Adventure, August 1917 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

68 in, a few minutes later, there wasn’t a member of the battalion who did not expect to head back tocamp. Even then it would be night before they could regain it. Con- sternation overwhelmed them when Yan- kee Dan gave the order to keep right on. The senior captain ventured to remon- strate. “Tt’s all right,”’ Brown explained. ‘“The boats are waiting beyond the swamps. A little further and we can strike straight for the lake shore. We ought to make it in three hours.” THE good word passed along the column in an ascending note of jubilation. They were going back in boats! For the first time since the sun began to burn through sweat-soaked khaki and thin underwear the men stepped forward with something like sprightliness and spoke with- out cursing their luck, each other and the man who led them. The Old Man, after all, was not quite the slave-driver they had thought him. The flash of good humor passed, however, soon after plunging into the tall grass of the lower levels where dust showered from each dry blade and puffed up with every footfall. The still, breathless heat seemed to have sifted into the grass and packed there. It was a far cry from the swamps they had been circling all day, this dust-dry, throat- searing heat. The column was coughing curses and dust, gouging sweat from eyes that stung, when a peculiar rustle near its head caught the attention of those who were near enough to hear and wise enough to understand. Sight was served almost as soon as hearing, for the thing that had made that sound was charging—a juramentado, naked kris in hand every nerve and muscle taut with the fanati- cal fury of the Mohammedan man-killer. There was no mistaking the object of at- tack. The crooked blade of the kris was hanging over Yankee Dan’s head before any one could stir a trigger finger. The men had no time to gasp. Yankee Dan ,seemed as good as dead. But in the space it takes most men to shake off the paralysis of complete surprise, the colonel’s old cavalry saber leaped into action. With a single movement Yankee Dan parried the kris and plunged the point of the saber into the Moro’s throat with a twisting So Adventure drive that laid open a great gaping wound and sent the point jumping out at the back of the Moro’s neck. Colonel Brown was taking no chances. A Moro had been known to charge a battalion on parade with a dozen bullet-holes in his body and still take toll of the battalion before he dropped. But a gaping wound in the throat is an- other matter, discounting many bullets— unless the bullets happen to be dum-dums, and the rules of civilized warfare bar the use of such. When the senior captain reached Yankee Dan’s side the latter was drying the blade of his saber on a handkerchief. “Captain Muncie,” he said, “‘you will please bear witness that this was done in self defense.” The senior captain looked sharply at the grim old warrior. What was he driving at —could he possibly be joking—and where in gosh-whang-its name were his nerves? ‘“‘However,” Brown continued, securing the kris and touching its edge thoughtfully, “‘T’ll keep this as a souvenir. It beats me, the edge these fellows get. Now that old saber of mine——” A cheer that swept into a wild hurrah put an end to the colonel’s monologue. His popularity was suddenly revived ten-fold, had flared up in a marveling hero-worship. “Cut it out,” Yankee Dan commanded testily as he spun about on a dusty heel. “It’s a deplorable thing—a poor misguided amigo running on to a friendly sword—fur- thermore, if you fellows had been alive I wouldn’t have had to soil it.” ‘You were directly in the line of fire,” Captain Muncie hastened to explain. “Lucky for me I didn’t have to depend on their fire,” the colonel grunted. ‘However, we'll forget it.” An hour later the battalion debouched into a clearing of dry rice paddies. Directly ahead and about four hundred yards away was a Moro cotta, moated, and walled with great banks of stake-crowned earth. The clearing was about two miles long, the cotta a half-mile from the western end. It was the fifth cotta they had seen that day, but the others had been seen merely as dim out- lines in the distance. The men gazed curi- ously, and as they gazed there came a spurt of smoke and a bullet shrilled overhead. A moment later the report came to them aeatnet the wind. Colonel Brown looked urt. Comiclsoo (© 5}