Trooper Tales — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

62 Toreador, the Game One. Now it was very natural that the captain of the Ameri- can soldiers should hear of the fame which a certain ple- bian bird was making, and straightway he sought out the poor native who owned this bird, and fixed a day when he should match his high-born Morro with the dauntless Toreador. The great day was fixed—the day that would make Benito rich enough to speak to Marie’s mother, or so poor that he would long for death. Thus it was that Toreador, whom men called the peer- less plebeian, met the mighty Morro, and great, indeed, was the battle. So nearly alike were the two birds that Benito found it necessary to distinguish Toreador by a ribbon on his left ankle. Men marveled at the likeness between the two birds, and trembled when they thought how terrible the battle would be. The American captain hired a native to train his bird. Benito and this man _ stood alone in the pit. Each held a chicken under his arm. The cocks were quivering, straining, clucking low and defiantly. The wagers were made; the birds were cooled with an icy spray, and the big cock-pit became as silent as the great white cliffs above. Benito never could tell what he did the next hour. It was a lifetime for him. His face mirrored the agony, the struggles, the determination of his game one. He thought not of Marie, not of the little fortune he would win or lose. He thought only, lived only for the doughty Spar- tan, whom he had reared from a chick, and who was try- ing to live under the onslaught of a worthy foe. Comicdooksico