Adventure Magazine Cover — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

IO grove and there beheld the hostile ship, like some unclean bird of prey, slanting away across the fields. Ke As it soared over the farm they had passed a short time before, something gleamed beneath it like an incandescent bulb. Then the plane was gone out of ' sight, skimming low across the river and over the green billows of the Forest of Compiegne on the other side. “What does that look like?” asked the Yank. “IT should say it looked like trouble for them as is in that farm,” answered the ser- geant. “It’s time we was a gettin’ back to our troop. Larcom, ride with us.”’ When they had gained the next rise the village of Nery lay below them, its houses gleaming in the dusk. The fields round about were filled with horses, and noisy with the shouts of men, the whinnying of their mounts, rattling of wheels, clanging of metal, and all the thousand noises of a brigade of cavalry making its bed for the night. : ‘This is us,” cried the sergeant joyfully. ‘The guns didn’t delay us so long after all, did they?” said the Yank. “They probably stayed behind,” grunted the sergeant, ‘‘and we’ll be turned out in the middle of the night to go an’ get ’em. I’ve been through this before, you know. “In South Africa when we ’ad guns with us, an’ they was not in camp by nightfall, it meant a midnight parade to save them, or a day’s chase for to get them back from the Boojers as took ’em. I ’ope they fell into the marsh. We'll be shut of them. Now let’s go report. What did you say your name was now?”’ The sergeant peered closely at the Yank. “Collins,” smiled the Yank. “First name?” “Pom” “Huh,” grunted the sergeant. ‘What- ever was it as made you take that name?” “In my country,” explained the Yank, “they have a long silver drink, cool and delicious, that is like a breath of violets over boundless fields of snow. It’s called a Tom Collins, and so I took its name for the pleasant memories it brought.”’ The sergeant coughed dryly and then spat. ‘‘__.”” said he disgustedly. ‘—— what a thirst you’ve give me. I'll never see you again without a dry throat. This comes o’ gettin’ chummy with a trooper.” Adventure He led the way into the town without further word, found the adjutant of the regi- ment and reported the result of the day’s patrol to him. Then the three troopers went out through the backyards of the houses to the field where C squadron was bivouacking. As they were unsaddling, a rattling of carriages and clank of trace-chains made them look to the south. They could dimly make out an artillery column wheeling in to park. “Ow many is there?” asked the sergeant. ‘“T can’t see without me glasses.”’ The Yank counted. “Six guns,” said he. ‘“They’re all there. We'll get a night’s sleep after all.” “Six guns,” muttered the sergeant, “all cuddled together nice and cosy by that pump ’ouse or whatever it is, as is got a nice tall chimney for a haimin’ point, an’ right where anything that gets thrown at ’em is certain to Jand on us.” The sergeant picked up his sword and went off toward the houses while the Yank removed his tunic and prepared to feed and water. As he went toward a pile of hay he nearly fell over a silent form on the ground. He bent over it. It was Larcom, his cap still on his head and his spurs still on his heels, just as he had dismounted. He lay face down, arms at his sides, like a tailor’s dummy blown over by the wind. “Let the poor beggar sleep,” said the Yank to himself. ‘It may be his last chance.” The squadron had finished feeding before the patrol had come in, so the Yank com- pleted his task of giving supper to the three horses unaided. The picket guard lent a hand in shaking down the hay and requested a little information regarding the events of the patrol’s journey. “‘We didn’t see a thing,” said the Yank, “except one of our own patrols.”’ ‘“‘Where’s the other ’orse?’”’? asked the picket guard. “What horse?” asked the Yank. “Why, there was four of you. I seen you go out myself.”’ “Oh, yes, I remember, we left one man on the road to guide the horse batteries in.”’ ‘“‘Wa-a-lker!”? sang the picket guard de- risively, but the Yank made no reply. He decided that if the news that one of the patrol had been killed was to get around, Larcom or the sergeant would have to start COniclbool o(CO)