(Copyright.) ERIC DACRES:

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 10 July 1914, Page 7

(Copyright.) ERIC DACRES:

By William Murray Graydon, Author of 'Under the White Terror, In the Name of the Czar, Etc., Etc.

A Romantic Story of Adventure during the IVlatabeSe War.

A very romantic story by the wellknown and popular writer, opening in the Algerian Desert, but the scene of which is subsequently in South Africa. Dacres, a young English gentlemen, and a journalistic friend, Philip Courtney, rescue a beautiful girl, Dora Churton, and some friends of hers, from the Arabs, and love 'springs up between Dora and Dacres. The latter, on his return, to England, instead of being- a rich man, finds that his fortune has mysteriously disappeared. This is through Fergus Haygarth, another admirer of Dora Churton's, who, when Dacres goes to South Africa, follows him there, and makes, or causes to be made, several attempts upon his rival's life. There are many thrilling adventures in the South African bush and amongst the natives, all told with a force which holds the reader enthralled, and these scenes are enhanced from the fact of Miss Churton being an- actor in several of them. CHAPTER I. THE CAMP AT THE OASIS. It was a day in the early summer of 1895. Away out on the Algerian desert, miles south of the interior railway terminus of Biscara, the African sun was sinking like a dull red ball of fire towards the horizon. In the still, scorching heat a little party of Europeans—all English—were travelling northward as rapidly as *lhe circumstances would permit. So they had been pressing on for the greater part of the past fortyeight hours —two ladies riding two horses, an elderly man perched on a camel, and three younger men, who marched alongside on foot. The latter were on the verge of exhaustion, though they doggedly refused to betray this fact to their mounted but scarcely less wearied companions. The party had little food und no water, but they fortunately were supplied with rifles and ammunition. To the left and to the rear the eye encountered only sand—a rolling, irregular waste of reddish-brown coiour that stretched away to the coppery sky. A couple of miles straight .'ahead the monotonous view was relieved by what, indicated an oasis in this barren desert—a clump of green palms at the base of a ragged and volcanic outcropping of grey rocks. At no great distance off to the right some low spurs of the Atlas Mountains were visible. "Do you believe our troubles are nt an end, Mr. Dacres ?" asked a iweet and anxious voice. "I mean the danger of attack ; I do not Iread the journey that lies before is." Eric Dacres glanced quickly up at the beautiful girl by the side of whose Arab steed he was plodding ihrough the sand ; it was his own :iorse, and he felt he would never part with it for its weight in gold. "I trust we are out of danger, Miss Churton," he replied, "for our foes could easily have overtaken us before now. They are certainly not in sight yet, and we have come many miles at this crawling pace" "But one cannot see far behind," interrupted the girl, "because of the rolling sand-hills ; and we are still far out in the desert." "By yonder trees we will find ' water," Eric answered, evasively, "and a place to rest for the night. Another day's journey will bring us among friendly Bedouins, where Sir John i can hire camels or horses for the ride to Bi.'-cara. And then will be the parting : "Do you and Mr. Courtney leave us ?" the girl asked, quickly. " Yes ; our mission is not finished." "But wo shall meet again—in Algiers or in England ?" "Hardly in Algiers," the young ' man said. "But I shall live in hopes of seeing you again some day. Perhaps years may pass first, and you will have forgotten me." Doris Churton looked into Eric's eyes, and po.-sibly it was what she read there, that brought a sudden blush to her face. "I will never forget you," she replied, a little confusedly. "You don't mean that. Do you think me capable of such ingratitude ?" "Forgive me," Eric pleaded. "You saved my life —the lives of all of us," the girl went on. " I r.an still see that horrid Arab aiming his rifle at me. And then, afterwards, you gave me your horse while you walked through the burning sun and sand. You went thirsty ■hat I might drink, and it was your last drop of water. Even if T was a man I could never repay such heroism and unselfishness." Eric looked up with eloquent eyes. "T am more than repaid already," he declared. "And indeed most n.en would have done as much. For your sake, Miss Churton, I would count any peril or hardship as " "Come along, old chap," Philip Courtney's voice called loudly from the front. • "Don't lag behind when yonder are water and shade waiting

