible. As they walked back toward Van Dylans, Henry fell in with his cousin.  Guess I must have surprised you. But dick could not find his voice to reply. And you surprised me too, rather. How did you happen to be up here with this man?  No, is he? Dick, overcome with fatigue and emotion, nodded. Henry stopped and turned to the special agent who was walking close behind.  We'll discuss that later. Move along, please. But this won't do, Beverage. Dick has nothing to do with it. Nothing whatever. I suppose he didn't know where his schooner went and what he carried aboard her, eh? Oh, I can explain all that. He's all right. I'm the man you want. I'll talk with you again, Mr. Smiley. We can't stop now. They found Wilson in a bad way. Mrs. Van Dielen had been doing her upmost during the night for her two patients, but to attempt moving either was out of the question. Beverage left some money to cover the expense of caring for his subordinate, and Henry, good-naturedly, contributed toward the care of Estelle. It was arranged that Van Dielen should drive Beverage and his party back to Spencer's, stopping on the way to send Lindquist or his boy to Hewittson for a doctor. Nothing more could be done here, and so they hurried Van Dielen into hitching up at once. Beverage could not sleep in comfort until his prisoner should be safe under guard on the revenue cutter. There's one thing, said the special agent to Henry Smiley, as the four haggard men had climbed into the wagon that was to take them on the long drive through the forest. There's one thing I don't understand. Why didn't you fellows pick up a horse at one of these places and drive instead of foot in it? With a woman along, too. We did start in Spencer's wagon, but it broke down before we'd gone ten miles. The road was so bad. But we didn't see it, said Pink. We must have passed it on the first stretch before we found the road. And then, said Henry, I thought we'd better stick it out on foot. You see, I didn't believe it would occur to you that we would take to the woods. And even if it should, I thought we should have plenty of time before you started after us. I misjudged it there, you see. I was thinking hardest about the other end of it. About what we should do when we got down into Indiana, with maybe your men on the lookout for us everywhere. And then a horse is a giveaway. You can't hide it. And the road is so heavy with sand that it's most as quick to walk. I thought it all over and decided it that way. So we dragged the wagon off into the bushes and led the horse off and shot him. But why didn't you ride? We didn't get a chance until we reached Lindquist's, and then we were so close on your trail, and I knew you were on foot, that I decided the same way. If we had been rattling along in a wagon, you might have heard us quarter of a mile ahead, and all you would have had to do then would be to step into the bushes and let us go by. At a few minutes before noon the party alighted from the wagon at Spencer's Wharf, where the Marianne still lay, waved a signal to the launch, and were carried out past false Middle Island to the foot. I guess there isn't much doubt what we'll do next, said beverage with a yawn, as the launch drew near to the companion ladder, which had been let down forward of the paddle-wheel. I guess there ain't. Pink replied with another yawn. One thing, Dick, said Beverage, before we go away from here, it isn't right to leave your schooner in there for the porcupines to chew to pieces. Dick, who had been studying the bottom of the boat, looked up quickly and with a peculiar expression. After Henry's confession, would he be allowed to sail her back himself? Beverage caught the look, and for an instant his face showed the faintest trace of confusion. You see, he went on, I've been thinking it over on the way back from Van Dylans. It's rather an irregular thing to do, but I'm willing, if Captain Sullivan will let us have a few men, to turn the schooner over to Harper here. He is competent to handle her, isn't he? Oh, yes. Dick replied in a dry voice. He is competent enough. Pink's eyes brightened. Sure thing, he said. I can run her easy. Dick glanced at Pink, then dropped his eyes again. The boy had heard only the words. He had not caught the thoughts that were passing between his Captain and the Special Agent. To Dick, this decision, coming in the lull after the excitement, coming after what seemed to him proof of his innocence, sounded like the judge's sense of the word. His innocence sounded like the judge's sentence. Through the hour or two that followed, during the dinner on the steamer, after the launch had gone back into the harbor with Pink and his crew, even when the old side-wheeler had raised her anchor and started on her lumbering way around through the Straits and up Lake Michigan to Chicago, Dick, lying dressed in his berth, was trying to puzzle out the meaning of beverage as words, and of the momentary confusion that had accompanied them. It did not raise his spirits that, after each struggle with the problem, his thoughts were directed to Annie. Perhaps beverage himself, if he had laid his thoughts bare, could not have helped him much. For it was not reasoning that had shown him the tactical folly of allowing Dick to come sailing gloriously in to Annie's very front door, red shirt, neckerchief, and all the appartenances of a hero. It was the instinct that made it impossible for him to resist holding every advantage that came to his hand. Beverage had done a big thing. He had run down, killed or captured or driven out of the country, several members of the most skillful gang in the history of smuggling on the Great Lakes. He had done it alone. He was even beginning to put down his surprise over the capture of Henry Smiley and to feel that Henry was the one man he had been after from the first. Yes, he had made his success. The thing left was to win Annie. And to do this, he must not only see her before Dick could see her, he must also arrange that Dick's appearance on the scene, when all the delays had been exhausted, should be an inglorious one. Some of his finest work was yet to come. In thinking it over, lying in his berth in the room next to Dick's, their heads not two feet apart, he fell asleep with a smile on his lips, and never had the foot seen such sleeping as followed, when all three men, accusers and accused, had slept through the afternoon and on through the night when they failed to hear even the breakfast gong. Captain Sullivan began to wonder if they meant to wake it all. Afterward, for a day or two, all three, Beverage, Dick and Henry, were very quiet. They sat yawning in deck chairs or dozed in their berths. But during this time, thanks to the sunny skies and the peaceful lake, and thanks to Beverage's elation and good nature, to Henry's surprising cheerfulness, and to the difficulty Dick found in showing the depth of his feelings, the relations of the three were growing more and more