Trooper Tales — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

The Degeneration of Laddie. i 51 “Enter, Senor Americano. Que lastima.’ I was sin- gularly relieved to see the good wife hang up the family musket. I was also made happy to see the good wife rake up the coals in the fire-place and start a pot of cof- fee. Porto Rican coffee is as delicate and subtle in flavor as itis mighty in body. I drank and would have departed. There were dry clothes for me in the woman’s hand. Her husband had lit a cigar and gave it to me. An extra hammock had been strung. How I wished I was not a soldier that night. “Yes, I rested. I thought I had made the Spaniard understand the imperative nature of reveille roll-call, but I hadn’t. His spirit of hospitality was too massive. He would not let me depart until I had lain down. How de- licious was the drowsiness that stole over me—how beau- tiful that sleep. Alas, but it was a long one, too.” * * * *k * x * * The first streaks of pink dawn were mellowing the east, when Laddie moved. The cigar was still in his hand. He jumped up with a groan of pain. His feet were sore, his muscles lame and stiff. The pot of coffee was still warm upon the embers. He swallowed a quantity and jumped into his wet clothes. The operation was a pain- ful one, putting it with studied mildness. Then he grasped the hand of the Spanish gentleman, murmured his gratitude, and dashed out into the dawn toward the trail. He could see it now winding upward toward the heights. He had missed it the night before by a quarter of a mile. Eomichooks (CO)