O espouse two great causes of liberty, to see one of them triumphant beyond all measure, and to see the other trampled out beneath the feet of foreign soldiers and then reappear also triumphant, miraculously, was the lot of Poland's greatest patriot, Thaddeus Kosciuszko, whose name to-day is honored anew in both America and Poland. It means much to Americans that the first great cause, that of the struggle of the Colonies with Great Britain, was victorious, and it means much to Poles that Kosciuszko gave his blood and strength to the Polish cause in the last decade of the eighteenth century, for it was the spiritual awakening of the Polish people in that period that led directly to the vitality of the national consciousness that exists in Poland to-day, even after one hundred and fifty years of national enslavement.

The American Revolution in the eighteenth century was the first world gesture of democracy on the part of a whole people. It set aflame the hearts of all lovers of liberty throughout the world, with the result that many idealists braved the perils of travel and war to help set up a banner of freedom on our shores. It was so with Kosciuszko, the Pole, when he saw his own country overwhelmed and divided by enemies; and when, a fugitive in search of a nation and a cause, he crossed Europe, borrowed money for a journey across the Atlantic, and offered his sword and services to Washington only six weeks after the Declaration of Independence had been signed. Washington, not knowing the valorous youth, asked him, according to writings of the time, "What can you do?" "Try me. I am willing to do anything," was the reply.

For six years he labored in the American Army, and as a colonel of engineers he selected and built the fortifications at Bemis's Bemis's Heights, Saratoga, which made the American position impregnable, and contributed to this victory which brought America her first national recognition. He fortified the Highlands of the Hudson at West Point, thereby holding the British army to its posts near the city, and in later years recommended

the foundation of a military academy there, which Thomas Jefferson, then president, proceeded to build. The West Point statue bears honor to the plan. His work at Yorktown and at Greenwood, South Carolina, materially aided the military efforts of the colonists.

Lafayette's memory has remained with us more strongly than that of Kosciuszko, perhaps, because there has always been a French nation to share the pride with us. But in the case of Kosciuszko, there has not been until recently, a Polish nation in name, to make the sharing of this honor reciprocal. Now, however, after one hundred and fifty years, both the new nation of Poland, and the United States, for the establishment of which the Polish patriot played such a great part, are paying belated honors. Last year was the one hundred and fiftieth since Kosciuszko came here, and the anniversary found much interchange of sentiment: American societies sent earth from American battle-fields, to be mingled with earth from Polish battle-fields in the great Kosciuszko Mound which towers several hundred feet above the city of Krakow in Poland; a statue to Kosciuszko has been only recently dedicated on Boston Common; but the most country-wide memorial to the great leader is one now in process of construction, a memorial that would have pleased him better than statues or parades.

The memorial is the "Kosciuszko Foundation," in which prominent scholars and business men of America have coöperated with Polish scholars and business men to bring Polish students to study in American high schools and colleges; and in like fashion, to send American students to Poland, in order that the young people of both countries may know and understand each other. There is a tremendous similarity between the spirit of Polish youth and American youth, and of the two dozen or more Polish students brought to America, the majority have gone back to Poland to explain American civilization. It may seem curious on this side of the Atlantic to realize that American civilization and culture need explaining, but it is true that international misunderstandings have always existed among the most friendly of nations. But when young

men and women meet in class-rooms and club-rooms for the discussion of the respective cultures of their various nations, it is not a hard matter for them to reach a common basis of understanding and agreement. The Foundation has also sent American teachers abroad, and lectures on American subjects have been given. in Polish universities. At the six great universities of Poland, Krakow, Warsaw, Wilno, Lwow, Poznan, and Lublin,-lectures have been given on American literature, history, business, contemporary thought, and economic conditions. The Foundation marks a definite movement to extend American culture and its aims into the eastern part of Europe.

