Draw Swords!

In the Horse Artillery

George Manville Fenn

Contents

List of Illustrations.

Chapter I.
A Feather in his Cap.

“Oh, I say, what a jolly shame!”

“Get out; it’s all gammon. Likely.”

“I believe it’s true. Dick Darrell’s a regular pet of Sir George Hemsworth.”

“Yes; the old story—kissing goes by favour.”

“I shall cut the service. It’s rank favouritism.”

“I shall write home and tell my father to get the thing shown up in the House of Commons.”

“Why, he’s only been out here a year.”

Richard Darrell, a well-grown boy of seventeen, pretty well tanned by the sun of India, stood flashed with annoyance, looking sharply from one speaker to another as he stood in the broad veranda of the officers’ quarters in the Roumwallah Cantonments in the northern portion of the Bengal Presidency, the headquarters of the artillery belonging to the Honourable the East India Company, commonly personified as “John Company of Leadenhall Street.” It was over sixty years ago, in the days when, after a careful training at the Company’s college near Croydon, young men, or, to be more correct, boys who had made their marks, received their commission, and were sent out to join the batteries of artillery, by whose means more than anything else the Company had by slow degrees conquered and held the greater part of the vast country now fully added to the empire and ruled over by the Queen.

It was a common affair then for a lad who had been a schoolboy of sixteen, going on with his studies one day, to find himself the next, as it were, a commissioned officer, ready to start for the East, to take his position in a regiment and lead stalwart men, either in the artillery or one of the native regiments; though, of course, a great deal of the college training had been of a military stamp.

This was Richard Darrell’s position one fine autumn morning a year previous to the opening of this narrative. He had bidden farewell to father, mother, and Old England, promised to do his duty like a man, and sailed for Calcutta, joined his battery, served steadily in it for a year, and now stood in his quiet artillery undress uniform in that veranda, looking like a strange dog being bayed at by an angry pack.

The pack consisted of young officers of his own age and under. There was not a bit of whisker to be seen; and as to moustache, not a lad could show half as much as Dick, while his wouldn’t have made a respectable eyebrow for a little girl of four.

Dick was flushed with pleasurable excitement, doubly flushed with anger; but he kept his temper down, and let his companions bully and hector and fume till they were tired.

Then he gave an important-looking blue letter he held a bit of a wave, and said, “It’s no use to be jealous.”

“Pooh! Who’s jealous—and of you?” said the smallest boy present, one who had very high heels to his boots. “That’s too good.”

“For, as to being a favourite with the general, he has never taken the slightest notice of me since I joined.”

“There, that’ll do,” said one of the party; “a man can’t help feeling disappointment. Every one is sure to feel so except the one who gets the stroke of luck. I say, ‘Hurrah for Dick Darrell!’”

The others joined in congratulations now.

“I say, old chap, though,” said one, “what a swell you’ll be!”

“Yes; won’t he? We shall run against him capering about on his spirited Arab, while we poor fellows are trudging along in the hot sand behind the heavy guns.”

“Don’t cut us, Dick, old chap,” said another.

“He won’t; he’s not that sort,” cried yet another. “I say, we must give him a good send-off.”

“When are you going?”

“The despatch says as soon as possible.”

“But what troop are you to join?”

“The Sixth.”

“The Sixth! I know; at Vallumbagh. Why, that’s the crack battery, where the fellows polish the guns and never go any slower than a racing gallop. I say, you are in luck. Well, I am glad!”

The next minute every one present was ready to declare the same thing, and for the rest of that day the young officer to whom the good stroke of fortune had come hardly knew whether he stood upon his head or heels.

The next morning he was summoned to the general’s quarters, the quiet, grave-looking officer telling him that, as an encouragement for his steady application to master his profession, he had been selected to fill a vacancy; that the general hoped his progress in the horse brigade would be as marked as it had been hitherto; and advising him to see at once about his fresh uniform and accoutrements, which could follow him afterwards, for he was to be prepared to accompany the general on his march to Vallumbagh, which would be commenced the very next day.

Dick was not profuse in thanks or promises, but listened quietly, and, when expected to speak, he merely said that he would do his best.

“That is all that is expected of you, Mr Darrell,” said the general, giving him a friendly nod. “Then, as you have many preparations to make, and I have also, I will not detain you.”

Dick saluted, and was leaving, when a sharp “Stop!” arrested him.

“You will want a horse. I have been thinking about it, and you had better wait till you get to Vallumbagh, where, no doubt, the officers of the troop will help you to make a choice. They will do this, for they have had plenty of experience, and are careful to keep up the prestige of the troop for perfection of drill and speed.”

“No one would think he had been an old school-fellow of my father,” said Dick to himself as he went out; “he takes no more notice of me than of any other fellow.”

But the general was not a demonstrative man.

The preparations were soon made, the most important to Richard Darrell being his visit to the tailor who supplied most of the officers with their uniforms. The little amount of packing was soon done, and, after the farewell dinner had been given to those leaving the town, the time came when the young subaltern took his place in the general’s train, to follow the detachment of foot artillery which had marched with their guns and baggage-train for Vallumbagh, where the general was taking charge, and preparations in the way of collecting troops were supposed to be going on.

Travelling was slow and deliberate in those days before railways, and the conveniences and comforts, such as they were, had to be carried by the travellers themselves; but in this case the young officer found his journey novel and pleasant. For it was the cool season; the dust was not quite so horrible as it might have been, and the tent arrangements were carried out so that a little camp was formed every evening; and this was made the more pleasant for the general’s staff by the fact that there were plenty of native servants, and one of the most important of these was the general’s cook.

But still the journey grew monotonous, over far-stretching plains, across sluggish rivers; and it was with a feeling of thankfulness, after many days’ journey, always north and west, that Richard Darrell learned that they would reach their destination the next morning before the heat of the day set in.

That morning about ten o’clock they were met a few miles short of the town, which they could see through a haze of dust, with its temples and minarets, by a party of officers who had ridden out to welcome the general, and who announced that the detachment of artillery had marched in during the night with the heavy guns, elephants, and bullock-wagons. In the evening, after meeting the officers of his troop at the mess-table and not being very favourably impressed, Richard Darrell took possession of his quarters in the barracks overlooking the broad parade-ground, and, utterly tired out, lay down to sleep once more under a roof, feeling dreary, despondent, and utterly miserable.

“India’s a wretched, desolate place,” he thought as he lay listening to the hum of insects, and the night felt breathless and hot. He wished himself back among his old companions at Roumwallah, for everything now was depressing and strange.

A couple of hours later he was wishing himself back at the old military college in England, and when midnight arrived without a wink of sleep he began to think of his old country home, and how different a soldier’s life was, with its dreary routine, to the brilliant pictures he had conjured up as a boy; for everything so far in his twelvemonth’s career had been horribly uneventful and tame.

At last, when he had arrived at the most despondent state possible to a lad of his years—when his skin felt hot and feverish, and his pillow and the one sheet which covered him seemed to be composed of some irritating material which grew hotter and hotter—a pleasant moisture broke out all over him, bringing with it a sudden sense of confusion from which he slipped into nothingness and slept restfully till the morning bugle rang out, when he started from his bed wondering where he was.

Then it all came back, and he was bathing and dressing long before he needed to leave his couch, but the desire for sleep was gone. He had to nerve himself to master as manfully as he could the horribly depressing feeling of strangeness; for the officers he had for companions in the journey were with their own company, quite away from his quarters, and his new companions were men who would look down upon him for being such a boy; and at last he found himself wishing that he had been able to keep as he was, for the honour and glory of belonging to the dashing troop of horse artillery seemed to be nothing better than an empty dream.

The next three days were days of desolation to the lad, for he was left, as he expressed it, horribly alone. There was a good deal of business going on in the settling of the new-comers in the barracks, and his new brother-officers were away with the troop. He knew nobody; nobody seemed to know him, or to want to know him. There was the native town to see, but it did not attract him; and there were moments when he longed to go to the general, his father’s friend, and beg that he might be sent back to his old company. But then there were moments when he came to his senses again and felt that this was folly; but he could not get rid of a strange longing to be back home once more.

Then he grew better all at once; the troop of horse artillery filed into the barrack-yard, and he hurried out to look at the men, horses, and guns, whose aspect chilled him, for they were in undress and covered with perspiration and dust. There was nothing attractive or glorious about them, and he went back to his quarters with his heart sinking once more.

Then it rose again with a jump, for his native servant met him at the door, showing his white teeth in a broad smile, to inform the sahib that the cases had come; and there they were, with each bearing his name branded thereon: “Lieutenant Richard Darrell, Bengal Horse Artillery.”

“Hah!”

It was a loud expiration of the breath, and the lad felt better already. Those cases had come from the regimental tailor’s, a long journey across the plains, and looked very ordinary, and cumbered the room; but then there were the contents—medicine to the disconsolate lad at a time like that—a tonic which completely carried the depression away.

Chapter II.
Fine Feathers make Fine Birds.