pleasant. By common consent they avoided discussing the chase or its cause. On the afternoon of the last day out, Dick and Beverage sat smoking on the after-deck. The foot was rumbling slowly down the coast, somewhere below Milwaukee, and should make a Chicago before midnight, if nothing broke in the engine room. They were discussing the Michigan peach crop, when Henry drew up a chair and joined them. Would you mind telling me, said Henry to Beverage, filling his pipe as he spoke, what you are going to do with Dick here? So Henry was the one to open the subject. Dick's lips drew together and his hand trembled, but his eyes were steady. Beverage was evasive. What am I going to do with him? He repeated. Yes, you will have a good deal of say about that, won't you? Why, yes and no. Now that you know he had nothing to do with it, you'll be able to get him right off. Why, yes, so far as I know, I should expect it to turn out that way. Henry saw that a definite answer was not to be expected, so he puffed a moment, looking off to the green shoreline. Finally, he said, Your man, what's his name? Wilson? Yes. He is in pretty bad shape, isn't he? There's no doubt about that. Do you think he'll pull through? I couldn't say. What would be the penalty if he didn't? That is for a judge and jury to decide. I suppose. Henry paused again. Dick was gazing out at the water with fixed eyes. This cool talk made him shudder. I've been thinking this over, Henry went on, of course. You caught me red-handed, and that, along with what I'm going to tell you, any time when you're ready, gives you a pretty clear case against me. My outlook isn't what you would call cheerful. I've never made a will, but I guess now is about as good a time as any to get about it. I've got my schooner, and I've got a little money put away. Some of it drawing interest, and some in the bank. And I've got a lot of money, and I've got a lot of money in the bank, and what there is of it is to go to Dick. He's the nearest approach to a relation I have, you know. And if I were you, Dick, I should take some of it the first thing and pay up for the an. That'll make you more or less independent. Do you fellas mind coming down into the cabin and fixing it up now? Certainly not, said beverage rising. Dick found it difficult to reply, but he followed them below and sat with them at the dining-table. Beverage got pen, ink, and paper. Now I'll tell you, said Henry. I'll just make out sort of a schedule of what I'm worth. It won't take long. I know just what it is. There now. I guess it'll be enough to say that I devise and bequeath it all, without any conditions or exceptions to Dick. He, to take everything of mine for his own, to hold and to use it in any way that he may choose. Will you witness this beverage? Certainly. We ought to have some others. I'll get them. Beverage stepped out and returned shortly with Captain Sullivan and his second officer. These put their signatures under that of the special agent, and with the exchange of only a word or two returned to their posts. Nothing could have been more matter-of-fact. Could have savoured more strongly or have hummed drum every day life. The three men sat there looking at the paper. Finally, Henry, with a smile, blotted it, folded it, and handed it to his cousin. I'm going to hand this over to you, Dick, he said. That's the easiest way of disposing of it.  I—of course, Henry, I—appreciate this, but—and then his face surged with colour, and he broke out in a round voice. What's the use of talking of this sort of thing now? Wilson isn't gone yet. I don't believe he will go, either. You make my blood run cold. You'd better just— No, Henry interrupted. No, I'd rather leave it like this. But look here, Henry. Why, great guns! You aren't even convicted of illicit distilling yet. Let alone—why, even if you should be—don't you see? You might lose a few years, but— Oh, there wouldn't be any doubt about the conviction, Dick. The game is up, so far as I am concerned. Supposing I should escape. What good would it do me? I should be a fugitive. I should have to leave the country and go to a new place and begin all over again, just as I began here on the lakes twenty-odd years ago. I have amounted to something here. I have held first place. I have kept these fellows, he indicated beverage with a slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. I have kept these fellows guessing from the start. Anywhere else I should be nobody, and at my age that doesn't appeal very strongly to a man. Supposing even I could buy an acquittal and stay right on here. Would it be any better? You see, my boy, I have been ambitious in a way. I have built up a machine—a new kind of a machine. If I could have been let alone a year or so longer, I should have had everything running as smooth and safe as the Republican County Committee. That was the one thing I set out to do. But it's busted now. Would these fellows once on to the whole thing, it could never be carried on again. Oh, in a cheap shyster way, maybe. But that's not my way. It was my work, and now it's over. And when a man has come as near a success as I have, and spent the best part of his life working up toward it, he doesn't care about beginning at the little end of something else. His mainspring is broken. They were silent. Henry was easily the most self-possessed of the three. Finally, beverage said, You have spoken once or twice, Mr. Smiley, about telling us how you worked this business. Yes, certainly, any time. Now, if you like. You won't mind if I take down the main points and then ask you to put your name to it? Not at all. I supposed, of course, that you would want to do that. The cold-blooded courtesy brought Dick near to shuddering again, but he straightened up in his chair and prepared to listen. You say you were the man known as Whiskey Jim? Yes. That is the name the papers have given to the whole organization, and the organization, of course, is me. Would you mind talking rather slowly? I know shorthand, but I am decidedly out of practice at it. Certainly not. Suppose I explain the organization in a few words. That'll do first rate. If I forget and get to go in too fast, just stop me. You see, as Master of the Schmidt, doing a tramp lumber business all around Lake Michigan and Lake Huron, I was able to run the whole thing at both ends and still keep about my business. I didn't have to do a thing that didn't look as solemn and proper as the Methodist minister and his parish calls. I see. It was ingenious. No doubt about it. To be on the safe side, I located my stills over in Canada. I know, at Burnt Cove. Yes. It was about as inaccessible there as any place in the lakes, and as we didn't try to sell the stuff over there, but shipped it all across to the States, we were really safe enough. I don't know what either country could have done about it so far as the stills are concerned. Suppose I take it up here, Mr. Smiley, do you mind? No, go ahead. Well, when