Adventure, August 1917 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

Dan of the Sword “They are firing at us,” he cried. “Or is it a salute?” Again Captain Muncie looked sharply at Yankee Dan, and as promptly looked away. A cloud of smoke had puffed from the side of the cotta—a dense black cloud that suggested the springing of a mine rather than the discharge of ordnance. A moment later, however, a railroad spike came skipping across the rice paddies and buzzed to an angry stop within a dozen feet of Yankee Dan. He sauntered over and picked it up, then dropped it hastily, cursing from a full heart as he stamped about and wrung a blistered hand. For the moment Yankee Dan had forgotten that a missile thrown from a brass cannon by black pow- der is likely to be hot. Several bullets whined overhead before he recovered his composure, “We'd better get out o’ this,” the colonel spluttered. ‘From the sound of some of those bullets I’m thinking they have guns that belong to Uncle Sam. B, C and D companies will take cover and deploy, A company will retire two hundred paces——”’ “They have fired on us,”’ Colonel Brown was saying to his captains and adjutants a few minutes later. ‘We can’t turn back— even if it were possible to reach camp before nightfall. The whole country might rise against us, cut us to pieces in the grass as they cut up the Spaniards at Mimungan, if they thought we were whipped. On the other hand, a detour to reach the boats would bring these fellows swarming out to harass us, and the advantage would be all with them. “In my opinion our only safety lies in tak- ing this cotta. And that’s what we'll do. Sending out a man to kill me and then firing on the Stars and Stripes. Why we'd go through a mob of our own people like shot through a paper target for less than that.” “So,” thought Welford in a flash that amused while amazing him, ‘‘that is why the old gray fox would bring the flag along. All honor to him!’’ ‘“‘But the order about shelling cottas be- fore storming them,” one of the Junior cap- tains ventured. ‘‘Do you think it’s safe?”’ That safety part was merely an unfortu- nate slip in phrasing a suggestion, and Colonel Brown knew it. To have orders fired at him again on top of burnt fingers and a grueling hike was too much, however. He glared, and snapped: | 69 “Certainly not. We aren’t playing ten- nis. As for shelling the place, if you’ve a mountain battery about you I’ll use it quick enough. If not we’ll have to worry along with gun-butt and bayonet. .. .” “As I was saying,’ hecontinued pointedly, “the plan is simple. I'll take A company around their flank. B,Cand D companies will remain here under Captain Muncie. “You, Captain, will advance by short dashes at ten-minute intervals until you are close to the moat. That ought to give me time to make their rear. When you hear the bugle you’ll go at’em as though the devil were behind you and paradise one jump ahead. Meanwhile, keep ’em hugging dirt.” Captain Muncie saluted without com- ment, though his heart was hot. A com- pany was his company, and it would bear the brunt of the attack. He wanted to be there. The sop of having charge of the larger body on the wrong side of the cotta did not appeal to him. But the colonel was in charge, and the colonel was leading A company away as Captain Muncie swal- lowed his disappointment and gave the or- der to fire at will. The Moros at first attempted to reply in kind but, as the Americans found the range and bullets began to spray them with dust, gravel and metal splinters, they were glad to hug dirt as Colonel Brown had foretold. FA himself for a moment as the soldiers threw themselves down at the end of the first dash. He ducked back to cover hurriedly, however. A dozen bullets had kicked dirt in his eyes. An hour later B, C and D companies were with- in one hundred yards of the moat. And now it was no longer dirt that the Moros drew when they showed themselves. One red-jacketed ighting man, filled with an in- solent bravado, stepped into full view for a moment and was swept away by a gust of steel-cased bullets. The men were scrambling up for the dash that would bring them to the moat’s edge when the faint notes of the bugle called them to the charge. Captain Muncie barked out an order and the dash became a wild, tempestuous race, three companies of infantry advancing on the run and yelling as they ran. Obstacles were surmounted without apparent thought or pause. For the time, obstacles did not exist. Those TEN minutes later a Moro showed oO CoOMmiclbooks CO 5}