The Crime of the Trenches: or, Clif Faraday's Last Cartridge — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

in 7 = ? 7 . =p Pe 3 > oe - o + ea LA. Poa eee amg “+ a“as* p< s ges ’ . =< P o* > Ps os hd p z whe “ >... ay ne > « 42 > ~~ * + &> ’ ed ae ad ” ~~ « Se ee en Oe Ne wor 1S “* > : . : as eS — i, 20 meshes of the hammock would have sprung at him of cutting him down. | This was not to be thought of, however the rifle was both a_ shield and a 29 ale AO It had seen Clif through many a desperate sortie. Must it lie idle at a critical moment whien to die hum die, mute, resigned, seemed almost cowardly “Its death anyway!?? murmured Clif, recklessly. ‘‘If I have to go, he shall go witl me!’’ + Clif Faraday had resolved to anticipate his doom. Shuddering depths hovered below, he could not hope to escape with his life, but he might strike one sterling blow for liberty by -removing this crack sharp- shooter of the Spanish army. : Clif was considerable of an athlete, a gyinast as well. He had a critical eye, an nerve, a lithe, supple form. The suggestion that now spurred up his energies was a desperate one, but he could not sit still supinely and be butcli- ered. He got just the right clutch on the handle of liis sword—lying so innocent looking and harinless at his side. He calculated just how he would poise, dodge, land, strike out. stop!’ shot out the Spanish sharp- shooter’s tones, a bullet whizzing past Clis’s head which would have found its mark had not the swaying hammock pre- vented good aim. But Clif had sprung erect. He thought not of balance; his mind was centred on doing one thing quick as a flash. He turned like a spinning top—hiis sword arm described a circle half a second only an duration. All his strength was massed in the blow he aimed. The sword landed against the mesh of ropes sustaining the hammock. Like filmy cobwebs tiiey snapped. afforded, he with the hope unerring One grab, and Clif took a swing through space with the freed, whirling haminock. A yell split the air, ) A hand, a foot of the astounded, un TRUE BLUE, THE BOX OFFICE RECEIPTS ARE ATTACHED. prepared sliarpshooter, hurtling throug}, space, dealt Clif’s dangling form a lent blow. Then, swaying, Clif gazed down. A black human arrow was Piercing space. The thud of a skulJ landing on a roc, deep down in the shadowy.cut, rang out like a snapping percussion cap. - The Spanish sharpshooter had met his match, and had gone to his long, last ’ account! CHAPTER VIII THE SPANISH GENERAL. Clif Faraday hung suspended between heaven and earth well-nigh overcome with the horror and peril of his position. A climb up the tangled meshes of the hammock, a clutch on the tree that now solely supported it, and he managed at. last to gain a secure foothold on a narrow ledge. Clif could comprehend, after an hour of cautious, painful progress, how the sharpshooter had gained the precarious spot. Thoroughly exhausted through climb- ings, falls, the scaling of seeming im pos- sible spurs of rock, in one place a squeez- ing progress through a cave tunnel past dangerous pitfalls, Clif came to a rest on the gap ledge proper. “It has been enough to turn a person’s hair gray,’’ he soliloquized, ‘‘the adven- tures of this eventful night!” But it was all past now.. A gruesome, chronicle of death lay back in the gloomy cut, five precious lives: had been blotted out, still that had been accomplished which affected the welfare of many thou- sauds—the joining of the~broken tele- graph wires. , ‘ Clif grimly tried to forget the pitiful and tragic aspects of the desperate exploit that seemed to end with the drop to his doom of the Spanish sharpshooter. For Parr was gone. fairly himself again, quick to rejuvenate, Clif made a thorough, and persistent search for the renegade—assassin. One of two conjectures only could sug- gest the possible destination of the rene- gade. Zo As soon as he was. re | oy, — “- . Na! -oOm :