you got it put up and ready to ship, you brought it across Lake Huron in Spencer's schooner. Yes, yes. And at Spencer's it was repacked in the timber. Henry smiled a little at this. Some of it was. Of course you know better than to think that what I could bring down in a load of timber once in a month or two or three was my only way of getting the goods to market. Oh yes, of course. I have done things on a fairly large scale, you know, but you were right in the main. Spencer's was the distributing point for all our goods. The old man himself was what you might call the shipping clerk of the organization. But we'll go ahead with the timber scheme. That one line, if you follow it up, will be enough to base your case on, won't it? Yes, for the present. Though you were concerned in the attempt to run a pipeline under the Troit River. No, not very deep. I put a little money into it. But when I saw who was running it, I got out. I knew they would get nipped sooner or later. They went at it wrong. Well, you brought your loaded timbers to the pier at Lakeville. From there they were hauled by wagons to Captain Stensenberger's yards. Stensenberger, working through McGlory, distributed the stuff in Chicago.  You're getting off track there. Stensenberger had nothing to do with it. I fooled him through some of his men. Beverage looked incredulous. So that's the way you want it to go down, is it? That's the way it was. Excuse me, Smiley, but that's absurd. I already have a case against Stensenberger. Even if I hadn't, it would outrage common sense to state that this man, a lumber merchant, could handle quantities of hollow timbers, could have them right there under his nose all this time without knowing it. But Henry was stubborn. Very well, added Beverage. This is your statement. I will take it down just what you choose to say. You've got about enough there, I should imagine. Oh, about Wilson. I was in the bushes just below the bridge when he started to run around the house and I shot him. There now, with the confession of the smuggling and the shooting, you ought to have a case. Copy it out, put it in the right legal shape, and I'll sign it. All but the Stensenberger part. I admit nothing about him. All right. I'll put it down as you want. It makes no difference to me, for you can never save him. One thing, Henry, said Dick, that I don't understand. What was McGlory after when he ran the an up to Burnt Cove that time?  When you first told me about it, I didn't know what to think myself, but after thinking it over and from the way he has talked since when he was a little drunk, I think I have made it out. He has been planning for some time to skip with this Estelle, dessert his wife. He arranged it with her that time he came up with you, and as what ready money he had was down in Chicago, where he couldn't very well get at it without his wife knowing it, he took the chance of getting to Burnt Cove while you were sleeping off. Henry smiled. I guess old Spencer served you some pretty strong fluids up there that day. Well, anyway, McGlory thought he could take quite a lot of the stuff aboard, sell it through one of our regular trade channels, and get off with the money without going home. He couldn't get it into his head that you really knew nothing about the business. It was a crazy thing to do. I should think so. McGlory and Roke are pretty good examples of the sort of thing I have had to contend with. I've never been able to get good reliable men to work for me. Beverage wanted to smile over the incongruity in this speech, but he controlled himself and listened soberly. Henry went on. If I could have handled it alone or with only Spencer to help, you would never have got me. But with such a big business I had to employ a good many men. That was my weak spot. I've known it all along and dreaded it, but I had to run the risk. There's a risk in every business, and that was the risk in mine. No, sir, if I could have had competent men, I should be laughing to-day at the whole revenue system. I should take exception to that, Smiley, said Beverage. Your men weren't the only thing that gave you away, not by any means. Oh, weren't they? No, the most important clue was the label you used. But say, Smiley, here's what puzzles me. Why is it that you, a man of unusual ability, haven't put in your time at something respectable? The brains and work you have wasted on smuggling would have made you a comfortable fortune in some other line. What do you mean by respectable, Beverage, politics, trading, preaching? I guess you recognize the distinction. On the contrary, I don't recognize it at all. I ask for information. Oh, well, there is no use opening up that question. We all know the difference between right and wrong, honesty and dishonesty. Do we? Do you? I have always supposed I did.  See here, Smiley, this is interesting. You don't mean to say that you consider smuggling an honorable business. Why not? Why not? Why, why? It might clear your ideas, Beverage, to go into this question a little. Smuggling means, I suppose, the bringing of merchandise from, say, Canada to this country. Doutable merchandise, yes. What makes it doutable? The law. What makes the law? The law is made by the people. What people? Oh, see here, Smiley, this... No, wait a minute. The trouble with you is you don't do your own thinking. I'll do a little for you. Take an imaginary case. There's a little group of men in this country who manufacture, say, tax. As every man should, they are looking out for their own interests. They are out to make money. The tax mean nothing to them, except as they can be turned into money. That is right and proper, isn't it? Certainly. Now suppose, among them all, they employ a good many thousand men in their tax factories. All of them voters.  Now then, if any other group of men start up, just over the Canadian line, where labor is cheaper, making tax and underselling our tax market, the natural thing for our tax men to do is to go to their representatives in Congress and say, Here, if you want our votes and our money, you must pass a law, putting a duty on tax. Why do they say this? Because with such a law, they can make more money. The people aren't helped by it, mind you. The people have to pay all the more. The only men to profit by it are the little group of tax manufacturers who want to get rich and fat at the expense of this public you talk about. Now, do the congressmen fall into line and pass the law? Certainly. Why? Because they are helped by it. They get the votes and the money contributions, and probably a neat bribe besides. All this while, mind you, the people are out of the game. They are being robbed by a law that was made entirely to enrich a little group of men. These bribe-givers and takers put up a job on us, the most dishonest kind of a job, and yet you seem to think I'm dishonest, too, because I follow their example and look out for number one. Hold on, Smiley. There's a fallacy there. Where? Point it out. I'm doing an honest business. The stuff I sell is well-made. Do you suppose I care what your government people think? Why, the whole government system is a network of bribes and rake-offs and private snaps. Of course, if you're an anarchist. Look here, beverage. This talk seems to be rather personal. Suppose we make it more so. Let's see if we can't find out what your motives are in this business. Are they Christian or patriotic? Or are you, like myself, and the tacmen and the lawmakers, looking out for number one?  