Trooper Tales — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

~~ Toreador, the Game One. 63 Toreador did. not feel Morro’s keen gaff as it dark- ened one side of his head one whit more than did Benito; and the heart of the poor Porto Rican grew cold. Ah, yes, Morro was a worthy foe, but Toreador had not weak- ened yet. The American captain’s chicken hugged closely to Toreador’s dark side and stabbed often and deep. At last the birds went into the air. There were thrusts that moment which no one saw. And when the rivals landed, Morro could not keep his feet. He sank to his breast, then slowly, very slowly, his beak dropped toward the turf. Toreador did not crow. He was staggering, pecking wildly at thin air. Both sides were dark now. Toreador did not know that he had won his last battle. And as the great shout went up for the winning bird, not a soul thought that Toreador had laid his own brother low. That night Benito, walked up the trail toward the shack of Marie and her mother. Twilight had dimmed the sunset land. Over in the low southeast the moon was rising. Benito was not so happy as he dreamed he would be this moment, yet he was rich now, and yearned to see the little dark-eyed maiden of the highland shack. He thought of the songs she had sung that night, while she gazed up into the twinkling heights. He thought of Toreador, stiff and wounded, back in the town. Farther up toward the cliffs he could see the shadowy outline of Marie’s home. The night was falling upon it, and the tiny Corizel tinkled among the big stones. More GComicsdoo “S' Co