Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

A Sergeant of Cavalry marching down the other side of the road. Slop, slop, slop, went their feet, their slick- ers rustled and their equipment rattled. They were moving in a directien opposite to that in which the column was headed. “What outfit?” called some one. “Ninety-fourth,”’ was the reply. “WW hat!’ — If there were any sleepers in the column they awoke now to instant wakefulness at that cry of rage and chagrin. “You the Ninety-fourth, the guys that relieved us?” “Yup,’’ said the marching men. “They lost the line,” called a voice down the column. ‘They couldn’t hold it an’ we got to go take it back again!”’ “Oh, the dirty unspeakables!’”’ howled the men in the ditch. “Oh, the milishy! An’ we lost our rest an’ everything.” The growl increased. Opprobrium was heaped on the marchers. Hoots and cat- calls resounded. The marchers were too tired to pay any heed, but suddenly some one, who, from the way he talked, was an officer, began to shout. ‘Listen here, you men! Don’t talk that way to us! We volunteered to take over your sector for you so that you could get some rest and we’ve had a of a time up there while you were rolling on your backs! And this is all we get for it! There’s gratitude for you! Youre a bunch of skunks, every one of you. I can lick any six of you that have got the guts to come out here and fight! You aren’t fit to dig latrines for the quartermaster corps!” “Who’s there,” called some one from the ditch. “Draw it mild, draw it mild! You’re tired and all that, but don’t blackguard this outfit or I'll hang a lily on your nose my-- self!” “That’s our old man,” cried Spagett de- lightedly. “He'd do it, too.” “Raaazzberry!” cheered the men in the ditch, secure in the hiding darkness. Just as this interesting point, there was a stir of men getting to their feet, and the march began again. “Any doubt about our going to the front now?” asked Nell. “Not for sour-apple juice,” answered sev- eral at once. “Not so bad,”’ thought Nell, “not so bad. (hings may come our way yet.” Then he walked on with better spirits. They turned off the road in a little while 13 and, falling and stumbling, went some dis- tance into black woods. : “This is us,’”’ said Spagett, “‘and we ain’t very near because I don’t hear no shells.” “Tf you can find a hole,” said the cor- poral, “get init. If you can’t, dig yourself one. No one sleeps on top the ground, now mind.” Nell could hear muttering, the clink of pick and shovel, and the thump of packs being hurled to the ground. He began to undo his own, as some one took him by the arm. “That you, Colburn? This is Corporal Meade. Hunt around an’ you'll find a hole. There ought to be all kinds of ’em here. Golly! There’s one, I like to broke my neck falling in toit. Well, that fixes you. Good- rich, where you at? Got a hole?” The rest of it Nell did not hear. He had lain down in the hole and in spite of the two or three inches of water in the bottom was instantly asleep. Nell slowly began to realize that there was an intermittent pain in his leg, that shifted suddenly to the upper part of his body. As the pain increased his mind be- came clearer, and he discovered that a man was prodding him with something. He opened his eyes to see a soldier standing on the edge of the hole, a dim shape against the mist of early day, lifting his rifle and letting it fall, with the motion of one churn- ing cream in an old fashioned churn, Nell taking the part of the cream and the rifle the dasher. “Lay off!’ cried Nell. “What the —— do you think I’m made of?” “Gup!” said the man. Then sighing, he moved over to another hole and Nell could see him prodding away with a will. A strangled shriek came from that hole, a cry that made every scalp within yards draw tight and prickle. The hole erupted a man with a slicker flying, who made for the prodder, but the latter fled, and the man who had shrieked did not follow, but limped about moaning and utter- ing burning words. Nell recognized Good- rich. “My boil!” cried the poor man in answer to some one’s question. ‘He poked his rifle right into it! I thought he’d run his bayonet through me!” : It was quite light now, though the mist was heavy, and Nell could see something of the nature of the ground. They were in a COMIGDIOOKSEEO