Adventure, December 1914 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

78 bred only murderers and swine. He or- dered them away from the guns—away from the prisoners and wounded—out of his own sight. And, when Andry left the machine- gun by the copse to walk across and talk Scots words of comfort to him, the big man found him sitting on the carcass of the ham- strung charger he had put out of its misery, his sword across his knees, his red, bare head between his hands, sobbing his heart out like a little child. “Oh, Andry—Andry—am I chargeable with that?’ he asked. ‘‘Am Ian Anthony, Or ) “Laddie, ye’re a gude Scots gentleman!” said the big man, kneeling by his side. “Tg it worth it, Andry? We’ve been touching pitch, and we're defiled! I thought I could teach them to be decent —I thought I could make ’em deserve to win! JI was wrong, Andry—I’m an ass— I should have pulled out right at the begin- ning!”’ ““Laddiel”’ Once before Andry had seen him that way, when he broke a leg and with it the chance of ever getting an army commission by the front-door route. It had taken hours, then, for the tremendous, patient Scot to find a way of rousing him to his true form; but, sitting and arguing beside a convalescent chair he had found it at last, and he remembered now. “‘Laddie—Mr. Dicky—d’ye no remember what the Cossacks did tae oor Persian pris- oners? D’ye remember that mon’s back where the whup had cut in criss-cross? Wad these puir de’ils no’ hanker for re- venge, wi’ that example 1’ their minds?” “Thanks, Andry!” Dick stood up. He stared at a little herd of Russians who had thrown their weapons down—at fifty who lay dead—and at his own men, who stood about in no pretense at order, each with a horse’s bridle-rein across his arm. “You invited me to be your leader!’’ he said with a voice that rang again. ‘“‘T re- fused, but you insisted; I agreed at last. Now—by the living God, I'll lead—and T’ll lead men—not animals! There shall be a lesson here—now—that will be remembered while this campaign lasts! Stand still! Stand exactly where you are! I'll shoot the man who moves! Andry! Get back and cover them with your machine-gun! MHur- ry!’ Adventure IV MIDNIGHT found the Princess Olga Karageorgovich, chin on hand, staring at the distant Persian watch- fires that danced before a row of upset wag- ons. She sat in the little four-square space at the top of a muezzin’s tower, and it suited her well, for there were openings on all four sides, through which she could look down on the city and half the countryside without once moving. She believed Dick Anthony behind that row of fires; for, as a panther thinks his enemy is stealthy, and the wild-eyed bull- buffalo imagines his antagonist is bold, so she believed Dick Anthony would reason much as she did. She had no prudence in her being, nor did she believe he had any. She was all cunning, bravery, and tigerish desire; and although she had loved him for the naked honesty he lived and spoke, she ignored it utterly when planning his de- struction. Now that no fate could be too mean for him in her eyes, no motive could be too sneaking to attribute to him; he had committed the worst of all offences—he had spurned her love; already she half be- lieved him capable of cowardice, and she was sure he was a liar! Reasoning, in her wild, swift-twisting way, ignoring facts, and trusting only preju- dice, she had deduced that Dick was afraid to keep the city he had won. She knew that he knew there were guns to fear. and she suspected he had seen the dust of them when he first Jooked down on Astrabad from his hill-top. She began to be glad she had found him out so soon—to comfort herself with the reflection that a man who flinched in the hour of his success would have failed her sooner or later anyhow. She believed him now to be waiting for reinforcements, and perhaps to be arguing with a swarm of discontented men. The only alternative suggestion she could make was that he meant to watch for the returning guns and then slip back to his mountain-top where he would think that he was safe. Safe! She vowed, as she looked up at the silver stars, that never while she lived, and poison, a bullet, or cold steel could work, should Dick Anthony be safe from her! She would hunt him, track him down, kill him with her own hand if she must; but she hoped for, and was nearly certain of an ugly end in wait for him when the guns came MICLOOOK C@