Adventure Magazine Cover — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

20 WILKESON as they listened to a soldier who, standing on the seat of a caisson, harangued his fel- lows with an almost hypnotically compel- ling passion of persuasion. He was slender to the point of emacia- tion (which is a mark of good condition in certain hard hill breeds), and his hawk’s eyes gleamed sternly with the terrible, posi- tive, consequent fervor of youth; when youth is not given over, like the goslings’, to a flippant and not uncourageous accep- tance of the evils and other things of this “best of all possible worlds.”” His uniform was comparatively whole, although wo- fully shabby, and he swayed lithely, like a poplar before a summer thunder-storm, while he told his mates that they were mis- erable wretches, unduly neglected by a par- simonious and thankless government. Which they readily accepted, and yelled in agreement; for they were eminently reason- able men, and there was nothing in their past experience to contradict his charges. “Losh, and the lad’s a young Cicero!”’ whispered Stewart. ‘Hark to the flow of language. "Tis stupendous!”’ “And most of it past denying, worse luck!”? muttered Butler. “It’s not to sleep he’ll talk them, Stewart, if he keeps ex- pounding these unpleasant truths. They’re anything but soporific!”’ “Shall I ride out and cut him down, Gen- eral?” asked Bittings, his very thighs quiv- ering with eagerness as he loosened the blade in his scabbard. “Sheath that saber!’ hissed Wayne. “Your impatience will ruin all for us yet. Now, attend, sirs—’ and he whispered swift instructions while he eyed the silhou- ette against the firelight. “and, now, on top of all this shameful neglect,” the sergeant-major of the 4th was orating from his caisson, ‘“‘we are oppressed by the severest discipline that Wayne can contrive and inflict. He treats us as prison- ers here in our own camp, denies us the poor recreations to be found in Morristown, and confines us to our huts at unusual hours. He, who has hitherto shown sympathy and leniency to his men, now draws a leaf from ‘Biter’ Bittings’ book, and encourages his underlings to strut and bully amongst us, that we may constantly be reminded that his hand is ready to descend heavily upon the least unwary. This present conduct more than cancels his past behavior to- ward—”’ And he ceased, jaw afloat, for O’CONNELL Wayne, followed by Macklin on foot, rode quietly between the guns and into the fire- light. “Sentry,” ordered the general clearly, and pointing to the still open-mouthed orator on the caisson, ‘‘Arrest that man and convoy him to the guard-house.”’ Fallen’s teeth met with a click, there was a Curious, soundless stir in the half visi- ble ranks, and Barstow’s ragged bulk started out from a group that stood in con- sultation by the fire. “Hold on there, Dave!” the latter called to the sentry as he ran toward the roan. “General, afore ye order any one to do aught, hark to—” - “Obey that order, sentry!’’ Wayne’s voice fell like the crack of sapwood in the cold across the night, and Macklin slowly, reluctantly, continued toward the rebel leader, who watched his coming with blaz- ing, contemptuous eyes, his tight upper lip twitching nervously. “Vhat call has Fallen to be arrested?” demanded Holtzburg’s throaty tones from the fireside. “For talking most seditious nonsense!” answered Wayne sharply. ‘And inciting the Line to rank disobedience of orders. My last one expressly stated that no man was to leave his hut, without a written pass from his company officer, after tattoo had sounded. Go on there, sentry. I am be- hind you.” Barstow had reached the roan’s bridle and was whispering fiercely, beseechingly, to the inattentive man in the saddle, when an anonymous voice rang out from the ranks. “Move another step, Dave Macklin, and T’ll blow ye to —— and after!” Naturally, Macklin halted in his tracks. “Go on, sentry,” ordered Wayne. want that man arrested.” Holding his bayonet indecisively pre- sented, the guard took two more steps to- ward the caisson and stopped short again. Dimly through the gloom he sensed the tiny black eyes of a hundred rifle muzzles, each one trained on his head; while above him, on the driver’s seat, the rebel leader half crouched, tensely poised on the balls of his feet, which shifted and felt for a holding place. “What!” raged Wayne, in a gust of pas- sion. ‘Are you, too, turned rebel to the refusing of your duty?” (Yet he did not eT COMICLOOO S CO