Richard Darrell was not a vain or conceited lad, but the time had arrived when he could not help feeling like a young peacock. He had gone on for a long time in his ordinary dowdy plumage, till one fine spring day the dull feathers began to drop out, and there was a flash here and a gleam there—a bit of blue, a bit of gold, a bit of purple and violet, and golden green and ruddy bronze—and he was strutting along in the sunshine in the full panoply of his gorgeous feathers, from the tuft on his head to the grand argus-eyed train which slants from the back, and is carried so gingerly that the tips may not be sullied by the dirt; all which makes him feel that he is a bird right glorious to behold.

And the day had come when, in the secrecy of his own room, Dick was about to moult from the simple uniform of the foot and preparatory days into the splendid full dress of the Bengal Horse Artillery, a commission in which was a distinction, a feather in any young soldier’s cap.

Call it vanity what you will; but it was a glorious sensation, that which came over Dick, and he would have been a strangely unnatural lad if he had not felt excited.

No wonder that he shut himself up for the first full enjoyment of the sensation alone, though perhaps there was a feeling of dread that he might be laughed at by any one who saw him for the first time, since he was painfully conscious of being very young and slight and smooth-faced, although there was a suggestion of something coming up on the narrow space just beneath his nose.

Those things did not come from the military tailor’s in common brown-paper parcels, but in special japanned tin cases, with his name in white letters and “R.H.A.”

How everything smelt of newness! The boxes even had their odour. It was not a scent, nor was it unpleasant—it was, as the classic term goes, sui generis; and what a rustle there was in the silver tissue-paper which wrapped the garments!

But he did not turn to them first, for his natural instinct led him to open the long case containing his new sabre, which was taken out, glittering in its polish, and glorious with the golden knot so neatly arranged about the hilt.

It felt heavy—too heavy, for it was a full-grown sabre; and when he drew it glistening from its sheath, he felt that there was not muscle enough in his arm for its proper management.

“But that will come,” he said to himself as he drew it slowly till the point was nearly bare, and then slowly thrust it back, when, pulling himself together, he flashed it out with a rasping sound, to hold it up to attention.

Yes, it was heavy and long, but not too long for a mounted man, and the hilt well balanced its length. Nothing could have been better, and, after restoring it to its scabbard, he attached it to the slings of the handsome belt and laid it aside upon the bed.

The cartouche-box and cross-belt followed, and were examined with the most intense interest. He had seen them before as worn by officers, but this one looked brighter, newer, and more beautiful, for it was his very own, and it went slowly and reluctantly to take its place beside the sword upon the bed. For there was the sabretache to examine and admire, with its ornate embossings and glittering embroidery.

“Pity it all costs so much,” said Dick to himself as he thought of his father, the quiet doctor, at home; “but then one won’t want anything of this kind new again for years to come, and aunt has paid for this.”

But soon he forgot all about the cost; there was no room in his mind for such a thing, with all that military panoply before his eyes. He had to buckle on the belt, too, and walk to and fro with the sabretache flapping against his leg, while he felt strange and awkward; but that was of no consequence, for a side-peep in the looking-glass showed that it appeared magnificent.

He was about to unbuckle the belt and take it off, but hesitated, feeling that it would not be in his way. But the boy was strong-minded; he had made up his mind to try everything separately, and he determined to keep to his plan. So the belt was taken off, sabretache and all, and the case opened to draw out that jacket.

Yes, that jacket with its gorgeous cross-braiding of gold forming quite a cuirass over the padded breast, and running in cords and lines and scrolls over the seams at the back and about the collar and cuffs. It was heavy, and was certain to be very hot to wear, especially in the tremendous heat of India and the violent effort of riding at a furious gallop. But what of that? Who would mind heat in a uniform so brilliant?

The jacket was laid down with a sigh of satisfaction, and the breeches taken up.

There is not much to be admired in a pair of breeches, be they ever so well cut; but still they were satisfactory, for, in their perfect whiteness, they threw up the beauty of the jacket and made a most effective contrast with the high, black jack-boots—the uniform of the Bengal Horse Artillery-man of those days being a compromise between that of our own corps and a Life Guardsman.

The temptation was strong to try the white garments, and then draw on the high, black boots in their pristine glossiness; but that was deferred till a more convenient season, for there was the capital of the human column to examine—that glistening, gorgeous helmet of gilded metal, with its protecting Roman pattern comb, surmounted by a plume of scarlet horsehair, to stream right back and wave and spread over the burnished metal, to cool and shade from the torrid beams of the sun, while the front bore its decoration of leopard-skin, emblematic of the fierce swiftness of the animal’s attack and the dash and power of the Flying Artillery, that arm of the service which had done so much in the subjugation of the warlike potentates of India and their savage armies.

It was almost idol-worship, and Dick’s cheeks wore a heightened colour as he examined his casque inside and out, gave it a wave in the air to make the plume swish, tapped it with his knuckles, and held it at arm’s-length as proudly as any young knight of old donning his helmet for the first time.

At last he put it on, adjusted the scaled chin-strap, gave his head a shake to see if it fitted on tightly, and then turned to the glass and wished, “Oh, if they could only see me now!”

But they were far away in the little Devon town, where Dr Darrell went quietly on with his daily tasks as a general practitioner, and Mrs Darrell sighed as she performed her domestic duties and counted the days that must elapse before the next mail came in, wondering whether it would bring a letter from her boy in far-away Bengal, and feeling many a motherly shiver of dread about fevers and cholera and wounds, and accidents with horses, or cannons which might go off when her boy was in front.

And the boy made all this fuss about a suit of clothes and the accoutrements just brought to his quarters from the military tailor’s.

Does any lad who reads this mentally exclaim, with an accompanying look of contempt, “What a vain, weak, conceited ass Dick Darrell must have been! Why, if under such circumstances I had received the uniform I should have behaved very differently, and treated it all as a mere matter of course.”

At seventeen? Hum! ha! perhaps so. It would be rude for me, the writer, to say, “I don’t believe you, my lad,” but one cannot help thinking something of the kind, for we all have a touch of vanity in our composition; and as for the uniform of the Bengal Horse Artillery, there was not a man who did not wear it with a feeling of pride.

Dick fell proud enough as he gazed in the glass to see a good-looking, sun-browned face surmounted by that magnificent helmet; but the lad’s head was screwed on the right way, and he was not one of those who were turned out when fools were being made. For, as he gazed at himself and admired his noble helmet and plume, his proud delight was dashed with disappointment.

“I’ve got such a little face,” he said to himself, “and it’s so smooth and boyish. I seem so young and thin. I wish I hadn’t tried so hard to get appointed to the horse brigade. I shall look ridiculous beside all those great, finely-built men. I wonder whether they’ll laugh. Well, it’s too late now. I wish I could go back home for two years to do nothing but grow.”

Dick had gone through everything, even to the gloves, and was having a fight with the desire to try everything on at once, when there was a sharp rap at his door, the handle was turned, and a manly voice shouted:

“May I come in?”

Chapter III.
Chums!

Before an answer could be given the door was thrown open, and a brother-officer strode into the room in the shape of Lieutenant Wyatt, a tall, broad-chested fellow of seven or eight and twenty, a man whom nature had endowed with a tremendous moustache, all that was allowed to grow of a prolific beard.

Dick turned scarlet as he faced his visitor, who looked sharply round and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“Hullo, shrimp!” he cried. “What! have I caught you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dick sulkily.

“Of course you don’t. Get out, you wicked young fibster. You have not been inspecting your new plumage—not you! Trying on, and having a good look in the glass, have you?”

“Well, if I have, what then?” said Dick fiercely.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” cried the visitor, after giving a very fair imitation of the challenge of a game-fowl. “Hark at him! Oh, the fierceness of the newly-fledged officer! Don’t call me out, Dick, and shoot me. There, I apologise.”

“I suppose it was quite natural that I should look at the things and see if everything was there.”

“Quite, dear boy, quite. Well, has the snip sent in everything right?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so.”

“Don’t be cross, Dicky. Don’t sing out of tune. Well, do they fit?”

“I don’t know,” said the lad coldly.

“Haven’t you tried them on?”

“No.”

“Bless us! what self-denial! Well, I’m glad I dropped in at the nick of time. We’ll have ’em all out again.”

“That we won’t,” cried Dick shortly.

“That we will, my boy. I’m precious proud of our troop, and I’m not going to have my junior turn out a regular guy to make the men grin.”

Dick ground his teeth at the very thought of it. Grinned at—for a guy!

“Our uniform takes some putting on, my lad, and we can’t afford to let the ignorant sneer. We’re the picked corps, and why such a shrimp as you should have been allowed to join passes my comprehension.”

“Look here, Mr Wyatt, if you’ve come here on purpose to insult me, have the goodness to leave my room!” cried Dick fiercely, and feeling hot all over.

“Bravo! Well done, little un,” cried Wyatt, patting him on the back; “I like that.”

“Keep your hands off me, sir, if you please!” cried Dick furiously.

“Better still, shrimp.”

