Trooper Tales — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

46 The Degeneration of Laddie. Atlantic. ‘The sun was sinking into the sea. The east- ern highlands were dim and shadowy now. “Say we walk to Manati,” suggested one of the three, grinning. It was eight miles. Many are the govern- ment mules that have lain down and died on that trail. The Manati River crosses it eleven times. Many are the government mules that have kicked vainly and been car- ried away limp and lifeless, because they struck the Ma- nati fords in a wrong place. And government mules are not without a number of kicks. “You could not pay me to hit that trail in the night- time,” declared the second soldier. “T’'ll go with you,” said Laddie, smiling. He was think- ing of the bright-eyed senorita, whose father had a cellar full of wines, pale and ruddy. The idea grew upon him. “Oh, I wouldn’t go unless all three of us do,” put in the cavalryman who was first to speak. Laddie was silent. He knew that he would go alone if he saw the senorita that night. “What time is it?’ he asked finally. “Five forty-five.” | “Have you got a coin? Throw it up. If it’s head, I go alone.” Laddie was smiling still. “You've only been out of calaboose a couple of days. Be careful you don’t get collared again,’ warned the sol- dier holding the coin. He threw it up. “Tail she is,” they told Laddie. Together the soldiers three wended their way back toward Ciales. A hundred Eomicbooks (EC)