for us. Hurrah for supper and sleep !" "We're coming; as fast as we can, my boy," Eric answered his friend. '"'■>ou can't draw blood from a turnip or speed from a jaded horse." He avoided the girl's glance, and walked a little in front of her. The two exchanged only a few commonplace words until the party reached the goal for which they had been striving. An oasis it proved to be, and the hearts of nil were cheered by this fertile spot in the midst of the desert. A shallow pool of water— none too clean —was fringed by half a dozen palm trees and patches of plants and hul fa-grass. A few yards away the clump of grey rocks rose, mound-shaped, to a height of ten or twelve feet. Half a mile to the south some tall sandhills limited the view. Sir John Copleston climbed to the ground as well as his wounded log would permit, and took from his camel the bag containing, dates and black bread. Eric and Phil assisted tiie ladies to dismount, and when Captain 'Brand had drawn a supply from the pool, the wearied and panting beasts were allowed to quench their thirst. Danger was forgotten, and in the grateful shade of the trees tho fugitives congratulated themselves on the comforts they had so hardly earned. It was a strange fate that had brought these six persons together in the wastes of the Algerian desert, ! and it was destined to lead to such ' consequences and revelations as none ; could foresee or dream of. Who ' these individuals were, and how they ; chanced to meet, may be told in ' brief words. j Eric Dacres, aged twenty-five, was a fine type of a young Englishman, ' tall and slim, ruddily-bronzed, with ' crisp brown hair and' a golden | moustache. His father lived a per- j fectly retired and hermit-like life in Jersey ; and Eric, after being well educated, had of late years been travelling a good bit about the world. By this experience he acquired courage, endurance, and a close knowledge of many peoples, places, and customs. A few weeks before the opening of j the story he had wandered to Al- ! giers, where he met- Philip Courtney. The latter was a year or two older, rather short, clean shaven, and with a keen, good-hum-oured face. He had already made a name as a war correspondent and artist, and as there were no hostilities at the time to be chronicled his paper—a London weekly—sent him off to visit some unexplored ruins in Northern Africa. He easily persuaded Eric to accompany him on tho trip, and before the journey had lasted a fortnight the two men were fast friends. For ! a time they failed to discover the ruins they were in search of —their native guide had deceitfully claimed to know the place—but finally they ! were put on the right track by some i wandering Arabs. The . spot was four days' journey to the south-west of where they then were, and on i the second night they encamped in a hollow between some barren and rocky hillocks. That same night another party of travellers happened to be w'ithln ' half a mile, beyond some high j sandhills. Exclusive of three native ; servants, they consisted of Sir ' John Copleston, of Copleston Hall, | Surrey, and Orme-square, Bays- j water ; his wife, Lady Copleston ; Doris Ohurton, who was the daughter of an old friend of Lady Copleston ; and two persons from Sir John's yacht—Captain Brand and • Binney, the steward. i The baronet belonged to that ! class of Englishmen who are to be -, found in all parts of the world— [ lovers of adventure, exploration, and fresh scenes. He was sixty years of ', age, tall, vigorous, bearded, and ' florid-faced. On this occasion he had induced the ladies to accompany* him on a trip to Lake Melgia, [ knowing that they could endure a ! certain amount of ordinary hard- j ship, and being assured by the • French officials that no peril was to be feared. Now they were re- ! turning to Algiers, in which harbour j the yacht was lying. But safety is never certain in the Algerian desert. At midnight the ' three rascally attendants crept away j into the darkness with everything j they could lay their hands on, leav- | ing only a single camel behind. Sir John and his party, who were ! asleep in two tents , had barely ' discovered their loss an hoi';- later when they were attacked by half a dozen mounted IVdoiiins. The Englishmen, fortunately having their , rifles, kept the assailants at bay for ' a time ; but when Binney was shot dead, and Sir John received a ball in the fleshy part of his thigh, matters grew black indeed. At this crisis Eric and Phil, who had heard the firing, came up on ' their Arab steeds and turned the tables. The desert foemen fled with a loss of two, and mutual explanations took place between rescued and z'escuers. From-a wounded Bedouin, who died five minutes later it was learned that the marauders belonged to the tribe of Beni-hassan, which had a day or two before revolted from French rule. The man defiantly declared that his friends would return speedily with a larger force and slay all the English men and women. Tliere was every reason to believe tins, and it was decided to hurry from the neighbourhood at once. Eric and Phil, having ridden back to their camp, returned with the news that their guide had disappeared, taking with him the bag-gage-camel and the tent. So the party had to make what shift thoy