“And look here,” cried Dick, who was now bubbling over with anger, “if you dare to call me shrimp again I’ll—I’ll—Look here, sir, your conduct is most ungentlemanly, and I shall—I shall—”

“Kick me, and make me call you out; and we shall meet, exchange shots, shake hands, and be sworn friends ever after—eh, shrimp, lad? No; we’ll do it without all that. Yes, precious ungentlemanly of me, and it’s not nice to be laughed at and called names,” said Dick’s visitor. “Only my way, my lad. But I say, you know,” continued the young officer, taking a chair by the back, turning it round, and then mounting it as if he already had his left foot in a stirrup, raising his right leg very high so as to clear an imaginary cantle and valise, throwing it slowly over, and then dropping down astride, “I like that, but you are little and thin, you know.”

“I suppose I shall grow,” retorted Dick hotly, and the words were on his lips to say, “as big and rude and ugly as you are,” but he refrained.

“Grow? Like a weed, my lad. You’re just the big-boned fellow for it. We’ll soon make you put on muscle.”

“Thank you!” cried Dick scornfully.

“Bless us! what a young fire-eater it is! You’ll do, Dicky; that you will. From what I saw of you last night, I fancied you’d be a nice, quiet, mamma’s boy, and I was sorry that they had not kept you at home.”

“Indeed!” said Dick.

“Cool down, my lad; cool down now. You’ve shown that you’ve got plenty of stuff in you. There, shake hands, Darrell. Don’t be upset about a bit of chaff, boy. I am a bit of a ruffian, I know; but you and I have got to be friends. More than that—brothers. We fellows out here have to do a lot of fighting. Before long, perhaps, I shall have to be saving your life, or you saving mine.”

“That sounds pleasant,” said Dick, resigning his hand to the firm grip which closed upon it, and responding heartily, for there was something taking in the young man’s bluff way.

“Well, hardly,” said the latter, his face lighting up with a frank smile. “But never mind that; I only wanted to tell you that we’re a sprinkle of Englishmen among hundreds of thousands of fierce, fighting bullies, and we’ve got to set up our chins and swagger, and let every one see that we’re the masters. We don’t want milksops in the Flying Artillery.”

“And you think that’s what I am,” said Dick contemptuously.

“That I just don’t, shrimp. No, Dicky, I think quite t’other way on, and I’m a bit of a judge. I shall go back to Hulton and tell him you’ll do.”

“Thanks. But who’s Hulton? Stop, I know—the captain I met last night at the mess.”

“‘Who’s Hulton?’ Hark at the young heathen!” cried the visitor. “He’s your captain, my lad—captain of our troop, the finest troop of the grandest corps in the world. Now you know Hulton and the character of your troop. Don’t you feel proud?”

“Not a bit,” said Dick.

The young man reached forward and gave Dick a sounding slap on the shoulder.

“That settles it!” he cried. “I was right before. Yes, you’ll do. So now, then, let’s set to work.”

“To work? Now?”

“Yes; Hulton told me to come and look you up. ‘Go and see the young cub, and try and lick him into shape,’ he said.”

“One moment!” said Dick sharply. “Are you the bear of the corps?”

“The bear of the corps?” said the visitor, staring. “Oh, I see—a joke! The bear, to lick the cub into shape. Ha, ha! Yes, you’ll do, boy—you’ll do. But, to be serious. He said that we must make the best of you.”

“But, what nonsense!” said Dick. “I’ve gone through all my drilling at Addiscombe, and I’ve gone through a lot more with the foot regiment.”

“Oh, yes; but that’s as good as nothing to what you’ve got to do with us. You’ve been used to crawl, my lad; now you have to fly. I’ve got to help you use your wings, and it will make it easier for you with the drilling. What about the riding-school? Ever been on a horse?”

“Yes.”

“You learned to ride?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a pity, because you’ll have to unlearn that. But we shall make something of you. Here, put on your helmet.”

“Pooh! I have tried that on, and it fits.”

“You do as I tell you. What you call a fit perhaps won’t suit me. Bring it here.”

Dick obeyed unwillingly, and his brother-officer turned the headpiece upside-down and looked inside.

“Just as I expected,” he said, pointing: “not laced up. Look at this leather lining all cut into gores or points. What’s that for?”

“For ventilation, I suppose.”

“Venti—grandmother, boy! Nonsense! Look here; a lace runs through all those points. You draw it tight, tie it so, and it turns the lining into a leather skullcap, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes, I see.”

“But you didn’t before, because you didn’t know. Helmets are heavy things, and you haven’t got to walk in them, but to ride, and ride roughly, too. Consequently your helmet must be kept in its place. Now, try it on.”

Dick slipped it over his head, and passed the chin-strap beneath.

“How is it? Humph! you look like a candle with the extinguisher on.”

“Can’t help that,” said Dick shortly. “It fits close and firm.”

“Of course it does. Seems to rest all over your head instead of being held on like a band round your brows. There, I’ve taught you something. Better let me see to your straps and slings. These tailors never have the slightest notion of how a man’s accoutrements are to be worn.”

The lieutenant examined straps and slings, altering the sword and sabretache buckles, and when these were to his satisfaction he turned to the jack-boots.

“Tried those on?” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Jump into ’em.”

“Oh, but not now.”

“Yes, now. If a man has a good-fitting pair of boots he’s half-dressed.”

“Rather a small half, isn’t it?” said Dick dryly.

“Bah! you’re talking about clothes; I’m talking about a horseman’s accoutrements. A man can ride twice as well if he has good boots. On with them.”

Once more Dick obeyed.

“Humph! seem to go on pretty easy. Hurt you?”

“No. A little tight perhaps.”

“They’ll soon give. Humph! Yes, those will do. You can manage about your clothes yourself. You did try ’em on for the tailor?”

“Yes.”

“Then they will not be so very full of wrinkles, I suppose. Let’s see; there was something else. Oh, yes, I remember. What about a horse?”

“I’ve done nothing about that yet.”

“I suppose not. You must have a good one, you know; but anything could carry you—you’re light as a feather—not like me. But there’s Morrison’s horse to be sold.”

“Morrison’s? Who was Morrison?”

“One of ours, he was killed, poor chap! and his effects were sold—all but his horses. There’s the one he used to ride in the troop, and it would make it easier for you, Hulton said, if you bought him; but—”

“But what?”

“He’s rather an awkward horse to ride unless you know him.”

“Well, I could get to know him,” said Dick.

“Humph! yes—in time; but he has bad habits.”

“I should have to break him off them.”

“Of course.”

“What does he do?”

“Likes playing tricks—biting his companions’ necks; and when he can’t get at them he tries men’s legs.”

“Pleasant!”

“Oh, very! Then, if he has some one on his back that he doesn’t like he’s fond of going on two legs.”

“Which two?” said Dick, laughing.

“Oh, he isn’t particular. Sometimes he chooses the forelegs, sometimes the hind. Then he dances a regular pas seul. Splendid horse to go when he has a strong hand at the rein and a big curb about the jaw.”

“I say,”—said Dick, and he stopped.

“Yes! What?”

“The horse did not kill his master, did he?”

“Morrison? Poor old chap! No; a bullet from one of those miserable old matchlocks finished him. He was too good a rider for any horse to kill. There, tuck your new toggery away. It looks nice and bright now, but it soon gets tarnished and dull—worse luck. Mind your man takes care of it, so as to make it last as long as it will. We’re obliged to keep up our character. Come out then, and let’s go and see Hulton, to get his opinion about a horse for you. By the way, what is your father?”

“A country doctor.”

“Very rich?”

“Oh, no; he’s comfortably off.”

“Ah, well, then you mustn’t be coming down too hard upon him for a horse. You’ve run up a pretty good bill for him already over your new outfit.”

“Oh, no,” said Dick quickly; “my Aunt Kate put five hundred pounds for me to draw upon to pay for my outfit.”

“What!” cried Wyatt, “you’ve an Aunt Kate with plenty of money who has done that?”

“Yes.”

“Give me her address, my dear boy; she must be everything that’s good.”

“She is,” said Dick warmly. “But why do you want her address?”

“To write and propose for her at once, sir,” said Wyatt, drawing himself up; “such a good woman ought not to remain single. She is single, of course?”

“Oh, yes,” said Dick, smiling.

“That’s right. I don’t suppose I shall get back to England for a dozen years, but I shall still be young. Let’s see; twenty-eight and twelve make forty, and that isn’t old, is it?”

“Oh, no—middle-aged.”

“You don’t think she’d mind waiting, do you, till then?”

“I can’t say,” said Dick merrily. “But, let’s see; sixty and twelve are seventy-two—would you mind waiting?”

“Ahem!” said Wyatt, clearing his throat; “five hundred pounds for you to draw upon. You can easily afford a good horse out of that.”

“Of course; it was meant for the purpose.”

“Then let’s go and see Hulton at once, and hear what he says.”

The uniform was quickly put away, Dick’s native servant being summoned; and then the two officers crossed the parade-ground to Captain Hulton’s quarters, where that quiet, thoughtful-looking personage gave Dick a friendly nod, and proceeded to chat over the subject in a very decisive manner after Wyatt had opened it and had not omitted to allude to Aunt Kate’s money.