On the other hand, American students have come back amazed by the extent of Polish culture. In the Dark Ages and in medieval times, there existed in Poland a culture and a degree of learning and scientific investigation that was not excelled elsewhere in Europe. Krakow was the fifth university in Central Europe; it grew out of the scholasticism of the older church schools, and it gave the medieval world poets, historians, and astronomers among them Copernicus, the student who changed the thought of the world by his discoveries and his book "The Revolution of the Heavenly Bodies." Much of this work has not been translated, and in the library files of those old cities are many treasured manuscripts that will see light, before many years, in English translations. Polish idealism is enormous; the enthusiasms of the students are greater than most of our own. One can come back from Poland with a new desire to appreciate and understand the rich culture which has been storing up for us through all these centuries.

Behind this Kosciuszko Foundation is an American of Polish birth, Professor Stephen P. Mizwa of Drake University, who exemplifies the spirit of the Foundation. He came to America from Poland while young, and through his own efforts put himself through school and Amherst College where he came under the influence of President Meiklejohn. He was at Harvard completing work for his doctor's degree, when the members of the Foundation, of which President MacCracken, of Vassar, is head, urged that he give his whole

"THA

HAT'S a bum order! I'm not going to break my back the first crack out of the box." Jim Turner continued to examine the order from headquarters posted on the wall of the outer office.

"Read it, so a fellow can take in all its fine points," drawled Jack Marken, stretching his full length on the rough bench and lighting his pipe. "I'm for using these college-bred brains to conquer material difficulties."

"The way you did not your exams, eh?" laughed Carl Black, poking him in the ribs as he went over to look at the order.

"Look out there, Blackie, you may get another biff on the nose!" Jack cautioned, straightening out his leg after the poke. "You know college exams and real life are different propositions but read that thing again, Jim.”

Jim read: "Examine every inch of both sides of the rails of the whole division. Numerous reports of cracked rails. Signed: Brown, Superintendent."

"That means that we are to get down on our marrow-bones and look under the rails on both sides, and on both tracks what slush!" Jim's tone was full of disgust. "Let Mort Nosmun do that kind of work; he hasn't four years of college grind to waste."

"No, but I'll bet he finds some way out of it," mused Jack between puffs of smoke that covered him like a veil. "I say we've got to hustle to keep up with Mort."

These three men were three months out of college. They came to the employ of the M. P. R. R. together. Each in his own way had a sneaking notion that a college degree would carry weight, and each in his own way was discovering that not the degree but the man behind the degree, was the thing that counted.

Superintendent Brown was watching these college men with a great deal of interest. He believed in college training, but he also believed that trained common sense ought to be one of the requisites of a college degree. He knew that there was a feeling of superiority among the fellows because of their college training, and also that it rankled them that Mort Nosmun, with only a high-school diploma, could down them in thinking out ways and means. True, Mort had not always shown the proper respect due them as "grads," but then it

rankled Mort too, that he had not had their training and possibly that made his wits the keener.

The next morning at seven o'clock sharp, Jim Turner, Jack Marken, Carl Black, and Mort Nosmun met at the crossing with four helpers. They were to separate and each couple examine a specified length of track and report to headquarters.

"You see," said Mort, pointing to the under side of a steel rail, "the crack comes in the web between the head and the base. If a number of rails should split, the mischief's to pay. I've seen this thing happen before."

"If you're so familiar with the trouble you better do the examining. You're used to stooping over work, and I'm not." Turner said this pleasantly enough, but it had a sting that sent the blood to Mort's face.

"It might sharpen your wits if the blood got in your head once," Mort retorted.

"Come, fellows," drawled Jack, "there's no time for sparring. It won't hurt any of us to do a little thinking for ourselves. My section is down the road, so here goes." He swung himself on the hand-car and was off with his helper.

All day long the four sections worked their way over the track; sometimes the men would sit on the ties and lean over to look under the rail; again they'd stoop over and look under; and again kneel down and look; but always there came the same backbreaking and head-swimming sensation that follows any constant reversion of man's naturally erect posture. At the end of the day scarcely a mile of track apiece had been covered by the four couples.

"I don't care if I lose my job, I'm not going to do another day's work of that kind," announced Jim Turner, as they came together in the evening. "It's outrageous to ask us to do such work."