But it didn't take me long to see that you couldn't be bought. Now why? That's the question. Was it because you have principles against it? Not at all. Don't get mad. I don't doubt a minute that you have some principles that you learned in Sunday school. But Lord, when a man's grown up and has his living to fight for, do you think the Sunday school has any chance? So, you see, I thought it over and reasoned it out about like this. You and the other man were both ambitious. But where he wanted money, you want position. It's to your interest to keep the confidence of your superiors. That's why I couldn't buy you. It's all right. You've done a good job. But don't try to persuade yourself that your integrity is armor-plate, that you've been doing right for the good of the Sunday school or firm patriotic motives.  Dick saw that Beverage's tongue was trembling with a keen retort, and he broke in. But you haven't told how I was worked into this, Henry. Oh, that's simple. I wanted to boost you along in the world, but you were young and had notions, so I thought if I could once make you bring down a load of the stuff without knowing it, you would find yourself in for it. And then I could make you see things in the right proportions. I wanted you bad. With one such man as you, I could have fooled them forever. He paused and added meditatively. And I would have made you a rich man, Dick.  And I saw I had as good as lost you. Yes, sir, I could have made your fortune. Well, anyhow, you'll get something out of it after. Beverage rose to go to his room, gathering up the papers. I'm going to write this out now, boys. I'll see you later. Late in the evening the statement was ready. Henry read it through, suggested a few commendations, and signed it. Then the three went on deck. Far down on the southwestern horizon was a row of twinkling lights. Above them in the sky was spread a warm glow. We're getting along, said Henry. There's Chicago. Oh, is it? exclaimed Beverage with interest. Yes, we'll soon be in. Isn't it about time to put the handcuffs on me? Beverage smiled. That will hardly be necessary. But Chicago's a big town. I might get away from you. We won't worry about that. Do you carry the things on you? I never saw any. Beverage drew a pair from his hip pocket and handed them to Henry. How do they work? Easily slipped them on, this way. There was a click and Henry's hands were chained together. That's easy enough, isn't it? Said he, walking a few steps up and down the deck, surveying himself. Then he went to the rail and leaned on it, looking silently off toward the lights. Just what came next Dick never could remember. He had turned away to gaze at the alternating red and white lights that marked Gross Point and home, so that he saw little more than Henry's swift movement and Beverage's start. An instant more and he was standing at the rail with Beverage in the place where Henry had been standing a moment before, gazing down at the foam that fell away from the boughs. He heard the special agent sing out. Stop her, stop her, Captain! Man overboard! He was conscious that the engines had stopped, and he heard the Captain's voice from the bridge. No use, he went under the wheel. Then came the order to lower a boat and the rush of feet across the deck. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of the Mary Ann This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Read by Betsy Bush The Mary Ann by Samuel Merwin Chapter 15 In Which Beverage Surprises Himself Dick and Beverage stood on the wharf at Chicago. The lights that wavered over their faces from the lanterns of the foot and from the arc lamp overhead showed them sober, silent. The camaraderie of the chase and of the voyage that followed had ceased to be. Beverage's elation had been subdued by the distressing event of the evening, but still the mind behind his decorously quiet face was teeming with plans and schemes. Dick was gloomy, bewildered. Both seemed to be waiting for something. They stood watching the bustle aboard the revenue cutter as the crew made her snug for the night, until finally Dick spoke.  What you're to do next? Why, yes, you see. Go on, I'm listening.  I didn't know, but what?  And after a moment Dick saw what had kept him waiting. It was no sense of delicacy. Beverage had been looking for a carriage. Get in, Smiley, he said, when the driver pulled up. Get in? Yes, after you. You mean then... Well, what? I don't suppose after what has happened that you'd need me any longer. Not need you, Smiley? They were seated within the vehicle now. The door was shut, and the driver, the special agent's whispered word in his ear, was whipping up his horses. I'm afraid you don't understand.  It was his manner more than his words that suddenly swept away Dick's delicacy and aroused his anger.  Certainly not. You don't expect me to believe that. You have no case against me now. I grant you that, and I promise you that you won't be detained more than a few days at the outside, but this business has passed up out of my hands now. All I can do is to deliver you up, make my report, and set the machinery in motion for your release. Dick's act motionless, gazing into the shadows before him. What right had you to let Pink go then? That was different. How? How? Nobody ever looked on Harper as any importance in the business. That is no answer. You're holding me on a technicality. The importance of the man makes no difference when you are dealing in red tape. See here, smiley, don't you think you had better stop abusing me and take a sensible view of it? As he spoke they were crossing State Street, and the brighter light illuminated the interior of the carriage. For a reply Dick turned and looked at his custodian, looked him through and through with a gaze of profound contempt. Words were not necessary.  