“What do you say about Morrison’s Arab?” he said after a while.

“What! for our young friend here?”

“Yes.”

“Decidedly no!—There is no hurry, Darrell, and you need not be too eager about spending your money. Let it rest till a good, quiet, fast mount turns up—one that would suit you. Poor Morrison’s Arab is only fit for a rough-rider. We’ll find you something for the present—something that will not want much riding.”

“Very well, sir,” said Dick quietly; “you know best.”

“Well, I think so, Darrell,” said Captain Hulton, smiling. “When you have been out here ten years with the troop you will have had my experience. You do ride a little?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not our way, of course. Done a little hunting at home, I suppose?”

“Yes, a little; but my father never encouraged me in it.”

“Of course not. Well, I’m glad you have joined, Darrell, and we will do our best to make you like the troop; but I’m afraid you will find our drill a bit rough, for we stand first as smart troop, and we have to work hard to keep our position.—I’m busy, Wyatt; so you must take Darrell round and show him the men, horses, and guns.”

“Right,” said Wyatt.—“Come along, Dick, my lad.”

“I wish he wasn’t so fond of Dicking me,” thought the boy; “but I suppose it’s his way.”

Chapter IV.
Such a Boy!

Wyatt performed his task thoroughly,

“You shall see the guns first,” he said: and he marched his new brother-officer across to the gun-shed, where a smart, six-foot gunner in undress uniform drew himself up to salute as they passed to where the light six-pounders stood in an exact line, with their limbers and ammunition-boxes, rammers, sponges, and trails—the very perfection of neatness, and everything that would bear a polish shining like a gem.

On the walls were rockets in racks, and stands for their discharge were close at hand; while spare wheels and tackle of every kind possible to be wanted, and beautifully clean, took Dick’s attention, showing, as they did, the perfect management over all.

“Now for the stables,” said Wyatt. “Better be on your guard, for some of the horses are rather playful with their heels.”

Dick nodded, and followed his conductor into the plainest and cleanest stable he had ever seen. Here they came upon several syces or grooms, whose task it was to give the horses’ coats the satin-like gloss they displayed; for the drivers and gunners of the Honourable Company’s corps were far too great men to run down their own horses, or do much more than superintend the cleaning of their own accoutrements.

“It’s different to being at home,” said Wyatt laughingly; “and we want the men to fight, not for grooms and servants. They’re a bit spoiled, but the niggers are plentiful, and we let them do the work.”

Dick had seen the stables at a cavalry barracks once, and admired the horses; but these were nothing to the beautiful, sleek creatures he saw here. Wild-looking, large-eyed, abundant of mane and tail, perfect beauties without exception, but certainly playful as the lieutenant had said, the entrance of the visitors seeming to be the signal for the long line to begin tossing their heads, rattling their halters, and turning their beautiful arched necks to gaze at the new-comers before snorting, squealing, and making ineffectual attempts to bite at their fellows—ineffectual, for they could not reach them.

“What do you think of them?” said Wyatt, smiling at his companion’s display of excited appreciation. “Will they do?”

“Do!” cried Dick enthusiastically; “why, there isn’t one that would not make a magnificent charger.”

“Bating temper, you’re quite right. Arab stallions, every one. But you’ve seen them before.”

“Only once, at a distance, and then they were going fast.”

“Yes, we do go pretty fast,” said Wyatt quietly; “the men on the limbers have to sit pretty tight in their leather slings. Seen enough?”

“No,” cried Dick; “one could never see enough of such horses as these.”

“That’s right, young one,” said Wyatt approvingly. “Well, you’ll see enough of them now. We’ll walk down to the other end, and go out of the other door.”

Dick followed his companion unwillingly, for the desire was on him to go and pat and handle several of the beautiful creatures.

“No, no,” said Wyatt, stopping him; “it’s rather too risky; some of them are likely to be nasty with strangers. You see, so long as a horse is a good one we don’t study much about his character.”

“Nor yet about the characters of the men,” said Dick dryly.

“That’s so. We want men—perfect men—sound in wind and limb; and as to the men’s characters, well, they’re obliged to behave well. They know that, and they do. Come and see them.”

This was the most crucial part of the business to Dick. The horses, as they turned their beautiful eyes upon him and shook their manes, seemed one and all to be gazing at him with a kind of sovereign contempt. But then they were horses—dumb animals, and did not matter; but the men—what would they think?

He felt younger, slighter, and more boyish than ever as he crossed the parade-ground towards the barracks, and involuntarily drew himself up, frowned, and strode more heavily, unconscious of the fact that his conductor was looking slyly down at him from the corner of his left eye, enjoying the boy’s effort to look more manly. Then his face turned grave, and he laid his hand upon the lad’s arm.

“Don’t do that, Dick,” he said.

“Don’t do what?” cried the boy flushing guiltily.

“Don’t be a sham. It will make a bad impression on the men.”

Dick stopped short, and looked half angrily at his brother-officer.

“I’m speaking seriously, lad,” said Wyatt, “to my brother-officer. You see, Dick, you are only a boy yet, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. Be proud of being a boy till nature turns you into a man, and then be a man.”

“I don’t quite understand you, sir,” said Dick.

“Yes, you do; and now you’re being a sham with me while I’m trying to keep you from being a sham with the men, who would see it directly, and laugh at it as soon as our backs are turned. I say, young un, don’t you know that a good boy is far better than a bad man?”

“A good boy!” said Dick, with his lip curling. “You speak to me as if I were a child. You’ll be calling me a naughty boy next.”

“What a young fire-eater you are!” said Wyatt good-humouredly. “I didn’t mean a good boy, the opposite of a naughty boy. You know well enough what I mean—a boy who is a boy, a frank brick of a boy who acts up to what he really is—not one of your affected imitation men, young apes, puppies who are ashamed of being boys—young idiots. Look here, young un; I took to you last night because you were frank and straightforward, and behaved as if you knew that you were only a boy.”

“Well, I do know it, of course; but I don’t want people to be always throwing it in my teeth.”

“Nobody will, my lad, unless you make them. It’s in your own hands. Whenever a lad gets that it’s because he has been making a monkey of himself by trying to imitate what he is not.”

“Well, but I was not just now.”

“What!” cried Wyatt.

“Well, I suppose I was—a little,” said Dick, turning more red in the face.

“A little? Awfully, old fellow. Drop it. I wouldn’t have taken you through the men’s quarters like that for your own sake. Believe me, my lad, when I tell you that I’m going to take you through our troop of picked men—men we’re all proud of. They’re keen, clever fellows, who can read one like a book. You’ll have to help lead them some day, and you’ve got to win their respect by your manliness and pluck. Then they’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Manliness!” cried Dick reproachfully; “and you ridicule me for trying to be so.”

“For shamming it, my lad. A boy can be naturally manly without acting.”

“All right; I’ll try—to be a boy,” said Dick, rather glumly.

“There, now, you’re facing about in the wrong direction, my lad. Don’t try—don’t act. Be a natural British lad. Look honestly, enviously if you like, at the men. You are a boy yet, nothing but a boy—one of the youngest officers we’ve had; and if you’re frank and natural with it, and the men see that you’ve got the pluck to learn our ways, with plenty of go, they’ll make it ten times as easy for you as it would be, and make a regular pet of you.”

“But I don’t want to be the men’s pet,” said Dick sharply.

“Of course not. I only mean they’ll be proud of you, and like you for being young. They’ll put will into everything they do when you give your orders; and when,” said Wyatt, with a grim laugh—“when you’re beginning, and hot and excited, and give the wrong orders and would wheel the troop in the wrong direction, they’ll go right.”

“Thank you, Mr Wyatt,” said Dick quietly.

The lieutenant looked at him sharply.

“I was going to say, ‘Mean it?’” he said, “but I see you do. Why, Dick, lad, I often wish I was a boy again, as often perhaps as I used to wish that I was a man, and longed for a moustache.”

He gave Dick a comical look and laughed.

“It’s all right,” he said; “it’s coming up, and I don’t say it will beat mine some day, for I’ve got about the biggest in the artillery, and a great nuisance it is when I’m eating soup.—Ah, here’s some one for you to know.”

For a fine, stalwart-looking, slightly-grizzled, deeply-bronzed man in the undress uniform of a sergeant-major suddenly came out from a doorway, and saluted both as he drew himself up like a statue.

“Ah, Sergeant,” said Wyatt, stopping short. “This is my friend, Mr Darrell, our new subaltern.”

“Glad to meet you, sir,” said the old non-commissioned officer stiffly.

“I’m taking him round. We’re just going to look at the men.”

“Yes, sir. Like me to show you round?”

“Yes, you may as well. By the way, Mr Darrell is very anxious to get into our ways as soon as he can. You’ll help him all you can?”

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant grimly, and Dick found it hard work to look natural; “but I’m afraid he’ll find us a little rougher than they are in the foot.”

