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Wings of the Wind   By: (1874-1956)

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Transcriber's Note:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation and variations in spelling have been retained as in the original.

WINGS OF THE WIND

BY

CREDO HARRIS

Author of "TOBY," "SUNLIGHT PATCH," "WHERE THE SOULS OF MEN ARE CALLING," ETC.

BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1920 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY (INCORPORATED)

TO S. THRUSTON BALLARD WITH WHOM THE AUTHOR HAS SHARED MANY A PLEASANT CAMP FIRE THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. "TO ADVENTURE AND ROMANCE!" 9

II. THE MYSTERIOUS MONSIEUR 16

III. THE GIRL IN THE CAFÉ 29

IV. NIRVANA 43

V. "TO THE VERY END!" 54

VI. A VOICE FROM THE WATER 70

VII. A BOMB AND A DISCOVERY 80

VIII. THE CHASE BEGINS 94

IX. A SHOT FROM THE DARK 104

X. A SILENT ENEMY 117

XI. A STRANGE FIND 129

XII. THE HURRICANE 140

XIII. ON TO DEATH RIVER! 153

XIV. SMILAX BRINGS NEWS 161

XV. EFAW KOTEE'S DEN 174

XVI. THE CAVE MAN SETS FORTH 190

XVII. THE RESCUE 202

XVIII. DOLORIA 212

XIX. ENLIGHTENING A PRINCESS 228

XX. SLEEPING BENEATH GOD'S TENT 238

XXI. PLANTING A MEMORY 249

XXII. I LOVE YOU 266

XXIII. THE ATTACK 275

XXIV. GERMAN CRUELTY 289

XXV. A FLYING THRONE 304

XXVI. A TREASURE BOX 319

XXVII. THE FINAL HOCUS POCUS 330

WINGS OF THE WIND

CHAPTER I

"TO ADVENTURE AND ROMANCE!"

At last out of khaki, and dressed in conventional evening clothes, I felt as if I were indeed writing the first words of another story on the unmarred page of the incoming year. As I entered the library my mother, forgetting that it was I who owed her deference, came forward with outstretched arms and a sound in her voice like that of doves at nesting time. Dad's welcome was heartier, even though his eyes were dimmed with happy tears. And old Bilkins, our solemn, irreproachable butler, grinned benignly as he stood waiting to announce dinner. What a wealth of affection I had to be grateful for!

I did not lack gratitude, but with the old year touching the heels of the new, and Time commanding me to get in step, my return to civil life held few inducements. Instead of a superabundance of cheer, I had brought from France jumpy nerves and a body lean with over training natural results of physical exhaustion coupled with the mental reaction that must inevitably follow a year and a half of highly imaginative living.

But there was another aspect less tangible, perhaps more permanent and all members of combat divisions will understand exactly what I mean. When America picked up the gauntlet, an active conscience jerked me from a tuneful life and drove me out to war for whether men are driven by conscience, or a government draft board, makes no difference in the effect upon those who come through. Time after time, for eighteen months, I made my regular trips into hell into a hell more revolting than mid Victorian evangelists ever pictured to spellbound, quaking sinners. Never in this world had there been a parallel to the naked dangers and nauseous discomforts of that western front; never so prolonged an agony of head splitting noises, lacerations of human flesh, smells that turned the body sick, blasphemies that made the soul grow hard, frenzied efforts to kill, and above all a spirit, fanatical, that urged each man to bear more, kill more, because he was a Crusader for the right... Continue reading book >>




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