At the moment neither was thinking of the gloomy city that was closing in around them, for both saw the wide, free beach, the gleaming lake, the two long piers, the quaint little house on Stilts, the upper balcony with its burden of forget-me-nots and geraniums and all the blossoms that Annie loved, and both had in their nostrils the refreshing smell of the east wind made up of all the faint mingled odors of Lake Michigan, a little pine in it, a little fish in it, but more than all the health and strength and wholesome sweetness of the lakes, and both were silent while the carriage rattled along, while they stepped out, crossed the walk, and entered a stone building with barred windows, while, with Beverage on one side and a guard on the other, Dick walked to his cell. Beverage cut the half-past eight train for Lakeville the next morning, and walked straight down to the house on Stilts. Annie was out on the lake, her mother said, looking at him while she said it, and after with doubtful questioning eyes. So he sat down on the steps and looked out over the beach and the water. It was a fine warm day with just breeze enough to ripple the lake from shore to horizon and set it sparkling in the sun. The sky was blue and white, and the cloud shadows here and there on the water took varied and varying colors. Deep blue, yellow, sea green. The shoreline dwindled off to the northward in long scallops, every line of the yellow beach cut out cleanly, every oak on the blush outlined sharply. In truth it was a glorious day. Just the day Beverage would have chosen had the choice been his, the day of days on which he was to make the last arrangements and clinching his success in assuring his future. Annie had gone out to the Nets with her father. She was at the moment growing him in. On other days Beverage had sat here and watched her coming in from the Nets with a great box of whitefish aboard. The boat grounded on the sand, Captain Fargo stepped out and drew it up. Beverage rose and smiled lazily while he waited for Annie to come up to the steps. The sun had been in her eyes, and at first she did not see him distinctly. Well, said Beverage, hello. Didn't expect to see me, did you? She stopped abruptly and looked at him. He did not know just how to interpret her an expression. Aren't you going to speak to me, Annie? Her answer when it came blanketed him and left him, so to speak, flapping in the wind. She said, What have you done with Dick? Dick? Why, oh, he's all right. Why hasn't he been back? He'll be around all right. They thought it would be necessary to hold him for a few days. To hold him? Where? Don't you see? Is he in prison? Yes, but that will be fixed in Chicago? Yes, he... Father, said she, Dick's in prison. We must go down to see him. And she turned back to Beverage with question. When can we get a train? What could Beverage do but fumble in his pockets, bring out a handful of papers, look them over until he found a timetable, and announce that the next train was the 10-12? You will have to show us how to get there, Mr. Beverage, said Annie. Come and change your clothes, Father. Will you wait here, Mr. Beverage? Beverage said that he would, certainly. And then, when father and daughter had hurried into the house, and after Captain Fargo had turned his box of fish over to a boy who acted on occasion as his helper, the special agent sat down again and looked at the lake. The sun was shining on, bright as ever. The water was still very colored. The sky still blue and white. But he saw them not. In something more than twenty minutes Annie was down and waiting impatiently for her father. Her whole mind was bent on getting to town. She hardly saw of average. As for him, chagrined as he was, he had to admit that she looked very pretty in her trim-blue gown. He had never before seen her dressed for the city. He was inclined to feel odd as well as bewildered.  All the way Annie was preoccupied. Hardly a word could Beverage get. From the train they hurried over to the stone building with the barred windows. Here the special agent held a short whispered conversation, which entered in the unbarring of doors and the word to follow down a corridor.  Beverage found himself slipping into the background when Annie and the prisoner were clasping hands without a word. But he watched them. He saw the question in dick's eyes, and something deep and burning, the something that was not a question in Annie's. He saw that she did not think of withdrawing her hand. He knew that in one short moment more her arms would be thrown around dick's neck. He turned away and leaving them there walked out into the street. The lights were out at the teamster's friend. It was ten o'clock at night, and from Stensenberger's lumber office on one corner, through to the corner at the farther end of the block, the street was deserted. But Beverage, who slowly turned the corner by the lumberyard, Beverage, who had passed the most turbulent day of his life, trying to realize that he had lost Annie, knew where to look. Lonely, miserable, plunged into rejection now that the strain was over, he turned into the driveway that led to the sheds in the rear of the saloon, and pausing looked up. Yes, there was a light in the upper rear window. He whistled. The curtain went up a little way. Someone was looking down. The curtain went up again. The light slowly disappeared, leaving grotesque shadows on the curtain as it was carried from the room. Steps sounded in the hall. The bolt slipped back, and Madge stood in the doorway. Hello! said Beverage. Here I am.  She drew him quickly in, closed and locked the door, and stood looking at him. I had to go out of town, Madge. I didn't get in till late last night. I have some news for you. Come in, she said, and they went back into the dining-room where she had set down the lamp. They took chairs on opposite sides of the table. Madge rested her elbows on the red cloth, propped her chin on her two hands, and waited. Beverage, while he looked at her, was rapidly getting back his self-possession. Well, Madge, there is a good deal to tell you. McGlory. She waited as long as she could, then exclaimed in an uncertain voice. What about him? Where is he? He is gone. Where? Nobody on earth can tell you that. She leaned across the table and caught his arm. Is he dead? Yes, dead and buried. She leaned back in her chair. She could not take her eyes from his face, and yet she said nothing. It could not be said that her face showed a trace of happiness, but there was, nevertheless, a strange sort of relief there. For a long time neither spoke, but Beverage's impetuous nature could not long endure the silence. Well, Madge, he broke out, do you still want me? She did not answer. That's what I've come to know. If you'll do it, we will be married tonight. You couldn't—her voice was low and dreamy. You couldn't get a license before tomorrow, she said. It's queer, said Dick, but that is the Beverage of it. You can't tell what he is going to do next. I don't believe he knows himself half the time. The Captain, with Annie at the tiller and Dick stretched lazily out beside her, was skimming and bounding along off the gross point light. Wasn't it, Annie wore a conscious expression, wasn't it rather sudden? It must have been, but that is Beverage. And she was a saloon-keeper's wife? Yes, but it wasn't so bad as it sounds, when you say it that way, but she was too good for McLaury. Oh, you—you know her. I've seen her, yes. But isn't she old? Not so very. She can't be much older than Beverage. She is good-looking, almost pretty, and she