could with two horses and one camel, and after burying poor Binney in the sand, they started in haste to the north. Now, after nearly two days of travelling in tho burning heat of the sun, and part of a night's rest, they had arrived at this little oasis. And as yet there was no sign of their dreaded foes. Eric Dacres, as he busied himself with the preparations for supper, wished that the journey would last for ever. He, who had hitherto been impervious to woman's charms, ; was deeply in love with Doris Ohur- | ton. It was not a passing fancy, he knew, but an affection that would endure—that might make or mar his lifeHe thought he had never seen a lovelier woman, and he was right. The girl was very beautiful, even in her desert costume of tweed. She was just nineteen, but her figure was perfect. Her cheeks had the delicate bloom of ripened peaches, her eyes were dark violet, and a wealth of rich brown hair crowned her shapely head. ('nder such circumstances the short lime in which the two had been ac- I quainled was enough to make them l'cv.'l like old friends—there is no- j thing like a common peril for that, and for something more. If Doris ' in any degree returned Eric's unre- ; vealed love, she made no sign ; j-or was he mad enough to expect one. But at lea^st the girl was j deeply impressed by the handsome j young Englishman's bravery and en- j durance, by his unselfishness and I sympathy, by the tact and ceaseless 1 solicitv.de he had shown for her care and comfort, and, as well, by his evident admiration. Such things ' ])oris Churton could understand and appreciate ; she had always despised the vapid attentions and overweening conceit of the gilded young men of Bolgravian ballrooms. Perhaps she was drawing comparisons as she sat chatting with Lady Coplestone in the shade of the palm trees and watching Eric arrange the-supper-table—a flat stone —as temptingly as possible. Sir John was resting near by—he made light of his flesh wound—and Phil and Captain Brand were erecting tho one tent they had transported on the camel. The red sun was close to the horizon, and a sense of comfort and security brooded in the still evening air. "Supper is laid," announced Eric. "I fancy the chef of the Cafe Regence in Algiers could do better, but" "One moment, old chap," Phil interrupted. "I want to take a look about first. It's just as well you know." lie climbed quickly to the summit of grey rocks, and stood erect on the topmost one.. "It's partly hollow up here," he called. "The place would do us good service at a pinch. There is plenty of shelter, and chinks to fire through." He turned his gaze towards the south, and those below- saw him I give a start. He unslung his fi-.M !- glasses and put them to his eyes. "What's wrong, old fellow ?" Eric demanded. "See anything ?" "Bedouins—our old enemies !" Phil answered, hoarsely. "Tlk-v are not ' a mile distant, and riding just this I way—at least two-score of the ruffians, wi!»h scarlet and white burnooses streaming in the air. Up here for your lives !" CHAPTER IT. A BITTER PARTING. The shock, coming at a time of fancied security, was a terrible one ; but none lost hope or coy.rage save Lady Copleslon. She, poor woman I had suffered to the limit of her en- j durance, and with a slight scream I she fainted away. Taking her in ! his strong arms,- Captain Brand j went cat-like up the rocks, and j these two were the first to join ; Phil. Doris followed, pluckily refusing assistance, and with some difficulty Eric helped Sir John to scramble to the top. Then he and Phil returned for the food, a couple of sleeping-rugs, and two rifles the others had forgotten. It was impossible to do anything for the safety of the camel and the horses, which were grazing in the vicinity ; of the pool. j On the summit of the rocks was j a crater-like hollow, about six feet in diameter, and surrounded by a loose three-foot parapet that offei ed an ample supply of holes and crevices for the purposes of obs^-i \ ation and shooting. On three sides the mound looked difficult to scale, \ and it was irorn the front, facing ! the south, that the attack would ' likely come. Lady Coplestone was placed on a rug at the rear of the crater, and Doris crouched beside her ; except : for an anxious look in her eyes and : a slight pallor of her skin, the girl >' showed no sign of fear. The four men stood up and gazed ; across the desert. North-east, and ' west was loneliness, beyond .the hope of succour, and from the south the band of mounted horsemen now less than half a mile distant, were gal- • loping towards the rocks. "They number about thirty," and Eric, as he looked through Phill's glasses, "and they are all armed with guns. They are certainly our old foes—the Arabs of the Beni-has-snn tribe." ! "They have mustered and will track us," r-xclaimed Sir John. "Against' such odds we are almost helpless. '• My poor wife !It is better that she ' shorld remain unconscious." j "Yes, much better," assented Phil; { "but our situation is by no means ' helpless. We are well armed and in a strong place. .1 believe we can

