Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

A Ledge of Safety three more lying under the guns. Against one of them a wounded man leaned wearily. Rifles cracked from windows everywhere, and two platoons of soldiers were firing at will. Most of this fire was concentrated upon the house where lived the Americans, whose rifles now began to reply with deadly effect. For these people did not miss, as their opponents generally did, and besides, they were sheltered by stone walls. Even Stowell, his legal training utterly lost among prim- itive passions, was fighting like the rest— and shooting as straight as anybody. ‘They didn’t tell ‘us to open the door; they just fired at us,’’ was the excuse he afterward offered for this unwonted con- duct. ‘‘There’s absolutely no legal warrant for that. I wish there was a United States consul here.” But there was no consul. And what was more to the point, an artilleryman, who, with the rest, had been driven from his post by the concentrated fire, sprang forward, pulled the lanyard of a gun, which already had been loaded and laid, then escaped to shelter before a bullet could find him. Screaming across the little park, the shell struck the great doors and exploded, shat- tering one of them and driving both inward. There was a yell of triumph. Infantry officers shricked commands. Some of them fell with these commands hardly spoken. But others took their places. Bayonets flashed and rattled as they were snapped in position, and with shouts of self-encourage- ment the infantry charged. Mr. Grey spoke a few hurried words in the ear of General Torrenegro, who nodded emphatic assent. Then the old man turned to Helen, who, having recovered from her swoon, was standing near. “Run up those staiahs, honey, an’ out 0’ the way,” said he gently, and as the girl obeyed, he spoke to the three young men. “We got tuh hol’ these doahs. Stop firin’ from the windahs now. ‘The othah houses will ’tend to that paht o’ the show; they crackle now, ’most eve’y one, like a cat’s back rubbed the wrong way. Gene’al Torrenegro suah mus’ have a lot o’ frien’s in this town, an’ a lot moah outside of it. This is the bes’ place fo’ us tuh take the rush, boys. It’s goin’ tuh be like ol’ times. Stan’ steady—heah, it comes!”’ Thoroughly in his element now, talking easily, with a grim smile of pleasurable an- ticipation on his face, the old man mar- 975 shaled the three younger ones into line at the foot of the stairs. As he finished speak- ing, the portal darkened with a rush of men, each straining and eager first to reach the little party that stood waiting for them. ‘Now, then—steady!”’ warned Mr. Grey. “Tiral” added General Torrenegro in- stantly. Four rifles crashed as one. The terrible six-guns of the old frontiersman blazed with two practically continuous streams of fire. The front of the enemy crumpled, but, trampling the fallen under their feet, the survivors still came on. Jack’s rifle was empty, so, clutching it by the barrel, he swung it back over his shoul- der to strike at the head of a man who was about to thrust with a bayonet. The head vanished, but whether he had hit it or not Jack did not know—nor did he much care. Something had gone very wrong with him— in a languid sort of way he realized that. With mild surprise he found that he was lying on the floor raised on one elbow, while with the other hand he tried his best to empty his automatic pistol among the on- rushing crowd. But the work was too hard. Really, he couldn’t see that it paid. All he wanted was to rest—rest forever. The faces of the enemy blurred and became blended in an indistinguishable mass. From outside he thought he heard cheers and also yells of consternation, but was not sure. It didn’t matter, anyway. Then he sank gently back for his coveted rest, and with it, for the time, came oblivion. pase A STINGING pain aroused him, ¢seg and as it did so, he heard the voice ~ Of old Mr. Grey, speaking in Spanish. ‘The chief surgeon, Colonel de la Vega, said that the bullet has touched no vital part,’”’ Mr. Grey was saying. ‘He has lost much blood, but, young and strong as he is, he will soon recover.”’ It was General Torrenegro who replied. “God be thanked!”’ he said fervently. “What has happened?” asked Jack, in a faint voice which, as it seemed to him, was the property of somebody else. “Hush,” replied the General. “The sur- geons say that you are not to talk.” “But I want to know,” he protested quer- ulously. ‘‘Where’s Peralta—and Borja?” “Dead, both of them—they died against the churchyard wall. I could not prevent Comicbook CO