looks sort of, well, when you saw her there in McLaury's place, it seemed too bad. She was quiet, and she looked as if she was made for something better. They were silent for a time. Then their eyes met, and she missed his answering smile. What is it, Dick? she asked. I was thinking about Henry, about what he was, and then what he did for me. We have everything to thank him for, you and I, Annie. He paused, then went on. I suppose he was wrong. He must have been wrong if we were to believe in law at all. But that night on the steamer, when he was telling us about it, I watched him and Beverage both pretty closely—the expression of their faces and their eyes—the way a man looks at you tell so much, Annie. And I knew all the while, though Beverage was standing there for the law, and Henry for what they call crime. Still. What, Dick? If I were in a tight place again and had to choose which of those two men to trust my life with, I shouldn't need to stop to think. It would be Henry every time. He sat up to shift his position when something which he saw on the northern horizon drove the clouds from his face. This was a great day for Dick. Look, Annie. He was pointing eagerly. Look there. Where? Can't you see it? The Ann. Then Annie's heart leaped to, and she ordered Dick to ease off the sheet, adding only, We'll meet her, shan't we? To which Dick responded with a nod. So they headed north with everything drawing foil and the bubbles dancing by. Pink saw them and came up into the wind. The captain slipped alongside. A sailor caught the painter.  Make the boat fast a stern, called Dick to one of the revenue-cutter men. All right, sir. Things gone all right, pink? First class. Not much wind in the straits. I hardly thought there would be. Annie was perched on the cabin trunk, looking at Dick with laughing eyes. She enjoyed watching him. She liked his easy way of falling into the command of his schooner. She admired the muscles on his forearm. For he had rolled up his sleeves. He caught her glance. Want to take her, Annie? Oh, yes, Dick, will you let me? If you want to. So Annie took the wheel. She stood there, a merry graceful figure, though Dick kept close by and reached out a steadying hand now and then, while the schooner came about, headed for the long pier, ran up neatly into her berth, threw out her lines and stopped, her voyage over. Note. In the spring when the ice broke up in the streams of Michigan, a party of lumbermen found what had been the body of a man lying in a shallow creek deep in the forest. Particulars would be unpleasant. It is enough to say that they buried him there, being rough men in far from a coroner, and on a water-soaked envelope in his pocket was found a name which, as nearly as anything, seemed to spell, Roke. To the persons of this tale his end remained a mystery. It might be added that Beverage found more difficulty than he had foreseen in weaving his net round Stensenberger. In fact, the special agent had failed, at last accounts, to disturb the serenity of the lumber dealer, in spite of the moral certainty that his share in the guilt was the largest of Annie. Perhaps his secret went to the bottom of Lake Michigan with Henry Smiley. S. M. End of Chapter 15. End of The Mary Ann by Samuel Merwin


from Korea to Germany, from Alaska to Puerto Rico. All over the world, the United States Army is on the alert to defend our country, you, the American people, against aggression. This is the big picture. An official television report to the nation from the United States Army. Now, to show you part of the big picture, here is Captain Carl Zimmerman. To be an effective fighting force, we must keep alive the ability of our Army to fight on any type of terrain in any climate. Now that takes continual rugged training for both the recruit and the veteran. Let's get this story of Army training firsthand from the soldier himself. It's quite a ways from your hometown to the attack courses at Fort Dix, New Jersey. Maybe not so far in miles, but learning to crawl through mud with live ammunition whizzing over your head was a new experience for most of us. All the sights and sounds of war that we've never seen or heard before. It's funny, when you see this stuff in the newsreels back home, you don't even begin to realize what it means to be a soldier. In the months of training necessary, before you learn how to act like one under conditions such as these. But the American soldier is the best trained soldier in the world. You can be sure of that. After a rough basic, you'll find that your Army training is just beginning. It takes more than 16 weeks of basic training to make a soldier. You may look and feel like one, but when the chips are down, you'll want to be able to act like one too. That takes instruction and plenty of it. Given by the men who know, Korean veterans who learn their lessons the hard way. So at Camp Roberts, California, you're taught how to make it hot for the enemy. Now maybe this looks like part of the kitchen stove, but it's a deadly weapon. A weapon that's mighty handy to the foot soldier when it comes to taking an objective and keeping it. What to do if a buddy is hit? Sometimes he's out in the open and there's too much enemy fire for you to reach him. What do you do? You call on a tank. The wounded soldier is lifted safely into the tank by the escape hatch in the floor. And speaking of protection, it's good to know judo when you meet the enemy face to face. Storming a mock town can be almost as rough as the real thing. It certainly can be as noisy. Getting over a high wall is no problem at all, if you know how, and if you have a grappling hook. This type of training teaches you teamwork. For in a small fighting group, a guy is just as safe as his buddy's marksmanship covering his advance. Now back home, we're right sociable. We like to visit each other's houses. In the army, you'll learn how to be an unwelcome guest. And the lesson is not thoroughly learned until the critique. Here the mistakes are gone over, and you'll find out what not to do next time. And there will be a next time, but we never stop training. You think that when you get your shipping orders for Europe, you have it made. Brother, who are you kidding? A nice ocean voyage, maybe? Army style. But as soon as you set foot ashore, you're at it again. Only a farmer could tell you the difference between stateside dirt and the European variety. The Bob Wire is the same. At Camp Rotor in Salzburg, Austria, one of the first things they do is to review everything you've learned up to that point. And you can always figure on the army for a new angle. This is called a stake course. You move from stake to stake and are tested on your knowledge of what to do in a certain situation, like map reading. Then you place a ring over the peg that you think is the right answer. Simple, huh? Well, maybe, but if you do make mistakes, you can be sure they'll be corrected. No matter what kind of outfit you're in, you