Trooper Tales — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

I 54 The Voice in the Fourth Cell. “Ford the river with these horses, Darley. Take posi- tions over there, and don’t move your eyes from the cliff. Corporal Mack, take two men and circle to the left. I'll go this way with Redmond and the kid. No non- sense, remember !” : “We'll have to get to him first—if he lives,” Redmond whispered to me. And we raced ahead, climbing higher, higher upon the rocks. Even had I never heard the bewitching cadence of Black Stick’s voice on a moon-mellowed evening, no white man could have leveled a carbine at those soft, lus- trous, Spanish eyes. And when Silk Redmond and I saw them gleaming from a thicket, we stood erect and gently beckoned for the dreaded outlaw to approach. His knife was in one hand; his hat in the other, and his eyelids were stretched wide apart. There was a red light in his great, dark eyes, like a distant forest fire shining through a wall of night. It was the light of horror. His dark skin was changed into the ashy gray of a raincloud. Trembling he approached. Thus was the taking of Black Stick, the terrible, on the Great White Cliffs overlooking the Rio Grande. Ah, but he was a sweet singer! The old cavalry sergeant was very happy when he saw the Porto Rican creeping in front of us down the cliffs. “Why didn’t you wing the greaser?” he asked. “He didn’t give us a show,” Redmond answered. It takes a good man to be a soldier. Redmond and I were only recruits. Moreover, we had little hope of ever Eomicdooks.co