Adventure Magazine Cover — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

The Fresh Yank THERE was a German crawling from under the wagon and he met ‘the Yank. They stared at each other for the space of a heart-beat, then the German threw up his nile and fired. Firing a rifle under a wagon is a difficult thing and the German can not be blamed for missing even at pointblank range, but the flash of the gun burned the Yank’s cheek and filled it with bits of powder. The Yank, while the German had been firing, had been advancing, so that he was inside the sweep of the muzzle and too close for the German to take a second shot. That is to say, he was within reaching distance with his sword. A sword works better than a rifle at close quarters. The Yank picked up the German’s weapon and crawled to one of the wheels with it. The pile of bedding was now blazing briskly and the German hussars had drawn away from the fire. From his place by the wheel the Yank could see alley after alley of wagon-wheels, with horses’ feet and legs passing, he could see bundles of baggage and bundles that were not baggage, but dead and wounded. Khaki-clad legs pur- sued black boots and black boots pursued khaki-clad legs. The rattle of stampeding wagons was as regular as a clock’s ticking. The rolling smoke began to take the place of the mist. “There must be more fires started,” thought the Yank. “I better get out of here, or I’ll be cooked.” He looked cautiously about, but saw no one in the immediate vicinity, then, hold- ing his rifle in one hand and carrying his sword in the other, he crawled out again. He was none too quick. The canvas cover of the wagon that had sheltered him was already blazing. The breeze that had blown away the mist was helping the fire to spread among the wag- ons. A loose horse galloped by. The Yank stepped out and peered cautiously down the lane. There was a wagon overturned at the foot of it and at the upper end a pile of bodies, horse and man, where hussar and dragoon had slaughtered each other. The Yank ran across the lane and through the wagons on the other side. He wondered why all the firing and smoke had not stam- peded every wagon in the line. Then he discovered. Some of the teams lay before their wagons still in the traces, but dead. Most of the wagons had no horses. on — i 23 “The drivers probably cut their traces and ran for it,” decided the Yank. The line of wagons on the other side of the lane was a terrible mess, some drawn out of line, some overturned, half of them burn- ing, and what few were gone were those whose teams had stampeded. The Yank remembered that it was the left flank of the British that had secured contact first, and so this end of the wagon park had not suffered as much as the other, and the drivers had had more chance to get away. “T wish I’d had presence of mind enough to grab that horse of mine before I crawled under that cart,” said the Yank. ‘Here I am in this burning wagon-park and dis- mounted. Let’s see if I can’t grab a horse somewhere.” He ran back across the lane to see if there was any sign of a loose horse about. The smoke was beginning to thicken and nearly a dozen wagons were burning mer- rily. A horseman appeared in the smoke, coming from the direction of the over- turned wagons. He paused as if undecided which way to go. The Yank turned at the sound of the horse’s stamping. “Oo, look at the duke!” he exclaimed si- lently. The horseman was an officer. A fur busby as large as a butter tub surmounted a stern, smooth-shaven face. A monocle flashed in one eye. The officer’s tunic was heavily frogged, his breeches very tight and well-fitting, and he wore black shiny boots, possibly patent leather. The horse was a magnificent black, beau- tifully proportioned, standing close to six- teen hands high. His bridle—crown-piece, cheek straps, throat latch and reins—was all encrusted with some kind of ornamental work, and a jeweled doodad, suspended under the horse’s throat by a strap from the crown-piece, twinkled and glittered. The Yank was aghast at such magnifi- cence, but his astonishment was not for long. He rested his sword against the wagon, slowly raised his rifle and sighted it at that gray figure, drawing the front sight down to the third or fourth frog from the top, where the braid made a kind of curlicue, like the bull’s-eye of a target. “Hey!” thought the Yank suddenly, “how do I know this thing is loaded?” The thought was a sober one. If the rifle was unloaded, the click of the firing-pin Go DOOLK 1 @)