hold c t against the murderous scoundrels—the moon will light us when the sun goes down. What do you think, Eric ?" "The same," Eric answered stoutly. "At least we can make a hard fight for it. Suppose you take care of the rear and flanks, Phil, while the rest of us repel the main assault that is sure to come from the front." "All right," agreed Phil, "though I don't look for much peril in those quarters. But if you need me" i "They'll be at us in a moment," , interrupted Captain Brand. "Pick your places, and see that you have cartridges handy for reloading." - , The advice was timely, for the wild sons of the desert were now very close. Phil drew back a little and Sir John and Captain Brand knelt behind the parapet. Eric crept over to Doris, and whispered a few words of hopeful comfort ; then he rejoined his companions, and chose a commanding crevice betwe-.-n them. He knew how slim and desperate was the chance, and the thought of what might be the fate of the girlhe loved made him' sick at heart. "God help us !" cried Sir John, "they are here. Be ready !" j With shrill and savage yells, and : with their scarlet burnoor.os trailing in the breeze, the white-robed, dusky-faced Bedouins came gallopj ing to within sixty feet of the mound. Here they turned, right and left, breaking into seeming disorder, and as they rode swiftly to ■ and fro they aimed and fired their long-barrelled guns. " Death to the infidels ! Slay jthe unbelievers !" they screamed. The storm of bullets pattered harmlessly against the rocks or whistled overhead, and from their cover the Englishmen at once poured a cool and fatal fire from their Winchesters. Cries of pain mingled with the vengeful yells. Here and there riderless horses galloped in affright, and limp Arabs sprawled on the sands they were staining with their life-blood. "Give it to them !" shouted Eric, as by a well-directed shot he 'wrought a dusky foenuin from the saddle. "Pick oft' the nearest ! They won't stand much more !" He kept on firing rapidly, as did his two companions. Behind them Phil was blazing away at such of the enemy as came within range of Jiis semi circular post of duty. The shouts and yells, the incessant crackling of Winchesters and long-bar-rolled guns, blended in one dcafeninv uproar. The fight was of short duration. Suddenly the Bedouins turned and rode away, 1 -awing eight of their number dead or dying on the ground. Th band vanished behind a rather high and long sandhill that lay thirty yards to the south-west. The four Englishmen, breathinghard, looked at one another. They were grimed with perspiration and powder smoke, but the light of hope was in their eyes. "They will be at us again," said Phil, as he reloaded his rifle ; "but another hot reception will settle them for good. Our horses and the camel are gone," he added, ruefully. "I hope they won't stray far." Sir .John was kne-.-ling by his still unconscious wife, and Eric turned to lioris, who blushed beneath his eloquent gaze. "Will there be another attack ?" she aske:l, with a brave smile. "I fear so," Eric replied, "but we shall beat them off again." " What can the fiends be up to now ?" doubtfully inquired Captain Brand. "They're keeping quiet over yonder, and* I'm thinking there's some mischief brewing" The sentence was smoth- :ed on his lips by a burst of shrill cries, and at the same instant the Bedouins poured out from behind Uie sandhill on foot. Forward t!. >y dashed fleetly in a mass, som- firing as they ran, and others b.-andishing long knives. "To your posts !" shotted Eric. "Quick .' The devils have left their horses under shelter and are going to rush us !" "It's a bad business !" cried Phil, as he dropped down between Sir j John and Captain Brant. j "Have courage !" Eric called to i Doris. "Don't fear, and crouch as low as you can." The girl's reply was inaudible, for the fire of the defenders had already opened.-. Kneeling behind the parapet, with their rifles and their eyes trained through the loopholes, the four Englishmen shot as rapidly and surely as they could. Crack— ! crack ! crack—crack ! One by one ' the dusky wretches dropped, but still the survivors surged on, inroolled hy a fanatical spirit of recklessness and ! hate. They reached the base iof the rocks, still nearly two-score strong. Then, their dark faces shining through the powder-smoke, they scrambled nimbly upward, uttering frenzied yells. The Winchesters blazed from the crevices, but the hot rain of bullets merely opened gaps in the climbing mass of the foe. Lady Copleston, rousing from her stupor, added hysterical screams to the din. "Fire—fire!" Eric shouted. "Rake; thorn down." * j "It's no use —we are lost !" cried j Sir John. . ■ ', As he spoke the foremost of the B douins—three savage-visaged fel- : lows armed with knives—made a j spring at Ihe rim of the parapet, j Captain Brand jumped to his feet with reversed rifle, but at once reeled back as a bullet fired from ! below struck his right arm. Up le.ipt Eric and Phil, heedless of the risk. With quick and swing- ! ing blows they hurled two of the j Arabs down among their comrades, causing some confusion and check.