"But how are the broken rails to be found?" Carl asked, "I don't like breaking my back either, but I can't afford to give up my job."

"Tear out the whole track and put in new rails; that's cheaper than our backs!" snarled Jim.

"Is it?" drawled Jack. "I don't suppose Superintendent Brown is thinking of our backs; he's more likely laughing up his sleeve that our college training hasn't given us ideas."

"Ideas! I'd like to know how any

one can see the under side of a rail without standing on his head. I tell you; let Mort Nosmun stand on his head, it won't hurt him." Jim flung out of the room, but not too soon to hear Marken drawl lazily,

"Mark my word, Mort Nosmun will find a way out."

All day long that sentence, "Let Mort Nosmun do that kind of work, he hasn't four years of college grind to waste," had rankled with Mort. It really was only half his fault that he hadn't had a college training. If his parents had carried the point that college training was better than fifty dollars a month when he was seventeen, it might have been different. Again and again he would cry out to himself:

"Why didn't Dad use his authority and make me go to college. What'd I know about what I should do?" Then his head would hang in shame when he remembered his rebellion at school restraints. Never had he felt so keenly his lack of mental training than since the three college men were added to the force, and yet he was conscious, deep down in his heart, that they were not his match in common sense. This thought spurred him to greater efforts in self-improvement.

As the day wore away and Mort Nosmun's back began to ache too, he thought less of his associates and more about an easier way to examine the rails. After an unusually long stoop inspecting an ugly crack, he straightened up and throwing out his long muscular legs and arms, gave a wild whoop of relief.

"What yer foun'?" asked Jake, the big negro, who was always his helper on these inspecting trips. "What's yer foun' now, boss?"

"You see that piece of glass?" asked Nosmun, pointing to a shining surface beneath the rail, "Can you see anything in it?" Jake bent his huge body and peered into the glass.

"Golly!" he exclaimed, "look at dat crack! A crack lik dat would send the train to kingdum cum!"

Nosmun let out another whoop. Even Jake had seen the crack clearly. He settled again to work, but with a new gleam in his eyes.

"Let me see that mirror, please," said Mort, as he stood at the counter of toilet articles in the general store, that same evening. "Yes, the square one with the heavy wire standard, (Continued on page 337)

T

CHAPTER II

THE MASKED DEATH

HERE was another long pause, and Big Jim Donegan's face began to grow redder and redder as it always did when he was planning some big deal. For a moment he looked sheepishly from one to the other of his guests and found on each face a certain expectation.

"Yes, boys, I'm just old fool enough to fall for this story," he burst out. "Dawson has nothing to gain by lying to us, and I really believe that he has run across the secret of the Snake-Blood Ruby. All of you fellows have risked your lives for me more than once," he went on, "and if you want another adventure, the most dangerous of all, I'll finance it and make your fortunes if you bring back the Ruby."

"Where do I come in?" snarled Scar Dawson.

"You don't come in. You stay out," retorted Big Jim decisively. "You are to let these boys copy this map off your hide, give them all the dope you have on the Ruby and the password that will take them through the tribes. Then if they get the Ruby, then and not until then, will you get the money I promised."

map appearing on the outlaw's arm.

As he folded it up, Scar Dawson fumbled in an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a withered, yellow object, which when examined closely turned out to be a human hand cut off at the wrist, shriveled and dried and yellow as old parchment. The fingers were half closed, and long and slim, and on the bent thumb gleamed a ring, set with a strange tawny stone on which was engraved deeply a swastika, that symbol of fortune the world over.

"There's your passport through the Libyan Desert," declared the outlaw, handing the relic to the lumber-king, who received it gingerly.

"That's the hand of old

Jalo, who discovered the Lost Oasis," he continued. "He noticed that a crow flew every day across the desert in a certain direction in the early morning and returned from the same point in the sky in the evening. Following the line of his flight for two days and a night, he found the Oasis of Kufara and when he died was buried there. The sheik who knows the secret of the Ruby is his last direct descendant. It was he who gave me the Hand. Every Taureg in the desert for two thousand miles around knows and respects it."