do it over and over, like these guys from a chemical battalion making smoke. Smoke to screen our movements and save lives on the battlefield. Storming a ruined town in Germany is a post-graduate course. Ruins are seven years old. The training is right up to the minute. Just as he did in World War II in the same town, the foot soldier is the guy that goes in and takes over. Fellows from your hometown and my hometown, combined to make a tough, well-trained fighting team that could prove their worth in any battle, whatever the odds and whatever the mission, whether it be the taking of a fortified position or the dirty business of house-to-house fighting to flush out enemy snipers. The weapon these soldiers are camouflaging is an 8-inch self-propelled howitzer. It takes training to give this gun crew the know-how and teamwork to put this baby into action when the going gets rough. Believe it or not, sometimes it's peaceful. We take a brief rest from our training program and have a chance to enjoy the beautiful European countryside. Back on the job again. Army vehicles on the road mean free chocolate to the kids in the neighboring town. Now, what shall we do today? Well, the commanding officer has some plans on that subject. It seems that this area is just right to stage a maneuver to put some of our training into practice. This sniper is part of what the Army calls the aggressive force. Actually, the aggressive force is made up of American soldiers dressed as a mythical enemy with the language, tactics, and equipment all their own. To make training seem more realistic, the Army uses the aggressive force as the maneuver enemy, complete with their own staff officers, maps, and communication system. When our forces manage to capture some of the aggressive troops, they are given the same treatment as any enemy prisoner would receive in time of war. And we have a chance to learn such things as how to properly search an enemy officer for important papers. The aggressive force is made up of carefully trained men who pull every trick in the book to keep us on our toes. Even psychological warfare is brought into play against us. Using loudspeakers close to the front line, the aggressive force broadcast pleas for our surrender, offering us in return soft beds, clean clothing, and good food. Propaganda leaflets dropped from planes are designed to persuade the foxhole soldier to surrender and get a cold beer, and guarantee good treatment from the aggressive forces. These repeated attempts by the simulated enemy to woo us into giving up are excellent conditioning against similar practices used by real enemies and acquaintance with propaganda methods. Battle sounds are sometimes on records, but they'll never make the hit parade. Even the aggressors need a break once in a while, and we have time to relax and repair some of our equipment in preparation for the winter months ahead, and with another winter, another maneuver. That's the way it is in the Army. Wars are fought in the winter as well as the spring. Rivers have to be crossed. And if you're an engineer, you have to know how to build a bridge in the dead of winter, even though your flesh would stick to the cold metal. Human nature being what it is, though, when you're hot you want it to be cold, and when you're cold you want it to be hot, but when you see that first vehicle going safely across, it's worth it. While men in the 7th Army were going through a winter maneuver in this part of the world, men of the Caribbean Command were taking their training the hot way. Objective, Vieques Island, off the coast of Puerto Rico. What you remember most about an amphibious operation is the way these guys work together, the Army, Navy, and Air Force. That's a triple threat all-star team that's tough to beat. You have to be sort of a combination duck and commando. You can imagine the amount of training necessary to make an operation like this a success. A lot of planning, a lot of practice, and more practice to make the American fighting soldier the best ever. Practice today and maybe the real thing tomorrow. And if an enemy should strike at us, Alaska might be a handy target for them. Aware of this fact, the Army has been training and conditioning troops for life in the sub-zero wastelands. A soldier may be called on to fight in many climates and over different terrain. Take it from these men in the Arctic. This is training at its toughest. Learning to fight not only the enemy but the elements as well. The Arctic nights may be long, but the days are filled with work and more work. Training in how to live and fight and stay warm, even when the mercury takes a nosedive to 40 below. Unnovers such as these answer questions, important questions, such as how long will a weapon fire with ice-caped all over it? How can you best take care of a wounded soldier in the snow? Can you move large groups of men over frozen roads quickly and still have them in fighting condition when they reach their objective? It's a long haul from the ice box of Alaska to the pearl of the Pacific, Hawaii. In school they taught us that the Pacific means peaceful. And when you think of Hawaii, you think of the beach at Waqa Ki, the surfboard riding gracefully into shore on the crest of a wave. Oh yes, and the grass skirts swinging gently to and fro in the breeze. In the Army, though, you think of school field barracks.  A soldier first and a tourist second. And that same confidence-building training is always with you. Do you rule with training after you leave the States? In a bull's eye. Every soldier a marksman. A fighting man ready at any time to enter combat. Maybe you did a lot of hunting before you got into the service. That's good practice, but you have to learn how to shoot the Army way. Know how to put the holes right in that round black ring in the target. Break time gives you a chance to take care of some important things. Let's take a look at some other training in the Pacific area. A place that saw plenty of action in the Second World War. Okinawa. A lot of good men died on this beach. Now this same place is being used for training in beach landings so that maybe fewer good men will die if there's a next time. Because good training, well planned and executed, is the best kind of life insurance. Maybe that's why we never stop. If the training looks familiar to you, it's meant to be that way. Because only through doing the job over and over again can the soldier build up that feeling of being able to do the job automatically when the goings are roughest. This is the training that saves lives when the enemy is real and the ammunition isn't blank. Once again we're up against that mastermind planning of the aggressor force. And this time with a new twist. Our gal, our kind of aggressor Axis Sally, talks to us in our own language. Plays the records from home that we like to hear. And in between gives us a sample of some slick enemy propaganda. It's not too far from Okinawa to the land