of
the very first column, were these headlines:

JUAN DICAMPA CAPTURED

THE ZAPATIST CHIEFTAIN CAPTURED BY
FEDERALS WITH 500 OF HIS FORCE AND
IMMEDIATELY SHOT. MASSACRE
OF HIS FOLLOWERS.

CHAPTER XXII

DEEP WATERS

The dispatch in the New York paper was dated from a Texan city on the
day before. It was brief, but seemed of enough importance to have the
place of honor on the front page of the great daily.

There were all the details of a night advance, a bloody attack and a
fearful repulse in which General Juan Dicampa's force had been nearly
wiped out.

The half thousand captured with the famous guerrilla chief were
reported to have been hacked to pieces when they cried for quarter, and
Juan Dicampa himself was given the usual short shrift connected in most
people's minds with Mexican justice. He had been shot three hours
after his capture.

It was an awful thing--and awful to read about. The whole affair had
happened a long way from that part of Chihuahua in which daddy's mine
was situated; but Janice immediately realized that the "long arm" of
Dicampa could no longer keep Mr. Broxton Day from disaster, or punish
those who offended the American mining man.

The very worst that could possibly happen to her father, Janice
thought, had perhaps already happened.

That was a very sorrowful evening indeed at the old Day house on
Hillside Avenue. Although Mr. Jason Day and Janice's father were half
brothers only, the elder man had in his heart a deep and tender love
for Broxton, or "Brocky," as he called him.

He remembered Brocky as a lad--always. He felt the superiority of his
years--and presumably his wisdom--over the younger man. Despite the
fact that Mr. Broxton Day had early gone away from Polktown, and had
been deemed very successful in point of wealth in the Middle West,
Uncle Jason considered him still a boy, and his ventures in business
and in mining as a species of "wild oat sowing," of which he could
scarcely approve.

"No," he sighed. "If Brocky had been more settled he'd ha' been better
off--I snum he would! A piece o' land right here back o' Polktown--or
a venture in a store, if so be he must trade--would ha' been safer for
him than a slather o' mines down there among them Mexicaners."

"Don't talk so--don't talk so, Jason!" sniffed Aunt Almira.

"Wal--it's a fac'," her husband said vigorously. "There may be some
danger attached ter store keepin' in Polktown; it'