Trooper Tales — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

Toreador, the Game One. _ 61 were clipped, and his limbs and breast laid bare. Then very skillfully, very carefully, Benito scraped and sharp- ened the gaffs of the game one until they shone like the sabers of American en and were as keen as needlepoints. — All the while Toreador clucked and scolded angrily. Never before did his brownish-black eyes gleam with’ such wicked intensity, and never before did Benito see a bird in such splendid fighting form as was his own little game one, as he strutted about the shack and scolded. When all the preparations were over, Benito wrapped his eight silver pesos‘in a cloth, and with the game one under his arm he walked across the town to the cock-pit. Toreador had no experience—only instinct. He was matched against a fancy gray chicken who had won bat- tles before. But the gray chicken never won another, because Toreador, somewhat scratched, but with two eyes and much nerve and wind, crowed lustily while the other was weakly pounding the turf with both wings and a bleeding crest. Marie was gone from the plaza when Benito returned, but he was never so happy before, since he had twice as many pesos as when he started, and he was nearer to the day when he might tell Marie’s old mother where his heart was, without shame. So time passed and Benito’s handkerchief became heavier and heavier, while Toreador added craft to his in- stinct and honor to his race. And Benito alone knew the stock from which his game one sprung. At last the great day dawned. Eomichoo KS (CO)