Adventure, December 1914 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

The Lancing Dick was, there was never any doubt about men’s sentiment; it was only where his voice did not reach and he was not visible that they thought of disobedience. ‘“‘In the name of Allah, the Compassion- ate, I guarantee another victory!” roared Usbeg Ali, careless of promises, so that the moment was his own. “There will be an- other, greater battle, and plunder that sur- passes yonder at the rate of ten to one! Gather up the wounded! Gather up the dead! Follow Dee-k-Anthonee! Back to the hills now, where new plans are cooking! Forward! March!” There was still a little murmuring. From the first, these had been haJf-hearted men; these were they who had lagged on the long march down from the mountain- top, and had followed Dick’s swift-moving force more with a view to picking up the jettison, that an army in a hurry always scatters in its wake, than because they had much stomach for campaigning in his strenuous way. It had suited Dick to confirm his judgment of Usbeg Ali Khan by trusting him to get these laggards mov- ing; also, it had suited him to lead away his best men first, and save them from contami- nation; but to the left-behind it looked as if he had bade them follow because he knew he could not make them lead. “Loot!” yelled a tattered rifleman. us loot the city and then follow!” But a kick from Usbeg Ali’s toe rooted the man’s front teeth out, and his wheeling charger sent the fellow stumbling from the ranks. ‘“Where are my own men? men?” thundered Usbeg Ali. All the captains of companies, and their subordinates, were his. Either they were Afghans who had followed him through Asia, from personal regard and hope of fighting, or they were Persians whom he had promoted, and who therefore honored him. They were lustful for loot as he, or any- body, but the contagion of his soldier- spirit seized them, and they served him now almost before the challenge left his lips. They sprang into life and spurred along the line, upbraiding — shouting — swearing — promising—encouraging — praising—calling down God’s judgment on all unbelievers. In five minutes more the dead and wounded had been gathered up; the line was in fours, and moving. “Sons of unbelieving mothers!” Usbeg & “Let Who are my ot the Whale 05 Ali roared at them. ‘‘Gentiles! See—ye offspring of deserting Cossacks, without any honor, and devoid of sense of shame! Yonder, in front of us march Persians— true Persians!” He pointed to where the sunrays lit on Andry Macdougal’s machine-gun—brighter now than ever it had been before the Cos- sacks lost it. He pointed to where Russian wagons trailed, loaded with Russian ammu- nition, headed for the hills and rear-guarded by Dick’s horsemen. “Yonder march true-believers! Yonder go the men whom Dee-k-Anthonee has chosen for his own! Would ye stay be- hind, like little dirty jackals whimpering around the city dunghills? Even the Cossacks have a little honor! Have ye none?” Shame seized them. They began to march with a will, in silent earnest. They began to try to prove themselves as good or better than the men ahead, and no whit behind them in their loyalty to Dick. They began to overtake the column; and soon Dick Anthony saw fit to notice them. He sent a messenger to Usbeg Ali and, aloud, the horseman shouted a demand for more speed; but under his breath he assured the Afghan he might take his time. “Dee-k-Anthonee says, ‘Flatter them!’ He needs them fit and willing for a certain service!’ the man whispered. So, gradually Usbeg Ali changed his tone, and with a soldier’s tongue, that can be far more cunning than a courtier’s in its own rough way, he worked hard to put them in a good conceit. By the time they reached the foothills they were no better soldiers than they had been but they had begun to .- think themselves each a young Napoleon, with a field-marshal’s baton in his haver- sack. Dick halted where the foothills rose abruptly from the level land, and the horses could no longer drag the heavy wagons fast enough to keep up with climbing infantry. There on a sloping hillside, facing another hill and out of sight of Astrabad, they held a solemn burying of dead. At one end of the long, wide trench they dug, Dick stood bare- headed, waiting while the Moslem prayers were said; and then the parting volleys rattled over Persians who had never been so honored while they lived. ‘“‘Who are we, that he should treat our dead thus?” they wondered, Persian-wise MICLOOOK C©