Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

CAPTAIN LIGHTFOOT 139 Trim, on horseback at the coach window, woke them all. It was still black night. Trim waved a long arm. ‘“ There’s bivouac fires spread for a mile up there along the road, and though it’s three o’clock, the market-town up ahead has got lights all over it. I don’t understand it. Shall I ride on ahead? ”’ “We could turn back and take a side road,”’ suggested Clayton wearily, coughing in the morning chill, then yawning. *“No,”’ said Michael. ‘‘ A coach such as this on a side road is a very suspicious thing. Let’s chance it, whatever it is.” He kissed Ara quickly, then buckled on his sword, picked up his helmet, got down, and mounted the black horse that Trim was holding for him. They moved slowly into the market-town, where Michael noticed that the side streets were patrolled by dragoons but com- pletely empty otherwise. With a wave of his arm, he led the coach from the main road, and shouting: “‘ Make way for Lord Clayton’s coach! Make way! ”’ he tried to force a passage down a side street, but half a dozen dragoons quickly blocked his way and stopped the coach. Michael screamed at them: ‘‘ This is Lord Clayton’s coach, boobies! Make way! ”’ But a dragoon said, “‘ Sorry, sir. Orders. All traffic is to be cleared through the main highway. No exceptions. Sorry, sir.” Lord Clayton yelled from the coach: ‘‘ Who’s in command here? ”’ ** Colonel Bascomb, sir.”’ Clayton gave a loud laugh. * What—Whisky Billy? Take this to him, and you’ll hurry, my man, if you know what’s good for you. Sir William is an old friend of mine.” * Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, saluting. ** Meanwhile, we’ll stay where we are.”’ + es, Gir.” They waited in silence. Then there was a clattering and holler- ing, and a small group of horsemen turned the corner with a little turkey-cock of a man leading. All the dragoons stiffened and stared at the stars, rigid as ramrods. A bustling aide helped the little turkey-cock of a man to dismount: Colonel Sir William Bascomb. He was drunk and strutting. ** Ah Binny, is it you?” he cried, looking into the coach. “Yes, yes,’ said Lord Clayton impatiently, “‘ and they’ve stopped me, and I’m in a great hurry to get to Belfast.” ‘“ My orders. Iron orders. Sorry, old man. In a hurry, you say? When I was handed your card, I was hoping you could stay for a while and drink with me till this silly business is over. One gets tired of sycophantic underlings. I say, can’t you stay? ” ‘““ Impossible. I’m behindhand now, Billy. What the devil is going on?” ** Oh, those idiots at the Castle have let their number-one man comicloooks.comn