of the rising sun. Japan. Where training goes on as in the rest of the Allied world. The soldier may get a good look at the colorful scenery on Route March. While mortar crews practice camouflaging themselves and their positions from enemy eye reach. How to pitch a tent. Protect yourself against gas attack. Or man a machine gun. All in today's work for a soldier. Regardless of where he is. And the words chow. Inspection. Retreat. And baseball would probably mean the same to an American soldier anywhere. Whether you're stationed in Japan or Fort Knox, Kentucky. The closer you are to the fighting front, the tougher the training gets. You know that sooner or later, you probably will have to face a fanatical type of enemy. Who uses all the tricks of psychological warfare to break down his opponent. In order to properly prepare us for the fighting going on in Korea. The army has arranged training at Camp Sendai Japan. Here, we are the target of a surprise night assault. This aggressor is a group of American soldiers trained in the tactics of the North Korean and Chinese Reds. Under the cloak of darkness, the simulated enemy has landed on the coast behind our lines. And moves forward to surround us. The blasting bugles are not only used to signal the attack. They're also a gimmick to spread fear and panic so our positions can be overrun. The lesson we learned in Korea was that our troops were not at first prepared for this type of fighting. Now, with the help of training such as this simulated night attack, we're learning that bugle-blowing and screaming nighttime invaders die just as quickly as silent ones. We're caught with our guard down at first. But we regroup in a hurry and let go with a counterattack that sends the aggressor for cover. Machine guns and tanks are brought into play as this realistic game of war continues without benefit of rule books. That force lends a hand and aggressive positions receive a deadly strike. Motor fire is called forward to help chase the stubborn aggressor from behind a hill. Outgoing mail that means bad news for the simulated enemy. Umpires scattered throughout the battle zone keep a constant check on how we're doing. Our troops attack again and we really have them on the run. The aggressor provides rear guard action to protect his withdrawal. But we break through their defenses and drive them toward the sea. Objective accomplished, our tanks move down the shoreline which a few hours before was held by the aggressive force. Our lesson is learned. A strong enemy force in a surprise night attack using psychological warfare techniques can be beaten off and defeated. The northernmost of the major islands which make up Japan is called Hokkaido. The winters are mean with snows often reaching to depths of eight feet. Not exactly the kind of place to spend a pleasant vacation. But an ideal training ground for winterized army troops. The artillery spotters mean business. Korea is only a short air hop from Hokkaido. No fooling around here either. We get right down to the subject at hand. Ski training is a must for troops. If we want to be able to face an enemy on any ground and in any climate you can almost hear our leg muscles groaning from these exercises. Pick them up and lay them down with skis. There aren't many native Eskimos in the United States Army so most of the soldiers learn this from the ground up.  Snowshoes to some of the men might remind them of tennis rackets or the sleds and skis of a winter in the snow back home. But learning to live and fight on these things is a lot different. Not much like winter sports back home but this is the kind of training that makes the American soldier the best in any league. Combat patrolling under these conditions is a hard lesson to learn but we train until we get it and then we train some more. On into the night. But don't let the winter carnival atmosphere fool you. We're learning the serious business of war. Even in Korea, the final proving ground, training never stops. Troops are pulled back off the front line for refresher courses, construction and new tactics and care and use of equipment. These combat veterans know that in battle the trained soldier has the best chance of surviving. You don't wait until the shooting starts to learn your lessons. The bullet that's supposed to teach may also kill and the enemy won't let you correct your mistakes. A soldier is never too old or too good to stop training. In Korea, many a combat veteran of World War II has been learning new and different things about the job of soldiering. Wars are so complicated nowadays that the communication system of an army is more important than ever before. You wouldn't want to get your wires crossed with messages that deal with human lives. So troops are trained and retrained in the technique of wire lane, pole erection and getting the message through quickly and accurately when and where it counts. Back home, we aim to please. In Korea, they aim to kill. Training is tough because battle is tougher and training saves lives. But what about atomic warfare? Will be ready and trained for whatever might happen then? You bet we will. Yes, it's a long way from your hometown to the atomic training area at Yucca Flats, Nevada, practically out of this world. The sound and fury of the atomic bomb that makes headlines in the hometown paper are part of army training. We learn to take it in our stride. Groups of soldiers are present at atomic blast to see and to take part so that when or if the enemy does use such a weapon, we'll know what to do. Attention is focused on the time. The second hand creeps toward zero hour. The time for the detonation of the bomb approaches. Right after the blast, troops move up into the ground zero area. While in the skies overhead, our transport planes prepare to drop paratroopers. Ever may come, you can count on the American soldier being ready and able to face anything because we never stop training. It's a big job keeping our army ready. And here's a footnote to this story. According to Secretary of the Army Frank Pace Jr., this year alone over 700,000 men will be turned back to civilian life. Approximately the same number of untrained men will join the ranks in the months to come. There can be no let down in the type of training you've seen today. Next week on The Big Picture, we'll take you to the Army Language School in California for another phase of army training. We'll show you how we train officers and enlisted men for foreign duty as language specialists. This is Captain Carl Zimmerman inviting you to be with us then. The Big Picture is a weekly television report to the nation on the activities of the army at home and overseas produced by the Signal Corps Photographic Center presented by the U.S. Army in cooperation with this station. You can be an important part of The Big Picture. You can proudly serve with the best equipped, the best trained, the best fighting team in the world today, the United States Army.