Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

TARQUIN’S CLOCK “Not this way, fools!” snarled the officer commanding Tarquin’s squad. But it was too late. Tarquin had seen the man they bore, had seen his face. It was Zumalacarregui. Zumalacar- regui had not escaped, nor had he been reprieved, as Tarquin was going to be. It stunned him like a blow. Suddenly he found himself in the open space against the wall of the cathe- dral. The line of soldiers broke away under hoarse commands of the officers, and Tarquin was face to face with a thousand troops and ten thousand* peo ple, all of whom stared at him in silence. He and the Italian and the squad were alone. The stucco of the wall he Was against was broken in half a dozen places at a height of three or four feet from the ground by fusillades. was blood on the ground. Already they were binding his hands behind him. “Then I am to die,” he said to the Italian. “Yes,” the man answered in Eng- lish. “You must be brave. You must die like a man.” “T am young to die,” said Tarquin. “There is so much that I want to do.” “IT know. I know,” said the other, with a quaver in his voice. Tarquin took his stand with his back to the wall. “Not that!” he said fiercely, as they would have bandaged his eyes. The officer hesitated. ‘Let it be as he wishes,” the Italian commanded. The squad marched away, and Tar- quin saw that another was standing thirty yards away. The Italian re- mained. “You were a brave foe,’ he whis- pered low. “I am Once, as you probably know, I, too, was sentenced to be shot. But I was reprieved. It was because of that night that I came to pass the last night with you.” The name he spoke was that of a famous soldier of Soriano. “Thank you,” said Tarquin, and then the Italian was gone, and he was alone, There © STRIKES TWELVE 97 facing them all. The plaza was utterly silent. One of the firing squad shook like an aspen, another was stoical, a third was red-eyed as if he had wept, a fourth was But the officer was speaking low: “Shoot straight, camaradas. It is the kindest thing you can do.” The commands rang out like thunder in the unnatural stillness. Tarquin took a quick glance toward the cerro. In the air was the white flash of the wings of sea gulls, and high, high overhead a bird hung motionless like a speck in the air. It could not have been a condor, for the condor never strayed so far from the Andes, but Tarquin remem- bered the old song: “T would liefer follow the condor Or the sea gull, soaring from ken, Than bury my godhead yonder In the dust of the whirl of men,” “IT have learned to live, and I have learned to die,” he thought, as the guns of the soldiers presented. The muzzle of that of the stoical sol- dier wabbled, but that of the tearful one pointed like a rock straight at Tar- quin’s heart. Tarquin stared at that one, and thought of the girl of the church by the Rio Yi. She was to have his last thought. Then he saw her burst through the line of soldiers, and run toward him, her half-slanted green eyes fixed on his. Flame burst from the leveled mus- kets in a crash like thunder, yet she came on smiling—closer—closer— closer Joyce thought he had heard his mas- ter call, and he entered the room just as the bathroom clock tinkled the last stroke of twelve, and the New Year was hailed by the blast of a cannon in the public square. Tarquin lay quite still, as if asleep, but on examination Joyce found that although his body was still warm he was dead. (C@ IOoOK (C@