The third was shot hy Sir John on the edge of the parapet, and with his de.tth-cry ringing on his lips the wretch tumbled into the crater. It was a critical moment, and the odds seemed all in favour of the Aral),s, who were mounting upward as riopgodly and furiously as ever. Captain Brand was hors de combat, but Sir John and Phil kept sending a steady but futile fire from the crevices. Eric, as he was about to shoot, felt a tug at his arm. He turned to sec Doris kneeling beside him. "Go back !" he implored her. "I will help you," she replied. "Women can be brave as well as men. Give me your revolver"—— "No ; you will expose yourself to danger," he cried ; " arid it is too late." There was agony in his voice, and the look in his eyes made the girl shudder. "Too late ?" she asked. "Do you mean it ?" Eric could only nod. He turned and /ired t\Vo shots into the climbing mass of savages. "You won't let me be taken alive?" ; The sweet, entreating voice was close to his ear. "I will shoot j'ou with my own h.attd," he promised, in a hoarse : whisper that "none other heard. "I) or is, my darling" Th'-ir eyes met ; her warm breath was on his cheeks, and he; saw the deep blush that crimsoned her face. "Eric," she whispered. ! .lust then there were two ringing shouts from Sir John and Phil, , and above the cracking of rifles the | clamour of the besiegers turned to a 1 shrill note of alarm. Eric looked eagerly through the crevice, and he ' could hardly credit what he saw. ! The Bedouins were scrambling down from the rocks and retreating in frantic haste towards their horses. A trumpet-blast rang on the air, and the Englishmen sprang to their ' feet in amazed joy. Behind them, ! over by the sandhills to the north.. the last rays of the sun shone on a thrilling sight—a little column of brightly-uniformed Spahis, a dozen strong, led by a French officer. "Saved !" cried Sir John. "Thank God for His wonderful mercy !" The rescued men could scarcely speak, and as they clasped hands tears stood in the eyes of some. Doris was kneeling by Lady CopleI ston, whispering words of cheer, and ! she studiously avoided Eric's glance. ! The soldiers of France spurred onj ward at a gallop with glittering rifles and sabres, but when they reaOied the rocks the tribesmen of Beni-hassan were already in the saddle and riding for life across the desert. The trumpet sounded the halt, for pursuit was useless. • * * * By sunrise on the following morning the camp at the oasis was astir and shortly afterwards the preparations for the day's march were completed. The stray horses and the camel had been found the previous evening, and the slight wounds sustained by Sir John and Captain Brand were doing well. Little mounds''of sand marked where the dead Bedouins lay. The Spahis, who belonged to an advanced French military Y>ost, and had chanced to be in the neighbourhood at the time of the rescue, were to accompany the baronet's parly as far as the railway terminus at Biscara. The destination of Eric and Phil lay off to the north-west, in a district that was considered safe for them to penetrate ' alone. They promised, if possible, to join the baronet later |at Algiers, and accompany him in his yacht to England. i The parting moment had come, and most of the farewells had been spoken in terms as warm and sincere |as was to be expected under the circmnst-mces. F.ric was leaningdown from his saddle to talk to Doris, who was mounted on a little Arab steed. The eyes of Sir John and Lady Copleston were fixed upon the two from a short distance. "Frankly," Eric was saying, " I doubt if we shall be able to join you in Algiers. I have promised to stick to Phil, and there is no telling how long his plans will keep him in the desert. But I will look forward to meeting you in England, noting with delight, the disappointment on the girl's lovely face. "Do you know London well ?" she asked. "I seldom go there," he replied. "I love sunnier climes. I am a sort of wanderer you see. My father lives in Jersey, and as he is devoted to his books and scientific studies he lets me roam where I please. I have no relatives and but few friends" "You have us," Doris said. "We are friends, I hope." "Of course ; and do you live in London ?" "Yes, with Lady Copleston. But I was not born in England, and some day my father" "They are waiting for us," Eric interrupted. "We are delaying them. The" time is short, and I have not say now what is in my heart. But I shall always bless the night we met in the desert, and when I come to London I —understand, Doris ? Do you dream what it is ?" The girl bravely lifted her face to his, suffused with blushes as it was, and what the man read in her eyes made his heart beat faster and wrecked his self-control. "Doris, my darling" he began. "Hush ! not now," she whispered. "I understand, Eric. You can ask me when we meet again. I will expect you in Algiers or in London." [ "Doris, we are. waiting," called Sir j John. "Come along, old chap," added Phil. Eric clasped her hands in silence —

he could not speak—and a moment later the two parties, large and small, were riding over the desert on diverging paths. With his eyes Eric followed the escort of Spahis until they reached the sandhills. Then, when Doris was swallowed from view, he choked down the lump in his throat, and set his face to the north-westward. And by-and-by he began to join in Phil's eager talk of the ruins they were seeking.

Three weeks later Sir John Oopleston's yacht left Algiers, and Eric and Phil were not on board. They were in a far-distant village of the Algerian desert where Eric was nursing his friend through a sharp attack of fever. Another month passed before they reached Algiers and started for England—a departure that was hastened for Eric by a certain telegram which he found

awaiting him. (To be Continued.)