Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

66 had lain hidden. Scarce had the portcullis been lifted clear when their onrush struck the ponderous wagon with irresistible force and drove it straight on through. It scattered Geoffrey’s band to right and left, rolled into the courtyard at the head of a shouting throng, swung broadside to and tipped over on its back with all four wheels in the air. Dammed up behind this ob- stacle, the newcomers scrambled on top of it or spread out on either side. Thus confronted, Umfraville — briskly brought his column into line. He roared along their front, bidding them strike hard and roll the rabble before them. The line stirred, rippled, moved forward. es) the drawbridge clanged with the hoofs of many riders. Up from the village, over bridge, through the open gate poured a troop of mailed and mounted Nor- mans, riding as only veterans can. Before them bounded a mighty charger, backed by an enormous figure of a man. His battle- cry pealed back from wall to wall: “Gislac! Gislac!”’ To avoid riding down their Saxon allies or crashing into the overturned wain, the head of the charging column turned smartly to the right and began a circuit of the whole great courtyard. Around the square they thundered, encircling the deserted donjon and bearing down on the garrison’s rear, two score trained horsemen beneath a blue banner that bore an eagle on a golden tower. Not another blow was struck, for none was needed. At their leader’s cry those in Umfraville’s rank who had served Gis- lac in the old days broke from the line, shouting with eager joy: “Gislac! Gislac! St. Mary for High Tower!” Sir Giles threw down his helmet, and his proud face wore a smile of triumph. Girt in between forty horsemen and the multitude of peasants, deserted by their own best fighting men, Umfraville’s ranks broke up and melted away. The thirty-odd ruffians left to him slunk within the depths of the castle or flung down their spears. Left alone, the Blue Boar waited not on the victor’s pleasure. He fled across the court in great bounds, Geoffrey at his heels with thirsty sword. A hair’s breadth be- fore its point Umfraville and three others reached the door of the donjon-keep in time BUT before they could gather way, Adventure to slam it and bar it in the faces of his foes. “An ax!” shouted Geoffrey, and Witta’s massive blade smote deep into the wood. Four peasants bore the tongue of the up-tilted wagon at top speed and drove it smashing against the timbers. Ax and ram were plying in busy din when a trumpet sounded a parley from above. At Geoffrey’s order the attack ceased. Together with Sir Giles he stepped back within view of the battlements. Umfraville’s angry face looked own upon them. “Hold your hand, Gislac!’? he shouted warningly. ‘Your daughter is in my hands!”’ ‘And you in ours!” Gislac retorted. ‘‘Be prudent, Umfraville. Here stands a young hot-spur whose blade lusts for your life.” The Blue Boar grinned wryly. “You have won the bailey but not the keep,” he reminded them. ‘Hold back your men, as you love your daughter’s life. Begone while you may, ere de Born and Monrepaire come down upon you.” A great roar of derisive laughter went up from the men in the courtyard. ‘“‘To me, Raimond!”’ Sir Giles shouted. A Norman spearman clattered up and at a word from his master drew forth from his saddle-bag a touzled square of cloth. Slowly with arrogant pride he unfolded it, shook it out and handed it to Gislac. The baron flung it wide. It was a banner—a tower, sable, on a silver field. Umfraville gasped his consternation. “The Reiver’s banner!”’ Sir Giles exulted. ‘Aye, look well, Blue Boar. Monrepaire and de Born lie dead in the Murkwood with most of their men to bear them silent com- pany. Inone day we overthrow them; none but Black John, Sir Richard’s captain, won through us all, though sore wounded. “For a day he held the castle against us, till Father Ambrose, the Reiver’s evil- hearted chaplain, lost heart and persuaded the few defenders to open the gates. Even as we entered, Black John stabbed the priest and slew himself. It will be well for you to yield, since resistance must end in death.” As he spoke, Bermond plucked at his arm and whispered in his ear. As Gislac listened, his eyes gleamed. “This man has spoken a good word for you,” he resumed. ‘He says that you have treated my daughter kindly, with all honor. COmiclbook CO