"It's a hard bargain," said the outlaw hoarsely, "but I'll take it."

"Of course you'll take it," sneered Big Jim. "You can't do anything else. The question is whether this crowd is willing to risk their lives on such an off chance. What do you say?" he went on, turning to the boys first of all.

The giant outlaw had listened to the conversation with a smile of contempt on his scarred face. As Captain Vincton finished speaking, he sat down coolly in one of the vacant chairs and rested his huge bare arm on the white table-cloth.

"Same here," said Fred, while Joe simply nodded his head in the taciturn way which was habitual with him.

"I suppose I'll have to go to take care of them," chimed in Jud, whom no inducement would have kept at home.

"I'll go on the tiger-hunt anyway," said Captain Vincton.

"I may obtain some unusual specimans of reptile life in the Libyan Desert-and you may count me in," said Professor Ditson.

Now if there's any one here with brains enough to copy this map, let him go to it. I want to get away before you double-cross me and send for the sheriff."

In spite of the pineapple insult, the lumber-king could not help laughing at the man's audacity.

"You're a bad actor, Dawson, but a cool one," he said at last. "You'll get yours some day. Until then, if you keep your side of the bargain you can go free so far as I'm concerned."

Fifteen minutes later Fred had finished a careful pencil drawing of the

There was a long silence broken again by the grating voice of the outlaw.

"I'll be leavin' now," he remarked. "A year from to-night I'll be back for my share of the Snake-Blood Rubyif you get it. Now, Jim Donegan," he continued, turning to the lumberking, "I've done my part. I've risked my life comin' here and my reputation associatin' a whole evenin' with this bunch of bad characters. I've told you all I know and given you my map and the Hand. Now I want a thousand dollars on account, to carry me along until these kids come back. Probably they won't have the sand to get the Ruby, and if they do, you may be dead or decide to hold out on me. So come across on account now, so's I can be sure of gettin' somethin'."

Jud gave a scornful snort; Professor

Ditson smiled sourly; Captain Vincton shook his head; and the boys scowled at the outlaw.

Scar Dawson, however, knew his man. Big Jim loved a fighter, and in spite of Scar's reputation no one had ever accused him of being a coward or a quitter.

"I don't trust you for a minute, Dawson," he said with a grim smile. "You may be putting up some game on me and may still be planning to get that Ruby for yourself."

"Talk sense," sneered the outlaw. "If I could have got that stone myself you never would have heard of it. The Old Man has sworn on the hand of Jalo to give the SnakeBlood Ruby to the one who will bring him the pelt and lucky bone of a white tiger. No sheik of the Lost Oasis has ever broken that oath. I want to lay low in a soft place I know of, and I need the thousand to carry me over the year. Come across."

Mr. Donegan stared long at the scarred face before him, but Dawson met his gaze without flinching. Suddenly the old man pulled out a great roll of bills which he always carried, and peeling off a yellow one marked with a great "M," he handed it to the outlaw.

"Take it," he said, "and try to keep straight. If you have told the truth come back a year from to-night; if not, keep out of my way for the rest of your life."

Dawson took the money without a word of thanks, grinned mockingly at the group, and went out.

"Whatever did you do that for, Bill?" questioned Jud as the door closed behind the outlaw. "The whole story may be made up."

and so I think I'll trust himat least for a thousand."

A

MONTH after the memorable dinner of the Red Diamond, word was brought to the Sultan of Jahore in that southern point of Asia known as the Malay Peninsula, that a party of Europeans wished to have audience with him. His fat, imperturbable prime minister, Dato Muntree, who had served his father before him, brought the news.

The sultan was a young man with a quick temper and a headstrong disposition.

"Why should I take up my time with these unbelievers when on this very morning, as thou knowest, I had planned to try out my new huntingleopard?" he he asked impatiently. "Thou art a foolish old man, Dato, to let these strangers annoy me."

"Quite so, O heaven-born," responded the old man evenly. "It