Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

‘ 58 had escaped the torrent of arrows. His red eyes roved from front to rear and back. There was no time to form line to the right nor room to get up pace for a charge. Whatever could be done must be done afoot and before the unceasing flights of barbed shafts struck down the rest. “Dismount!” the Brown Bull bellowed. “Raoul, take four men, cut through the branches of that fallen beech and get the horses past it to the rear. You others, up shields and follow me!’’ Straight into the teeth of the arrow- storm strode the Brown Bull. His head was bent down, showing only the sloping crown of his helmet. Shaft after shaft glanced from it or struck in the broad, kite- shaped shield that guarded his body well. Behind him surged a scattered group of a dozen dismounted men-at-arms, hampered by their long spears and trailing scabbards as they came on doggedly against the line of archers. Once at close grips their heavy blades and trained arms would soon make havoc of the half-naked Saxon serfs, who be- side their bows had only ,clubs and knives. The Saxons knew that danger well. A bow is a poor weapon in a scrimmage. Closer pressed the angry Normans. The peasants had no choice but to fall. back, their last volleys flying wildly. Exultantly de Born shouted his battle-cry. Like an answering trumpet, a second cry pealed to meet it— “Monrepaire!”’ FROM among the Saxons sprang a tall, blue-eyed young warrior, 4] bare-breasted like his comrades but armed with a flashing Norman _ sword. His long yellow hair streamed behind him as he charged, full at de Born. The Baron raised his red gaze to meet him, just as a tremendous sword-stroke tore the Brown Bull’s shield in two. Hurling the fragments from him, de Born launched a furious blow at the young man’s broad white breast. Expecting an awk- ward defense, he was astounded to meet a skilful parry that sent painful thrills along his elbow. Before the baron could recover, a back- stroke almost tore through his helmet, so that he bent beneath the shock. It was then that his eyes first clearly saw his Adventure adversary’s face. Monrepaire. But de Born was of stern stuff. Master- ing his surprize, he slashed at his opponent’s bare left side. Geoffrey sprang nimbly back; then, an instant after the Norman point had whistled harmlessly past, he leaped in and struck with all his strength at the base of the baron’s neck. The Brown Bull fell, spouting blood; his helmeted head rolled far across the glade. Dizzy with horror at his first man-slaying, the boy staggered back among the trees. A great body hurtled past him in a gleam of steel. It drove full among de Born’s leaderless men, hacking and thrusting. One stroke, and a man-at-arms toppled from the path. A second, and the handful of Normans left alive at the van threw down their arms. The champion who had daunted them dashed past them to their rear and flung himself on the man Raoul, who recog- nized him and gave back with a cry. It was Gislac. The fierce old swordsman struck Raoul from his path even as the rallying Saxons flung themselves on the remnant of their foes. The handful under Raoul, giving up their frantic labor at the fallen beech, cried piteously for mercy. ‘Spare them!” cried Geoffrey, and Gislac echoed his command. But it needed more than mere words to stay the vengeance of the serfs on those who had so often burned Saxon homes and reddened their hands in Saxon blood. The two nobles must strike hard blows with the flat of their swords before they could drag off their allies and form them in a scowling circle about the six sore-battered survivors of the Brown Bull’s command. Turning to the prisoners, Gislac de- manded— ‘‘What has de Born done with those men of mine who follow him?” There was no answer. .Gislac turned fiercely on the wounded Raoul. “Speak and speak truly, else I will let these Saxons work their will on you.” Raoul’s lips were pressed together in grim silence; but another of the captives, less bold to face Saxon knives, answered for him: ‘““My lord, de Born sent your former fol- lowers to hold his castle in the hills. He dared not trust them in High Tower, where every sight and act would make them think It was Geoffrey de COmiclbook CO