“Oh, he won’t mind that.—Will you, Darrell?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Dick in a frank, outspoken way, giving the sergeant a good, earnest, straightforward look as he spoke. “I expect I shall find it very rough, and mind it a good deal at first; but I suppose I shall soon get used to it if I try.”

The sergeant’s grim visage relaxed as Dick spoke.

“I think you’ll do, sir,” he said. “That’s half the fight—try.”

“Do? Oh, yes, he’ll do. Captain Hulton says you are to take him in hand.”

“Proud to do my best, sir,” said the sergeant bluffly. “Mr Darrell knows, of course, that he has a deal more to learn here than he had in the foot brigade, for we have to be wonderfully smart.”

“Oh, yes, he knows all that, Stubbs.”

“Then it sha’n’t be my fault, sir, if I don’t make you as smart an officer as Mr Wyatt here, if he’ll pardon me for saying so.”

“That’s right, Sergeant.—He broke me in, Darrell, and you’ll find him a splendid teacher. Ah, here we are! Now you’re going to see some of the sergeant’s pupils.”

Dick walked with his companion into the barrack-room, where some forty or fifty men were lounging about in the easiest of costumes—négligé would be too smart a term for it; but all started to their feet as the officers entered, and looked sharply and searchingly at the new subaltern. But, as it happened, the lad did not feel the slightest nervous shrinking; for, as he went through the barrack-room, followed by the sergeant, the deep feeling of interest he felt in the aspect of the place, with the men’s trappings and weapons in place and in the most perfect order, the neatness of all but the men’s costume—and, above all, the aspect of the fine body of picked soldiers whom he was some day to lead—thrilled the young officer with a feeling of pride, and gave such a look of animation to his countenance that unwittingly he made as good an impression as the most exacting of friends could have wished.

The ordeal was soon passed; for, as Wyatt said, “One doesn’t like to be interfering with the men in their easy times. But what do you think of our lads, Darrell?”

“Splendid!” cried the boy enthusiastically. “You’re right; they are picked men.”

“Yes, they are,” said Wyatt.—“Eh, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. I often wish we could ride into Hyde Park with them on a review day. I think we could make the Londoners give us a cheer. Beg pardon, sir, but some of ’em seemed to like the look of Mr Darrell here.”

“Think so?”

“Yes, sir; set some of ’em thinking, as it did me!”

“Set you thinking?” said Wyatt.

“Yes, sir; about when we were young as he is, sir. Hah! it’s a good many years since, though.—When will you be ready to begin, sir?” he added quickly, for he detected a look of annoyance at the turn the conversation was taking.

“To-morrow morning?” said Dick sharply. “Will that do?”

“Yes, sir; the sooner the better. Riding-school half-an-hour after reveille, please. Like to see the riding-school, sir?”

“No, no!” cried Wyatt; “he’ll see enough of that for many days to come. We’ve done enough for to-day.”

The sergeant saluted, and the two officers marched away in silence for a few moments before Wyatt said sharply:

“Capital, Dick. Couldn’t have been better. You were just the natural lad who was taking an eager interest in the men and their place. They saw it, and the sergeant was correct. All right, my lad; I’m glad you’ve joined us. You’ll do.”

“Think so?” said Dick, blushing.

“Yes; and so will Hulton when he knows you better.”

“Then he didn’t think so at first?” said Dick sharply.

“No; he was a bit savage about the authorities appointing such a boy.”

Dick winced.

“But he knew nothing about what sort of stuff you were made of.”

“Bah! don’t flatter,” said Dick angrily.

“Not going to. Sooner knock your head off. But look here, my lad; you have your work cut out, and we’re going to show Hulton that he has got the right lad to grow up into our ways and fill poor Morrison’s place.”

“We are going?” said Dick wonderingly.

“Of course; I’m going to help.”

Chapter V.
A Test of Pluck.

Dick wanted no morning trumpet to call him; he was awake before daylight, to lie thinking, his brain excited by the novelty of his position and the thoughts of all he had to go through.

To put it plainly, he felt new and nervous; but he recalled the fact that it was his own doing—it had been his ambition to get appointed to the Flying Artillery. “And to-day,” he said to himself, “I have to begin to learn how to fly, and that means having some falls. Well, if I do I won’t holloa. I don’t mean to show I’m hurt.”

This was while he was having his apology for a tub, but it was most enjoyable after a hot night, though awkward, and consisted in squatting down in a shallow tin and pouring earthen jars of cold water over his head, to run down his back.

“’Tis freshening,” he muttered; “makes one feel ready for everything.”

He was hard at work towelling when a trumpet sounded so peculiarly that he laughed.

“What’s the matter with the fellow?” he said. “That can’t be the reveille. Some one blowing for fun. How absurd!”

He hurried to the window as he realised what it was, and saw, looming up in the dim light, the figure of a gigantic elephant slowly following a man whose only garment was a strip of cotton cloth about his loins; while directly after three more of the great animals passed by.

“Gun-elephants, I suppose,” he said to himself.

The trumpet had not sounded when he finished dressing, so he hurried down to have a breath of the fresh morning air, making his native servant start up from where he was lying asleep, to stare at his sahib who had left his couch so soon.

It was pleasantly cool out in the parade-ground, and Dick was hesitating as to which direction he should take, when the sound of voices from beyond the low range of stabling to his right, followed by a repetition of the elephants trumpeting and the splashing of water, took his attention.

“Taking them to drink,” he muttered; and he made for an opening at the end of the shed just as the morning bugle rang out loud and clear, echoing from the different buildings near and rousing the sleepers throughout the barracks.

“I have half-an-hour, though,” thought Dick; and he went on through the opening, to find himself in a paved courtyard, where the four elephants were standing, and about a dozen nearly nude Hindus were slowly drawing water from a well.

Just then the man who was in charge of the largest elephant marched up to it, bearing a pail, uttered a few sharp orders in Hindustani, and the huge beast slowly and ponderously went down on its knees and then laid itself over on its side, grunting softly as it settled its head on the pavement, stretched out its writhing trunk, and then lay blinking its little, piggish eye, and gently flapping the big ear at liberty.

Another man came up with a bucket, and Dick became aware that he was to be present at the morning toilet of the huge beast. This commenced at once by the men throwing the water all over the great heaving flank; and then, each armed with what looked like a piece of pumice-stone, the bare-footed pair walked on to it, and, squatting down, began work, as a maid at home would begin hearth-stoning a flight of steps.

The whole performance was most ludicrous—the elephant lying there grunting as if with pleasure, lifting ear or leg at a word, and grunting and uttering little, squealing and soft, whining noises, indicating satisfaction, while showing that, in spite of the thickness of its skin, it was sensitive here and there and ticklish to a degree.

One of the most absurd parts of the performance was the perfectly cool way in which the men paddled about all over it, their feet seeming to hold on well to the grey, indiarubber-like surface, and the elephant evidently approving of the whole business.

Dick stood watching the scrubbing, deluging with water, and re-scrubbing and showering till one side was done, and then stood as close up as he could without getting wet, when the order was given for the great brute to change sides, which it did by rolling itself over, the others following suit, and patiently waiting for the other flank to be done.

“Morning, sir,” said a voice behind, and Dick started round to see the sergeant had followed him.

“Morning. It’s not time yet, is it?”

“Wants about ten minutes, sir. I was on my way, but I saw you through the gateway.”

“I didn’t know this was done. Are these gun-elephants?”

“Yes, sir. Oh, yes, it’s done regularly: keeps them beautifully clean.”

“They seem to like it.”

“Oh, yes, sir; they grant and enjoy it like pigs being scratched. You see, they’re a deal worried by flies and things which lay their eggs in their tender parts behind the ears and under their arms.”

“Their arms?”

“Well, legs, sir. But look at ’em; they’re more like arms, and their hindlegs are more like ours. You look when they lie down. See that, sir?”

The sergeant drew the young officer’s attention to the big elephant lifting up its foreleg for the stone to scour beneath, grunting the while softly.

“He itches just there, sir.”

“Seems like it,” said Dick. “But what an enormous brute it is!”

“Yes, sir: ’bout one of the biggest I’ve seen. The Rajah of Soojeepur up north yonder has some thumpers, but nothing bigger than this one.”

“I didn’t know you had elephants here,” said Dick.

“We don’t as a rule, sir, but these four have come up with a couple of heavy guns. There’s something up, I suppose.”

“What—fighting?” said Dick eagerly.

The sergeant shook his head.

“Don’t know, sir. We never know till the last minute, when the order comes to move. May be to a bit of a scrimmage—perhaps only to hold some place. But time’s pretty well up, sir, and the men will be there with the horse.”

“I’m ready,” said Dick, and he turned to go, but altered his mind, and made so that he could walk round the elephants, going so close to the first that he had been watching so long that, as he paused for a moment close to its head and spoke to the great, blundering creature, it responded by suddenly stretching out its trunk and taking a turn round the lad’s ankle, holding him fast.

“Hurrah walla pala larna fa,” or something like it, cried the man, jumping up from where he had squatted scouring what answered to the elephant’s armpit.

