Adventure Magazine Cover — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

oie ly ted? Le SF, LY RFPs Fae TU BUR AS 7 a y )* ade 2 ‘ar Gayot Ce he ual LSD " Leen i Ware ey ‘that f frog who sells costumes, and give me the rue and the price, I'll get them for you _ while seeing ‘the dump, and it won’t be no extra trouble.”’ “You'll go A. = O. L.?” asked the actors. sD. Q.” “O. K.,” said the actors joyfully. “You'll be out o” luck if Lynch’s M. P.’s get you, but if you can’t do it, nobody can. Give the Merchant the money.” “And [ll cover you while you’re gone,” said the platoon sergeant. ‘Get back here with those costumes in a week and your time’s your own from then till we hit the boat!” Within the hour the Merchant had struck into the fine white road that led to Toxerre and then to Paris, with Kamerad marching at his heels, his tail in his mouth. He bore neither pack nor rifle, so that wherever he went he’d look as if he belonged in that district; this was for the benefit of the M. P.’s, who would have picked him up like a flash if they thought he looked like a straggler. At the time there were thousands of doughboys roving about who had no more license than had the Merchant for leaving their outfits, and the man whose pass and papers were not in apple-pie order soon found himself under arrest. Gone were the good old days when a doughboy went where he would and did as he pleased, so long as he kept within earshot of the growl-of the war. No more were mopes sent to replace- ment camps whence they went in time to outfits better than their own; now the prison farms and labor battalions gathered them in. It was twenty kilometers to Toxerre, and that’s a long walk for a short man and a busy dog. And Toxerre: was the head- quarters of the terrible provost marshal. There he maintained his bull-pen, a large stockade quite filled with downcast dough- boys who had been bagged by the provost’s men. The Merchant saw the red roofs of the town in the distance as the sun was go- ing down behind them. He looked about - him for shelter for the night, as he dared not enter the town. But there was not a house nor shed near- by, nor nearer than Toxerre, as far as he could see, for the way they manage in _~ France no houses are built in the country at _ all; the French all live in towns, going forth Sack ch day to ‘till their mad ant rehiming? Ps before dark. So the Merchant and Kame- rad struck into a little road leading away at right angles and continued in it, watching about them. Twilight was coming and they found themselves in the midst of a thick woods. There seemed no end to it, and at last they stepped aside and cast about fora length of dry ground on which to lie down for the night. Goh THEY had not followed a little path far into.the forest when sud- . ' denly a fine horse, fit for a general to ride on, came clattering by, all saddled and bridled, and away he tore down the road. Then they heard groans and curses that made Kamerad’s hair stand up along his back. The travelers stopped in their tracks. They looked about and there sat a big man in a thorn-bush. “Come here!” cried the man in the thorns on espying Kamerad and the Merchant. “Don’t stand there catching flies with your mouth, you fool. Pull me out of this and be quick, and be to you!” The man had on fine leather puttees and moleskin breeches, and some kind of insignia shone on his shoulders. The Merchant saw that he was an American officer. “Did I put you there?” asked the Mer- chant, approaching. ‘“‘Spéak more polite when you’re asking a favor.” “Do you know who I am, you scut?” snarled the man in the bush. “We don’t care for the acquaintance,” said the Merchant with rising temper. “Don’t be so familiar.” But he was looking keenly at the officer the while, and now he had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop a yelp of recognition. The man was fat and pale, with bulging black eyes, angry and red-rimmed, and bristling mustaches and thick red lips that thrust out in a pout. Such a man you’d have glanced at in passing and dismissed from your mind with the thought that he was a good-natured fellow, a good liver and a man to let live; you’d have made a woful mistake. He was a cold-hearted martinet who had taken a thankless job because it was safe, and, after the fighting was done and the last poor devil of a doughboy had heard the crack of doom over his frail tin hat, this man had kept the ich for love. na ee = s ing - a ee bet. =o : “, eee a5 , ee a Becomicbook S46