Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

an | Adventure “Nope,” said the corporal. ‘There’s a Boche trench over there on the edge of the woods you might like to look at.” NELL went out. The sun was terrific and the fields were dry > and burned. The wheat had : been cut by the Germans and either shipped to their field bakeries or home to Germany. There was no clamor of bat- tle, no sign of war, nothing but the peaceful aspect of a country landscape, distant hills half seen through the haze, and the snaky road with trucks thundering by from time to time. At intervals a lonely plane buzzed overhead. “Don’t it beat > muttered Colburn. “Here I go and get broke to get up to the front and then don’t get there. I’ve known some fools in my time, but none as big asme. A buck private in a doughboy out- fit, the Thirty-first. That’s a new one on me. Must be one o’ these home-made regiments, like the Three Hundred and First Cavalry or the Fifty-second Artillery. Bunch of lunatics. Cooks police to do an’ I haven’t had my hands in a pan for three years. Bet they give me recruit drill. Huh! Thisisa of awar! No wonder it _ lasted four years if this is a sample.” He inspected the old German trench, which was nothing but a shallow ditch, with a few reels of machine-gun ammunition lying around and a piece of a rifle. About the farm, and here and there in the woods he could see men moving, hanging clothes to dry, cleaning rifles or killing time. And meanwhile the war was raging and no chance of getting to it, any more than if he, ex-Sergeant Colburn, were still doing patrol duty at Ruidosa or Marfa, or any other re- mote border post. “5 bells and the to ring ’em,” groaned Nell. ‘The Army in war time is no place for a guy that’s got any ambition. _ I got just about as much chance of gettin’ a commission as a louse has of bein’ made commander-in-chief of the armies.” Somewhere in the woods a bugle blew first call for something, and whatever it was it behooved Nell to be gone to his squad, which he did, and made himself ready to stand a formation. He fell in with his squad and before assembly blew, took a good look at them. The formation was evidently retreat, there was much calling of the roll and checking of numbers and inspection of equipment, which took some time. The company commander, a tall nervous man, walked up and down, exhorting. “Every man got a new gas-mask canis- ter?” he cried. “If I find a man without one, [li skin him alive! Be sure all your men have a full allowance of ammunition, Corporals. Fill canteens with water only. Let me catch you with wine in them. You'll never be able to drink a drop of it again with comfort.” At this formation Neli’s Enfield or Model 1917 rifle was taken away and he was given a Model 1903, known as the Springfield. This was the rifle with which: his regiment had been armed and with which he was fa- miliar. This rifle was also lighter than the later model, a thing that he was very thank- ful for. Abruptly they were dismissed and each man, without waiting for the call, got his mess kit and lined up by the shed where the rolling kitchen was. ‘Then when mess call blew, they were all ready to eat. Colburn ate with his squad. They all sat together against the house wall, and he thought this would be a good chance to get acquainted with them. As he sat down very gingerly, skilfully balancing his mess kit so that the slum would neither run out of the meat can, nor the apricots off the cover, nor the handie of his cup come un- done and his coffee all go ward, one of the men was speaking his mind. “Tt don’t look right,’”’ said the man, ‘‘for us to have all this chow tonight. Slum, an’ a guy could shut his eyes and make a stab at it an’ hit a potato or a piece o’ meat every time, apricots fer dessert, coffee with canned cream to go in it, and all the bread you want, take two. I maintain they’re goin’ to march us off our feet. They may take us clear across France, who knows?” “Ferget it,’ said a dark swarthy man, a little inclined to stoutness. ‘‘You’re off your head. They got all this chow on hand and want to get rid of it.” “You got the idear, ‘Spagett,’”’ said the corporal, with his mouth full. “That so?” objected the first man. “Well, if that’s so, then how come all this moan about havin’ lots of ammunition? ‘Every man have his belt full,’ says the skipper. What for? I spose we’re goin’ to shoot snipe or somethin’?”’ ‘Bottle,’ you ain’t got half the brains —— give a mule skinner. How we gonna COMIGDIOOKSEEO