Adventure Magazine Cover — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

How “Mad” was ‘THE PENNSYLVANIA Anthony Wayne? LINE by Wilkeson O’Connell SENTRY was pacing in front of the small stone house that looked like a jailand was brigade head- quarters at Morristown, in New Jersey, for the winter of 1781. His post lay between the hitching-rack, in front of where the burned barn had stood two years before, and a caisson that dripped in the thawing New Year’s night, some yards to the left of the dwelling. And he walked this post with the indifference of one who had known many worseones. Suddenly he stopped and cocked his head to listen to other footsteps than his own that were squelching in the slush of the road from camp. He challenged, sharply, ritually. “Friends,” growled a dull voice in answer. “Advance, friends, to be recognized!” ordered the sentry, in the same manner as before. “Aw, go to the ——!” came the growl again, and three doubtfully uniformed figures shambled into view from around the nearest bend in the road. They walked with the slinking woods- man’s slouch, carrying their rifles—the only efficient looking part of their accouter- ment—with an easy lack of embarrassment, as if these were a natural part of them- selves. They straightened instinctively at the sentry’s “Halt!”’ but as quickly re- sumed their characteristic slouch on the subjoined warning. “Yes, you'll fire like ——!” snarled the long, hollow-cheeked, hollow-chested ner- vous-eyed man whose name was Riddle. ‘“‘We ain’t no Britishers, and ye know it!” “‘Where’s the general?” growled Barstow, who was broad-shouldered, broad-browed, generous-handed, and prematurely griz- zled. He appeared to be a hale though overburdened man of sixty. He was, in fact, not yet in his forty-fifth year. The third man was blond and square, a Pennsylvania ‘“‘Dutchman’’; for which rea- son his name, Holtzburg, was German. On recognizing them the sentry grounded his rifle and answered Barstow’s query like a human being, instead of a military autom- aton. ‘“He’s out making New Year’s visits— left about three this afternoon. Captain Ryan’s within, howsomever.” ‘The sen- try’s tones sank as if he feared the aide-de- camp, who could be seen writing at a deal table through the curtainless, candle-bright windows, might hear him. “Will ye step inside and speak with him?” “Nope,” said Barstow. ‘Our business 2 Copyright, 1926, by The Butterick Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britain. AU rights reserved. cComicbook CO