Adventure Magazine Cover — page 41: 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 snarling roar from the squad- ron, and many of the men mounted immedi- ately, expecting the command to charge. The Yank, who had never once taken his eyes from that group of twisting horses, wondered what the snarling was about. Then he saw the group break up, two loose horses go galloping and kicking across the field, and the Germans turn and trot lei- surely away, two of them leading extra horses. The Yank’s heart rose. He’d have that man, now. HE BEGAN to call, yelling terrible ee: obscenity at the officer, blackening his ancestry for four generations. The officer turned. The Yank was quite near now and could see the hussar’s face, crimson with anger. He had understood what had been said to him, and it irked him that he, an officer and nobleman, should be blackguarded by a common soldier and an Englishman. It helped but little that the German troopers could not understand what was being said. The officer looked beyond the Yank to : where the troop was pouring down the hill, riding for leather. There would be plenty of time for what he had to do. This insolent Britisher, that had escaped him twice, must be destroyed. The German swung his horse away from the others, now urging their tired beasts to their best speed to escape that avenging line, and awaited the arrival of the Yank. “Whoa!” shouted the Yank, hauling on the reins, as he saw the officer swing around. “Whoa! No charging this time! I missed him that way before! A duel, by——!” He had his horse on his haunches when he got within sword’s reach of the German and his thrust was short. The German replied with a lunge that took the badge from the Yank’s shoulder-strap. The Yank had thought that he was a swordsman; he had been on a championship fencing team in those days before his disgrace, but he had never faced an antagonist like this hussar. The German’s blade flashed in and out like a snake’s tongue and the Yank could only parry about one thrust in four. It occurred to him that this man was playing with him, making sport of him before killing him. But the face that the Yank could see 31 through his sweat-blinded eyes was not that of a cool antagonist, but that of a man con- sumed with hate, a man whose throat was parched for blood, and a man in the utmost extremity of haste. The British were coming dangerously near. The German could see them, but the Yank could not, and the drumming of their hoofs was lost in the throbbing blood in his ears. The German, for all his swordsman’s skill, was unable to conquer. His training had likewise had faults, and he, as well as the Yank, had trouble in keeping his horse within thrusting distance. The officer had fought many a duel, but with the razor-edged dueling-saber whose lightest kiss means a deep gash, and he was not accustomed to putting his weight behind the blade. So, then, he did great slaughter to the buttons and the cloth of the Yank’s tunic, yet no real harm to the Yank. The Yank panted for breath and did the best that he was able. A voice whispered him that there was a trick worth two of this feinting and riposting. The German, able now to see the tight lips of the charging British, made one last desperate thrust, the first one he had made with any meat behind it. The Yank par- ried clumsily, the point of the German’s sword was deflected downward, and so through the Yank’s saddle, where it pricked his horse sadly. The horse bounded forward and before the German could jerk loose his blade, the Yank had leaped upon him and secured a hold he had often used in the days when mounted wrestling was one of his favorite sports. The German cursed and clawed at the Yank’s throat, but the Yank broke that hold, and his horse, now driven frantic by the prodding of the officer’s sword, reared and then bounded away. The Yank was unseated, but his hold was not broken and as he crashed to earth he still cuddled within the angle of his right elbow the close-cropped head of the gorgeous hussar. The charging troop passed over them with a roar of hoofs, and wild cries ef: “Man down! Man down!” “Tie still!” panted the Yank in the Ger- man’s ear, ‘‘and you won’t get stepped on.” The officer kicked and struggled wildly, so the Yank, tightening his hold, shut off the other’s wind, nor did he relax until the German was quite still. , Go DOOK 1@)