IUnder the Sword of Damocles[9]
IIIn Days of Innocence[24]
IIIThrough Mists of the Sea[31]
IVGraves Gave up Their Dead[41]
VFairest Flower of the Cordilleras[50]
VIA Humiliating Incident[56]
VIIIn the Throes of Revolution[64]
VIIIViva Generalissimo Pierola[72]
IXAmid the Din of Battle[80]
XWe Meet Again, Felicita[90]
XIThe Masque Ball at Tiravaya[98]
XIICowardly Act of a Villain[107]
XIIIMurderous Plan of the Insurgents[115]
XIVFor the Sake of Humanity[125]
XVIn Desperate Struggle for Life[135]
XVIThe Screaming Winds of Night[143]
XVIIThe Barbarian Meets His Ingomar[151]
XVIIIOn Sunny Seas Bound North[159]
XIXDeath Ships of the Sea[167]
XXA Daughter of the Cherokees[176]
XXICarson’s Blank Pages in Life[185]
XXIIA Voice from Centuries Past[195]
XXIIIThe Two Old Black Crows[205]
XXIVThe Reckless Hand of Fate[214]
XXVCords of Love Are Strong[223]
XXVIWhen the Death Gloom Gathers[231]
XXVIIA Night of Tragedies[240]
XXVIIIFrom out the Shadowy Past[249]

9

Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew

I.

UNDER THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

We built our cabin high on the slopes of the Sangre de Christo range, overlooking the broad, level San Luis Valley, in Colorado. At the rear of the cabin rose a towering cliff or rather a huge slab of rock standing edgewise more than two hundred feet high, apparently the upheaval of some mighty convulsion of nature in ages gone. Near the base of this cliff flowed a clear crystal spring.

Some hundred yards west of the cabin was the mouth of a tunnel into which we had drifted with pick, shovel and giant powder, a distance of 300 feet in five months of hard toil. A trail led from the 10 tunnel to the cabin along the mountain side, which was thickly studded with tall pines. Another trail led down the mountain slopes in a winding way to the valley, almost a mile below. Above, reaching far into the blue dome of the sky, rose the peaks of the snow-capped Sangre de Christo, glistening in the morning sunlight, which threw gaunt, fantastic shadows in cañon and deep ravine.