“Phoonk! phoonk!” came in reply, the elephant seeming to be quite content with its capture.

“Tell him to let go,” cried the sergeant: and the man began to jump and dance and stamp upon the elephant’s ribs, yelling and calling it all the ill-names he could in his own tongue, and threatening what he would do with the goad the next time he was mounted behind the creature’s ears.

But the great brute lay quite still, flapping its free ear up and down, rumbling like a young thunderstorm, and blinking at Dick, with the serpent-like coil about his leg.

“Oh, son of a wicked, squinting mother, am I to come and pull thy ugly, great tusks out by the roots?” shrieked the Hindu.

“Woomble! woomble!” went the elephant; and the sergeant stepped forward to give Dick his support.

“Woomph!” roared the animal angrily, and the sergeant started back.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt me,” said Dick; “it only feels tight.”

“I don’t know, sir,” said the sergeant. “I don’t know what to make of these brutes. They’re not like horses.”

“Not a bit,” said Dick, with rather a forced smile, for his position was awkward, and he began to think of what might happen if the elephant held on and suddenly rose to its feet.

“Why don’t you make him leave go?” cried the sergeant angrily.

“Thy servant is trying, sahib,” whimpered the man, who jumped on the elephant again, but only brought forth a grunt.

“Shout at him; he understands you.”

“Yes, sahib; but he is in one of his bad tempers this morning.”

The man stepped forward and stamped with one foot on the beast’s neck, and then kicked at his ear.

“That does no good. Where’s your spiked hook?”

“It is not here, O sahib,” whimpered the man, who then burst out with a furious tirade of vituperation; but the offending beast only twitched its contemptible little tail and winked good-humouredly at Dick.

“Oh, vile, pig-headed brother of a mugger!” shrieked the man, while all his fellows stopped short and watched the encounter; “am I to curse thee till thou dost shrivel up into a chicken maggot? Am I to cease cleaning thy dirty hide, and leave thee to be eaten up by wicked flies?”

The elephant “chuntered,” as a north-country man might say, and its meaning seemed to be, “Oh, yes, if you like.”

“Will you let go of the young sahib’s leg, oh first cousin of ten thousand demons?” shrieked the man.

“Will you let go of the young sahib’s leg, oh first cousin of ten thousand demons?” shrieked the man.

“Poomph!” growled the elephant; and the Hindu started on another tack, while a couple of his fellows, bearing buckets of water, came nearer.

“Oh, sweet son of a beautiful little mother, beloved eater of cane and sugar-grass, handsome pet of the ivory teeth! unclasp the young sahib’s leg, and thy mahout will paint thee in red and blue stripes with vermilion and indigo. He will gild thy tusks with gold, and put a velvet cloth with silken ropes on thy soft, mountain-like back, so that the elephants of the Rajah of Soojeepur shall be jealous, and run away maddened to the jungle when thou goest thy way.”

“Pooroon! pooroon!” grumbled the great beast.

“What! Not when thy beloved mahout promises thee that?” cried the mahout, sliding off the flesh-mountain to bend down and lift up the great flap of an ear and whisper gently, “Sweet gums shall be thine, and bananas, great melons and cucumbers.”

“Whoo—oomph!”

There was a kind of flesh-quake, the Hindu was thrown sideways, the trunk had been uncoiled, and the monster heaved up its huge bulk and stood over Dick, who had not moved, swaying its great head from side to side, and bringing its splendid great tusks within an inch or two every time it swept them by.

“Let the young sahib run before the evil-born beast with a miserable tail slays him by putting him under his foot!” cried the man.

“He won’t hurt me,” said Dick gently. “Will you, old chap? There, I haven’t got anything for you.”

Dick raised his hand and rubbed the monster’s corrugated trunk, moving gently out of its way as it came forward to where the men who looked on had set down their buckets of water, and now fled hastily.

“Why, he’s thirsty,” said Dick.

So it proved, for the elephant reached out its trunk, which looked like a gigantic leech, curved its end down into the nearest pail, sucked up a third of the contents, withdrew it, turned it under into its mouth, shot the water down its throat, and went on repeating the process till both the pails were empty, when it raised its trunk in the air, blew a wild, weird blast, and then turned to Dick again, touched him softly with its trunk, and then stood gravely swaying its head from side to side.

“Hah!” ejaculated the sergeant; and Dick turned sharply from watching the elephant, for his companion’s exclamation seemed to be echoed.

“Good-morning,” said Dick. “I didn’t know you were there, Mr Wyatt.”

“I didn’t dare to stir,” replied that gentleman. “Why, Darrell, my lad, I’ve been standing there ever so long, with my heart in my mouth.”

“Oh, I don’t think there was anything to mind.”

“I don’t know. These beasts can be very awkward sometimes, and kill their mahouts. I say, didn’t you feel frightened?”

“N-o, I don’t think so; only a bit helpless. It was so curious.”

“They have such power,” said Wyatt.

“So I suppose,” said Dick quietly: “but it was so curious to watch and listen to that mahout, sometimes scolding and sometimes petting the great elephant to let go. I hadn’t time to feel frightened. But it was awkward.”

“Yes,” said Wyatt dryly, “very awkward. Been worse, though, if he had dragged you closer and set one of his feet upon you.”

“Yes,” replied Dick thoughtfully; “an animal like that must be very heavy.”

Wyatt looked at the sergeant, and the sergeant raised his shaggy eyebrows a little as he returned the meaning look; and by that time they had reached the big entrance-door of the long, light building used as a riding-school.

Chapter VI.
Putting through the Paces.

However Richard Darrell might have felt when held by the elephant, he certainly was conscious of being uncomfortable now, for it was long since he had mounted a beast of any kind; and he was to take his seat upon a big, highly-trained trooper, in the presence of a man who was without doubt a magnificent horseman, as well as under the eye of one who acted as riding-master of the troop.

The place looked gloomy in the early morning—quite in accordance with the lad’s feelings—while as soon as he passed through the doorway, which had been made high enough to allow for the passage of mounted men, he was conscious of being in the presence of his mount—a big, restive-looking horse, gifted with the bad habit of showing the whites of its eyes and tossing up its head in what seemed to be a vicious way.

“Hullo!” cried Wyatt, as the native groom began caressing the animal on seeing them enter, with the result of making the horse more restive; “why, you’ve got Old Bones.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant; “he knows his business so well that I thought he would be best.”

“But he’s such a rough, hard-mouthed brute, Stubbs.”

“Yes, sir; but he answers to the word of command better than any horse in the troop.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Wyatt. “You must nip him well with your knees, Darrell.”

Dick nodded, and stood looking at the horse, which was led up at a sign made by the sergeant.

“Been accustomed to horses, sir?” he said to his pupil.

“Yes, a little,” said Dick.

“Then you won’t be nervous, sir; and the ground bark is quite soft to fall on.”

“Yes,” said Wyatt; “and if you do come off you needn’t mind, for you’ll have no stirrups, and the horse will stop short.”

At the words “no stirrups” Dick winced a little, but he set his teeth a bit harder.

The horse bore a regular high-peaked and pommelled saddle of the military type, and the sergeant took the reins while the syce went, as the lad supposed, to take off or cross the stirrups over the horse’s back; but, rather to Dick’s dismay, he rapidly unbuckled the girths and drew the saddle off, carrying it to a great peg near the door, and then hurrying back to take the reins from the sergeant’s hand.

“Ready, sir?” said the latter.

Dick nodded.

“Then I’ll give you a leg up. Take the reins. No, no; that’s not our way, sir. Only pass your little finger between them this fashion, and let them both run through your hand, passing them together between your thumb and first finger. See; this way. Gives you a firmer pull in reining up short.”

Dick nodded, after watching the sergeant, who then dropped the reins on the horse’s neck.

“Now then, take up your reins.”

Dick obeyed, holding them exactly as the sergeant had done the moment before.

“Wrong!” shouted his master. “Try again.”

Dick dropped the rein, and turned an inquiring look at his tutor.

“You took up the wrong rein, sir. Civilians ride on the snaffle; soldiers ride on the curb.”

Dick nodded, and took up the curb-rein this time.

“Good. Now give me your left leg, and when I say ‘Mount,’ put a little spring into it as I give you a lift, raise your right leg high as you throw it over to clear your saddle and traps, and open your crutch wide as you let yourself drop on to the horse’s back. Of course there is no saddle, but you must mount as if there was. Ready!—Mount.”

The sergeant raised the lad’s leg, and seemed to be trying to throw him over to the other side of the horse, which kept on tossing its head about, but stood like a statue.

In an instant Dick was in his place.

“Off again!” cried the sergeant; and the lad threw himself off quickly. “Now, your leg. See if you can do that again.”

The orders were given, and the lad dropped once more easily into his place, Wyatt giving a satisfied smile, and the sergeant nodding.

“Attention!” he cried. “Now take up the snaffle-rein to hold loosely in your hand. That’s right. Get well down in your seat; sit perfectly upright, elbows more in, grip with your knees, and keep your toes pointed forward and your heels well down. Mind, you have to ride on the balance. That’s right. You will advance now at a walk.”

