Adventure Magazine Cover — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

The Torch-Bearers of us within miles of ’em. But real money is scurce aS mercy in ——._ By jing, mister! The sight of vour gay coat put more fightin’ heart into us boys then a bar’! of cartouche- boxes would. Shows the gentry’s comin’ in! Gentry’s comin’ in! Comin’ in!” He made a chant of it, all the time fawn- ing upon me with his backward glances. ‘“T’ve done no fighting,” I told him. He grinned knowingly and held up his long rifle at arm’s length and said: “Of course not! Leave the fightin’ to us ‘that’s lived rough an’ fared rougher! We'll go the fightin’. By Christmus; but we’re ‘gsed to tough knocks. All we ask of you ‘folks is to show your colors an’ fetch in the hard money. We'll do the fightin’ an’ git busted up. We ain’t got nary a doctor- man to plug up holes neither. Seen one of our men a year ago bleed to death from a busted vein that a doctor-man could ’a’ fixed In a jiffy. That’s a master fine coat you're wearin’.”’ “And that’s a business-looking sw orl you’re wearing,” I replied. He flourished it proudly, a long, murder- ous-shaped blade, heavy almost as a sledge- hammer, and he boasted: “Made by a smith from a saw took out of a sawmill. Gineral had us fetch in all the saws we could git our paws on an’ had ’em made into these fellers.”’ When we passed the choked area of the creek, where the girl had slipped the cover- ing over my eyes, my guide was stil! reciting the great benefits my visit to Marion would work the patriot cause. I pitied him and yet admired his enthusiasm. I was ashamed that his praise should be so unworthily bestowed, and I could appreciate how sweet his words must sound to one who deserved them. Finally I called a halt and told ~“T know where I am now. You needn’t come any farther.”’ He hesitated and grinned sheepishly and insisted: “Tf there’s to be any whang-doodles I’m mighty spry with sword or gun. All vou do is to keep that coat furbished up bright an’ smart, an’ leave it to me to find the colors of their guts.” He was an amazing individual. He looked on warfare as a most prosaic sort of task and would approach it, seemingly, without any emotion. It was a quality I must ever envy, such a total disregard for physical 73 danger. It was with difficulty that I got rid of him, but at last he turned back and I rode on and endeavored to decide my course of action. The girl’s desertion of me was an unmistakable hint that I was not want- ed at her father’s cabin. While I could not fight down my desire to see her again I did vanquish the foolish impulse to revisit old Angus and rum the risk of another fight with his brute of a son. On reaching the ford I dismounted and recovered my passes from the foot of the tree and crossed over to the opposite bank. The creek was my Rubicon. When I turned my back to it I cast the Macsons out of my life. My chances of seeing the girl again were most remote, for I would never, I vowed, visit the north side of the creek again. One advantage of living in South Carolina in 1780 was the variety of _mental impulses one received. Impulse of terror, of amazement, of joyous expecta- tions. A man could not be committed in- definitely to one trend of thought. Sorrow did not have time to eat the heart out; great joy was too fleeting to grow stale. And I and my gloomy thoughts were not far ad- vanced on the road to Ellis Ambros’ cabin before my meditations took wings and I was backing my horse into the bushes while I Investigated a pounding of hoofs close be- hind me. It was Elsie Macson’s horse but the rider, to my astonishment, was the half-wit, Runty. He rode perched well forward on the horse’s withers like the jockeys on the New Market Course, and he was giving the poor brute the timber at every stride. Plunging from the bushes, I swung my mount across the narrow road and compelled the young devil to rein in. He tried to get by me, but I had him by the nape of the neck and the two horses crowded together while I fiercely demanded what he meant by stealing the animal. ‘‘Fool! Let me go!’’ he cried in a shrill voice, striving to strike the horse with a switch. I yanked the switch from his hand, and being in no mood for his nonsense I shook him till he nearly fell from the saddle. And as I yanked him back and forth his ragged hat slipped over one ear and unsus- pected quantities of hair came tumbling down his neck and over my arms. The half- wit look vanished from his face and in its place was the face which reminded me of my mother’s portrait. CO MICLOOKS C©