Trooper Tales — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

Toreador, the Game One. 59 lady as ever strutted about a fresh-laid egg. No one but Benito knew of Toreador’s illustrious parentage, and no one but Benito knew how the tiny chicken became pos- sessed by the poor Porto Rican. One morning the little brothers and sisters of the artistocratic brood missed one of their number, and the mighty el capitan of the Ameri- can soldiers, who owned them all, likewise missed the youngster, whom Benito called Toreador and learned to love. That was all there was to it. In the days that follow Marie grew more pretty to Benito’s eyes, and the game one grew strong and hard- ened. Time came when Benito could no longer wait for Sun- days in order that he might see the little dark-eyed maiden who parted her red lips in a smile for him. So, one evening, he crept up the trail toward the little high- land shack of Marie and her mother, and watched while the moon rose. Away up in the northland where the American soldiers came from and lingeringly talked about, it was winter; but the night was warm where Benito was, and the breezes of evening were as soft as only breezes are, and they were laden with the perfume of orange groves wild and vast. The moon rose into the heights and candles glinted in the village down in the val- ley. Meanwhile Benito watched, and the little Corizel River purled and tinkled on its way to join the Rio Grande. | And when the moon was so bright and big that its white radiance dimmed the stars, Marie came out of the Eomichooks (E@)