As he uttered the last word the syce darted back, and the horse went off at a quick walk down the side of the riding-school, along the end, right down the other side and bottom, and back to where the three were standing.

“Not bad, sir,” said the sergeant. “Feel pretty safe?” Dick nodded.

“Keep those elbows in and your toes well up. Straighter, straighter. That’s right. Once more—forward at a walk.”

The horse started again, and as soon as the rider was out of hearing Wyatt spoke.

“Promises well, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir; not the first time he has been on a horse.—Trot!” he shouted, and the horse broke into a long, swinging stride, throwing his rider up so high that Dick felt how well his mount merited the term rough; but the lad kept his place pretty well, and as they reached the sergeant again a sharp “Halt!” rang out, the horse stopped short, and Dick went right forward upon the neck.

“I said ‘Halt!’” cried the sergeant grimly. “Get back in your place, sir, and keep there. We ride on a horse’s back, an elephant’s neck, and the ears keep you from going any forwarder.”

“The old joke, Stubbs,” said Wyatt softly.

“Yes, sir; I have used it a good many times with recruits,” said the sergeant grimly. Then to his pupil, “Now, sir, keep in your place this time.”

“Yes. That was bad,” said Dick.

“Silence! Advance at a walk.”

The horse moved off again.

“Trot!”

Away he went, snorting and tossing his head, throwing his rider up at every stride of his long-legs right round the school, and Dick nipped the animal’s sides with his knees, doing his best to keep his seat when the word “Halt!” should ring out; but, to his surprise, the horse went on past the group and passed again for another round.

Then came the order; the horse stopped short.

“Sit easy!” shouted the sergeant. “Make much of your horse. Sit easy!” he cried again, for Dick had not moved. “Pat your horse, sir; pat your horse.”

Dick obeyed now, and the sergeant went on giving him instructions about his seat, and opening his crutch, getting his elbows in, and heels down.

“Sit well upright, sir, but not stiff as a ramrod. A good rider ought to be like a part of his horse.”

And so on, and so on, for a few minutes, while the lieutenant looked on sternly without uttering a word, frowning severely the while.

“Attention!” shouted the sergeant again, as if he were addressing a squad of recruits; and once more the walking and trotting were gone through. There was another rest, some repetition of instructions, all of which Dick, a soldier by training, listened to in silence, and fixed as well as he could upon his memory.

But an hour had nearly gone by, and he was growing tired, while sundry internal hints suggested that breakfast would be acceptable. The lesson was not at an end, though. “Attention” was called, and the horse started again at a walk.

“Going to try him at the gallop?” said Wyatt softly.

“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant; “he can ride.”

“Won’t come off, will he?”

The sergeant shook his head.

“Trot!”

Away went the horse with his long, swinging stride, which without a saddle was rather a painful mode of progression for his rider.

“This is the finish,” thought Dick.

“Gallop!” was roared, and in an instant the horse bounded off, swinging round the long building, while, delighted with the change, his rider settled down to the easy pace with a profound feeling of satisfaction.

But as he passed the sergeant there was a roar at him to sit up, and he had to recall his instructions and ride according to them.

“Better!” shouted the sergeant as they dashed by, scattering the soft covering of the ring, while the horse covered the ground as if this were the natural pace to which he was accustomed. And the third time round the young rider was on his guard—he expected the word “Halt!”—and when it came, and the horse stopped short, he kept his place.

“Dismount!” cried the sergeant, and Dick threw himself off, hot and panting.

“That will do for this morning, sir. You’ve been on a horse before.”

“Yes,” said Dick quietly; “I used to ride about with my father when I was at home.”

The syce clapped the saddle on the horse again, and walked it away to the stables; and, after a word or two from the sergeant, the two officers marched back to quarters.

“Feel stiff, Darrell?” said Wyatt.

“Yes, and sore about the knees. I’m not used to riding without a saddle.”

“Capital practice. Keep it up; the sergeant’s a splendid teacher.”

“Rather a rough one,” said Dick.

“Ah, you’re tired. Come and have breakfast. You’ll feel better then. Go to your room and have a wash and brush; I’ll wait for you. You’ll just have time. Hulton likes us to be punctual. Here—No, I’ll go straight on; join me there.”

“Yes,” said Dick quietly, and he went to his room, while Wyatt went on and found his brother-officer ready and the servants waiting to bring in the breakfast.

“Been to the riding-school?”

“Yes; just come away.”

“Well, what’s he like with a horse?”

“Tip-top,” replied Wyatt—“for a beginner.”

“Then you think we shall make something of him?”

“Not a doubt about it.”

“They are going to bring out Burnouse this morning, so that I may come to some decision about whether it shall be sold. Will you buy it?”

“Can’t afford another, my dear boy. Why don’t you?”

“I’m in the same position. The horse is quite impossible for that boy?”

“Oh, yes; it would be murder to put him on it.”

“Then the horse must go and be sold. It’s a pity, too, for he’s a splendid creature.”

Chapter VII.
A Beast of a Temper.

Wyatt was quite right, for the breakfast partaken of with his two brother-officers set the lad thinking in a very different way. Before the meal he felt weary and rather despondent; after, he was only a trifle stiff and sore, and would have been ready for another lesson.

“You’ll take it easy to-day, Darrell,” said the captain. “We’re going to have a march out, but as you have no horse yet you can only see us off, unless you would like to try one of mine. Think you could manage it?”

“I’ll try, sir,” said Dick.

“Hum—ha—yes,” said the captain thoughtfully; “but perhaps you had better not. My two chargers are rather spirited beasts.—What do you think, Wyatt?”

“Better stop at home,” said Wyatt bluntly. “It’s too soon yet. Have a dozen of old Stubbs’s drillings first, and by then I dare say we shall have helped you to choose a mount. We have plenty always being offered. Here, you will be able to see poor Morrison’s Arab, Burnouse, this morning.”

“Why wouldn’t it do for me?” said the lad sharply. “It is used to the drill, and would keep in its place.”

“Yes,” said Wyatt, laughing; “but that isn’t all. It’s you that would have to keep in yours.”

“You think it would be too much for me?”

“Yes, yes,” said the captain. “Captain Morrison was a magnificent horseman, and about the only man who could ride the beast. It’s quite out of the question.”

“Very well,” said Dick quietly; “I’ll wait.”

“Yes,” said Captain Hulton dryly, “you had better wait.—By the way, Wyatt, you may as well come across to Sir George with me. I think you ought to be there.”

“Very well. But what does he want?”

“It’s about that Hanson.”

“Oh, hang the fellow!” cried Wyatt.

“No we will not go so far as that this time, but I expect he will have to be flogged.”

Dick started, and looked sharply from one to the other, for the last word jarred upon him, knowing what he did of military punishments. But the two officers paid no heed to him, and it was evident to the young man that he was not wanted; so he strolled out, to look about and make himself better acquainted with the cantonments, where, in addition to his own corps, there were in barracks a couple of native regiments and a company of foot artillery, who, he rightly conjectured, had charge of the heavy guns.

It was all wonderfully interesting, and he was tempted to wander off into the town, and stroll through the bazaars, on his way to the grand old temple by the side of the river which flowed through the place; but he wanted to see the march out of his troop, and hurried back, finding that the time had slipped imperceptibly away, and that he was barely soon enough.

To his great satisfaction, though, he reached the parade-ground just as the men were forming up. They were only in fatigue uniform, but their appearance was wonderfully striking and businesslike, while the guns were drawn up in line with the most perfect precision.

But it was the line of horses and teams of the guns which took the young man’s attention most, and, recalling on the instant the lesson he had that morning gone through, a strange feeling of emulation filled his breast—a desire to work on as hard as he could till he was passed as fit for service—fit to ride one of the magnificent, spirited animals facing where he stood.

“I must have a horse soon,” he said to himself; and the thought had hardly crossed his brain when, from the gateway leading to the stable enclosure, a couple of white-clothed syces came out, one leading a rather small, beautifully-formed Arabian horse of a peculiar, creamy, dun colour, with flowing, lighter-tinted mane and tail. The horse came ambling and showing itself off, and apparently resented the pull upon its bit, but was prevented from dragging thereon by the presence of the second native groom, who walked on its other side and raised a hand from time to time as if to soothe it, smoothing down its great mane when a lock was tossed over to the wrong side, as the horse lowered its proud head and then threw it up. The noble-looking animal was fully caparisoned, and looked the artillery officer’s charger to perfection, sending a thrill of envy through the lad, seeming, as it did, the most beautiful and spirited creature he had ever seen—and just, too, at the moment when he was suffering from an intense longing for a mount.

“It must be the charger they spoke of,” he thought—“Captain Morrison’s. What did they call it—Burnouse? Why, I could ride that.”

