Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

The Torch-Bearers sighed. ‘But we should have gobbled this ragged mob up. Scarcely sportsmanship to take such a devilish advantage. We’d been scouring the country for your general and riding in mud and snakes up to our stirrups. We were coming in to report and have a sleep. flop! Bushes alive, our men dead— ’Pon my honor it was like a dream. I don’t feel I’m awake yet.” ‘““General Marion wants Lieutenant Lance forward,”’ a voice shouted up the line. The call was passed on and I spurred ahead. ‘Don’t leave me with these cursed arm- twisters,’ cried Posby. ‘Follow behind me. The general prob- ably wants to know about you.” We pressed ahead and as the column halted were soon up with Marion and his officers. The general gave Posby a quick look, then said to me: “A British officer dying wishes to speak with you. We did not know he was seriously wounded until he fell from his horse. He heard your name and asked for you—a very brave fellow.” The group parted and my heart ached as I beheld the pale face of Masters. He was lying on the ground with his head propped up by Colonel Horry’s knee; and it needed no man of pills and physic to see he was in a bad way. “Lance,” he whispered as I dropped be- side him and took his hand. ‘You cut it lucky. Glad you made it— What! Posby here! Beau Posby nabbed? Now I don’t feel so cheap. My papers in Charleston, Pos. You know what to do with them. I owe two pounds at the tavern—Jim, I’m glad I didn’t happen to de for you. You’d be mighty pleasant company to take along, though.” _ He was silent for nearly a minute and my efforts to talk were bungling. Then his pallid face screwed up in a semblance of his old whimsical smile, and he whispered— ‘Wonder if they’ll let me play billiards over there?”’ I was sniveling and Posby’s face was dis- torted with grief. We tried to reach the deaf ears with a last farewell, but the blue eyes were set and staring at the sky. Sud- denly he turned on his side and came up on his elbow, and in a voice surprizingly strong for a man all but dead, cried out— “Long live his gracious Majesty!”’ And with this salute to King George and 117 death he dropped back and entered the presence of that King who is always gra- cious to simple soldiers. Marion and his men bowed bared heads, not in honor of the Hanoverian but in homage to a true man. As there was no pursuit the command swept on, leaving Posby and me and two men to bury poor Masters. After marking the grave so we might find it in better times, we rode after the column. Posby was downcast and not inclined to talk. He and Masters had been very close friends in both merrymaking and fighting. It -was the second tragedy of the war to touch me beneath the surface, Big Simon’s death being the first. Overtaking the command, I presented Posby to Marion and explained his desire to be paroled. The general was very courteous as both Elsie and I had reported most favorably about the dear fellow. ‘We'll arrange it formally after we reach my camp, Captain Posby. I shall be glad to convenience you. If all his Majesty’s officers bore such good repute with my men the war would be confined to legitimate killing.” “You can’t expect me to acquiesce in any criticism of my fellow officers,” Posby stiffly replied. ‘Never, captain. You shall partake of the evening meal with me and become bet- ter acquainted with Colonel Horry, and we'll talk over your affairs.” I messed apart with Conyers and M’Cottry, and while making preparations for the night—which consisted largely of finding a. smooth spot for my blanket— Posby joined me. He was much perplexed and as we sprawled on our blankets before a small fire he said: “Beastly poor form to discuss one’s food when one’s eating from-another’s bounty. But your general. Is that a sample of his table fare?”’ oa ‘‘What did you have?” I inquired, well ac- quainted with his love for good cheer. ‘Some cold potatoes with their service- jackets on. A heavy, a devilishly heavy sort of corn bread. My blood! If ever you run out of musket-balls use some of that bread! Then Colonel—a rapping good chap—found a bowl of cursed porridge as a treat for me.” “All that?” I lamented. ‘‘My star was not shining tonight. I’m never asked when they have something extra.” COmicloo oN Uf) (©