Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

SUSPENDED A few minutes later the bugler reported. Murphy purred in his approval. The man’s name was Grogan. His lips were thin, cov- ering a generous mouth studded with teeth capable of gnawing down trees if need be. His nose had been pounded and rounded in the pounding. One of his ears had stopped something fast, presumably a fist encased in a glove. He had a cut or two over the eyes and a scar here and there, “Grogan! I have transferred you to K Company. Pack your stuff and be ready to leave with Captain Murphy in the morn- ing.” Grogan saluted, then departed. He was awaiting orders next morning. His last duty had been to arouse the camp and incidentally Captain Murphy. He had scant equipment aside from a set of light gloves and his bugle. ‘Tt ain’t an issue bugle,” he explained, “but one I bought because it’s got sweet notes. I like music, that is like it next to fighting. There’s nothing better than watching a good fight, is there, sir?” “ Nothing, unless it is to be in a good fight!” ‘Would you mind telling me just why I was transferred? I ain’t kicking. I’ve felt the mountain air would do me good.” “One reason is the men won't get up in the morning. Another reason is I’m looking for the best man I can find to tackle the division champion. If I can’t find one I’ll develop one, and you can’t get into condition sleeping in the morning.” “ Vou are right, sir, and they won’t sleep. I have a method all me own aside from regulation bugling.” A faint smile passed over Grogan’s battered face. He seemed to be lost in something very pleasant that had taken place in the past. iif. Tuer new bugler arrived at dusk. The company looked him over and then buzzed among themselves. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep a bugler out of this man’s camp,” growled Ryan, ‘“ but we aren’t whipped yet. The morning will tell.” And the morning told. The last thing ANIMATION. 943 Captain Murphy remembered just before dozing was Grogan’s whispered query: ‘““Who’s the toughest man in camp?” “Private Dugan!” “Which tent does he sleep in?” Murphy gave exact details even to the cot Private Dugan occupied. Then the captain fell asleep. When he awakened it was to the stirring notes of reveille, He groaned. “‘ An ungodly time to get up, but still—” he glanced at the clock, “ the right time. I hope the boys find ways and means of silencing him, but it’ll take some man— heavyweight timber of Grade A.” There was a moment’s silence, then, ‘I blow once and if that don’t work, I start pulling ’em out, like this!’’ Murphy leaped from his cot to the tent door carrying the blankets with him. He saw Bugler Grogan grasp Private Dugan’s bare foot and give a jerk. Private Dugan cleared the cot, the tent, and landed on the ground with a grunt. He was up instantly showing fight. Sergeant Ryan parted them and led the way to the ring erected for just such oc- casions. Seconds were assigned, the ser- geant acting as referee. “You’d better leave your bugle behind,” the sergeant suggested. “Nope, it’s here for a purpose,” an- swered Grogan. The cook, acting as time-keeper, banged on a dish pan. That was the last bang he gave. Two minutes and nine seconds later Private Dugan stopped a fast one with his chin. He crashed to the canvas face downward. Bugler Grogan regarded his work with a professional eye, then picked up his bugle with a gloved hand. Gravely he blew reveille. There was no response. With equal gravity he blew taps, then he faced them. “Tf there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind over who’s boss here, outside of the cap- tain, let ’em step forward one pace and I[’ll examine and report on their claims. Ah, our friend is coming around.” Private Dugan shook the cobwebs from his brain and dragged himself to his feet. “You're a better man than I, Gunga Din,’’ he proclaimed, then reeled back to his tent to finish dressing. oO CoOmicboo SS ©