The Crime of the Trenches: or, Clif Faraday's Last Cartridge — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

“perfectly still! but eventful naval career, but had entrenched in “Sit still,’? drawled a Spanish voice; I have you!?’ ‘Ves, he’s got me!’’ muttered —Clif, under his breath; ‘‘fast and sure! It’s the sharpshooter!’ Clif Jet his sword hand and iis free hand drop to a submissive pose by his side, for a Mawser11fle covered his heart. He had fallen in one end of the ham- yrock. Reposing tranquilly back in its other eid a man with aneye like an eagle covered him with glance and ain. Clif had fought some desperate battles in all kinds of queer places in his brief never been cornered in such a novel place as this before. , A glance round, below, slowed, him that he had invaded a most secret haunt of the Spanish skirmish forces. This fellow, lrke some mountain lion unpregnable lair, had taken up a position commanding a per- fect view of the cut and its vicinity for miles. | Sheltered by tlre iminense tree leaves, supplied with smokeless powder cart- — ridges, in his lofty couch he had probably passed many days and nights continu- ously. In its centre was a heap of stuff, which Clif’s quick eyes scanned to inake out ammunition and food supplies that would last a week or over. Here was the autocrat of the destinies of those who dared penetrate the cut— here the mysterious, invisible execu- tioner of so many American soldiers! The hammock after a violent jolt had swung to and fro slightly, but it now cane to a dead halt. An impressive silence broaded. The sharp, gleaming eye of the Spaniard met the clear, unflinching gaze of the some- | what astounded Clif. The sharpshooter asked no questions as -tohow Clif had happened to topple in thus unceremoniously upon him—he evi- dently guessed all that out. As to Clif’s naval status, his costuine told that. ‘“My friend,’’ again spoke the sharp- shooter, ‘‘I am sorry!”’ There was a cali, easy drawl to his TRUE BLUE. FRANK AND OTHERS COME TO TERMS. tone that warned Clif that he was a fel- low of tremendous nerve. This, too, must be true, for a man who could isolate himself for purposes of wholesale butchery in this sombre eerie, was likely to prove a person of no ordi- nary mettle. | “Why are you sorry?’ propounded Chif, bluntly. ‘“You are an Ainerican.’’ ‘SAs you see.”? “You have bluudered on my _ secret lair; ‘That is true, but unconsciously. It saved my life, though——”? ‘'Orly to have you lose it!’ promptly, incisively pronounced the Spaniard. ‘‘I say Iam sorry. My business is shooting at far range. Hand to haud, swords would be more gentlemanly, but the re- quirements of war are imperative. Sit still! Reflect—prepare.”’ “*Ror death ?”’ ‘“TIt must be so.’”’ Clif Faraday bowed lis head. This man was hard as iron, flinty- nerved as stone. | He never lowered his rifle, and Clif knew that all pleading or argument im the world would not move Inn. The cadet sat saying not another word. The culminating adventure of the night had seemingly landed him in the last ditch. ““We-will say five minutes,’’ spoke the sharpshooter, evenly. ‘“‘Tlen close your eyes and die like a man—as I should do had I fallen into your hands under = stmi- lar circuistances.”’ Clif felt the succeeding two minutes of silence oppress him, close in on him, like some material pall. Three minutes left! Clif glanced in inute despair at the levelled gun barrel, at the calin, cold eye behind it. > His fingers twitched nervously, but he dared not make a motion towards his pis- tol holster. He gripped,and ungripped his restless hand across the handle of his sword, stranoely retained through all the mani- fold adventures of the night. If four feet of steel did not obstruct a sturdy barrier between himself and _ Iris foe, despite the insecuré fouting the loose oc ~~ > ‘i -~ > - ates’. we 7 <> * ve ad ‘ Ges 4 | 7; com