The stiffness caused by want of practice seemed to die out, and the soreness about his knees to pass away, in the presence of that intense longing; and his eyes ran from the magnificent head—with its slightly-curved muzzle and distended nostrils, which quivered as the animal snuffed the air, snorted, and threw specks of white foam from its well-champed bit—to the arched neck, hollowed back, and beautifully-rounded haunches, while through the glistening, thin, satin skin a perfect network of veins stood out. It seemed, too, so light and springy as it ambled along, its wide hoofs hardly touching the ground; and, though full of action and play, there was no trace of vice.

“Why, he could go like the wind,” thought Dick; and, as if drawn by a magnet, the lad advanced to meet the white-clothed grooms, who seemed to be taking up their charge’s full attention, till all at once it stopped short, tossed its great mane and forelock, drew up its head, and lashed its long, flowing tail as it assumed a beautifully wild-looking pose, and sent forth a loud, shrill, challenging neigh to the group of horses drawn up on its right front.

The challenge was replied to instantly, running along the line, and there was an uneasy movement and, good deal of reining in and spurring before the line was restored to its former evenness.

Meanwhile the beautiful, creamy Arab neighed again, rose upon its hindlegs, and struck out, pawing the air with each hoof alternately, looking grand in its wild, fierce attitude as it dragged at the rein.

“Oh, you beauty!” cried Dick involuntarily.

“Oh, you beast!” said a voice behind him, and he turned his head sharply, to find that Wyatt had come up unobserved.

“It’s only spirit,” said Dick resentfully. “He’s fresh for want of work.”

“Fresh? Why, look at him. He’s spoiling for a fight. The brute’s upsetting the whole troop.”

“Is that Burnouse?” said Dick eagerly.

“Yes, my lad, that’s Burnouse; and you seem quite wrapped up in him.”

“Captain Morrison used to ride him?”

“Oh, yes; he used to ride him, but he could ride anything. We used to call him ‘Mazeppa,’ for Burnouse is a regular wild horse. Look at that; they can hardly hold him. Oh, here’s Hulton.—Well, what do you think of him now?”

“I think it’s a pity, for he’s a splendid beast. I should like to see him have a final trial, though, with the troop before we decide.”

“Well, ride him, then, to-day.”

This was said just as two chargers were led out by their syces, and brought towards where the officers were standing.

“No, thanks,” said the captain, smiling; “when I come to my end, I should like it to be by shot or sword. You’re a better horseman than I am, and ought to be able to manage him. Try him.”

Wyatt gave a peculiar writhe, and screwed up his face.

“My back isn’t quite right yet from the fall he gave me. Once bit, twice shy. He took a piece out of my sleeve another time, and meant it to be flesh. Here, you keep that brute back.”

This to the two syces, who were both now hanging on to the Arab’s reins, the fierce animal having made a sudden dash to get at the two chargers being brought up.

The Arab was checked in time, and its attention diverted while the two officers mounted.

“Look here, Wyatt,” said the captain, “let’s give the brute a chance. I hate him to go out of the corps.”

“Let me try him,” said Dick eagerly.

“You?” cried the captain, turning upon him in wonder. Then, with a mocking smile, which made the lad wince, “You don’t know what you are talking about, Darrell, my lad.—Here, Wyatt, ride across and ask for a volunteer. The men know what he is as well as we do.”

Wyatt nodded, and rode across to the drawn-up troop, Dick, with every nerve on the quiver, watching him anxiously in the hope that every man would refuse; but, to his disgust, a man responded to the invitation, received the order to rein back, and came round to the front, riding towards the two syces behind the lieutenant, dismounted, handed his reins to Captain Hulton’s groom, and stood waiting.

“Think you can ride him?” said Hulton.

“Oh, yes, I can ride him, sir. Captain Morrison always could.”

“Mind, I do not order you to mount. You volunteer.”

“Yes, sir; I’ll take the risk,” said the man, setting his teeth.

“Up with you, then; but mind, don’t use the curb—he will not stand it; and keep your spurs out of his flanks, or he’ll throw you.”

Palpitating with the excitement from which he suffered, Dick saw the man stride up to the horse, who rolled his eyes back, watching him, but standing fairly quiet, while, with the two syces at the head, the gunner took hold of the rein, placed his foot in the stirrup, and, quick as thought, was in the saddle. As soon as he thrust his right foot in the stirrup the two syces sprang away, leaving a beautiful group in the middle of the parade-ground, statuesque in the absence of movement.

It was only for a few moments, though; for, with a shrill cry of rage, the horse gathered itself together and sprang into the air, came down, reared up, plunged, flung up its heels, and then, as the rider sat perfectly firm and unmoved, tried to wrench itself round and bite—an evolution which the strong hands at the rein stopped.

“Bravo! Well done!” cried both officers in a breath.

There was another shrill neigh, and a fresh effort was made—one of the most trying for a horseman. The Arab suddenly lowered its head with a sharp snatch at the reins, arched up its back, and began a series of tremendous, buck-like leaps, coming down each time with all four legs together, ready for the next spring.

“There, it’s all over,” said Hulton. “He’ll throw him.”

“Sure as a gun,” said Wyatt, while Dick bit his lip, and felt vexed with himself for feeling pleased at the prospect of the accident which seemed certain to befall the gunner.

He was a capital rider, one of the best in the troop, and had ridden many a dangerous horse, but somehow Burnouse was too much for him. At about the sixth bound his seat was shaken; at the next he was mastered; and the next sent him sliding sideways, to fall heavily on his back and roll over and over.

The two syces, who had kept close by, dashed forward, active as cats, to seize the reins, in the expectation of the horse bounding off; but, with a wild squeal, it turned and ran, open-mouthed, at its late rider, and would have seized him but for a sudden check at the reins, when it threw up its head and neighed as if proud of its triumph.

“Ugh, the beast!” muttered Captain Hulton, pressing forward with Wyatt, and closely followed by Dick, who was trembling and flushed with excitement.

“Are you hurt, Smith?” cried the captain to the man, who was brushing the dust from his uniform.

“Bit shook, sir,” said the man gruffly; “nothing broke. Why,” he cried fiercely, “you might just as well try to ride a ball of quicksilver!”

At that moment Sergeant Stubbs came riding up, and heard the man’s last words as he bent down to knock off some dust with his gloved hand.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt, Smith,” said the captain. “You did very well. The brute will have to go.”

“There’s none of us could ride him, sir.”

“You hadn’t a chance, riding him like that!” cried Dick angrily, and every one turned upon him in wonder.

Then Captain Hulton made the lad flush with annoyance.

“Let’s see,” he said sarcastically; “I believe you learned to ride this morning, sir, did you not?”

“No,” said Dick sharply. “I had my first lesson in military riding, sir, but my father taught me years ago, and there was not a finer horseman with the hounds.”

“But we are not fox-hunters, Darrell,” said the captain sternly.

“No, sir; but, as my father said, soldiers ride in that stiff, balanced way, and have no grip of the saddle,[^[1]] and if a regiment was put at a stiff fence and ditch, no end would come off.”

[1] This has been greatly altered now. Our cavalry ride with shorter stirrups and in better style.

“You had better give Sergeant Stubbs some lessons, Mr Darrell,” said the captain haughtily, “and if they turn out satisfactory we might exchange. But I think we can ride a little out here.”

“I do not profess to teach any one, sir,” said Dick angrily; “but I could ride that beautiful Arab, and it would be a shame to send it away.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” said Wyatt in a low voice. “Hold your tongue.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Dick proudly; “I’ve ridden restive horses before now. The gunner here took him on the curb, and he has a tremendous bit in his mouth; look how he champs. I’ll ride him if you’ll give me leave, Captain Hulton.”

“Mount, then, and show us,” said the captain haughtily.

Dick started forward at once towards the horse, while the sergeant looked frowningly from one to the other, as if he could not believe his ears.

“No, no,” said Wyatt warmly; “he’ll break the poor lad’s neck.”

“No; he will only fall lightly. It will take some of the conceit out of the young puppy. It’s intolerable.”

“But he was hot and excited. He’s only a boy. Stop it.”

“I will not,” said the captain angrily. “A mere cadet to come and talk to me like that on the parade-ground; it’s insufferable!”

“Well, you may be answerable if he comes to grief,” said Wyatt; “I wash my hands of it all.”

“Silence, if you please,” said Hulton; “we are not alone.”

Chapter VIII.
“That Young Chap’s All There!”

Captain Hulton was all the time watching what was going on by the Arab, where the slight youth, full of eagerness and activity, had nearly covered his hands with foam as he loosened the tight curb-chain, which evidently worried the horse, and was nearly bitten for his pains.

Then, as he stood wiping his fingers on his handkerchief, he made one of the syces shorten the stirrups to a considerable extent.

“You are going to risk it, then?” said Wyatt.

“I don’t think there is any risk,” said Dick.

“You are as blind as you are obstinate, my lad,” said Wyatt. “I tell you it is a terrible risk; give it up.”

“It wouldn’t be acting like a soldier,” replied the lad earnestly. “The men are all looking on, and even if I felt afraid I shouldn’t dare to back out. But I don’t feel a bit afraid; and who wouldn’t long to ride a horse like this?”

“I wouldn’t, for one,” said Wyatt. “Well, good luck to you, then, my lad; but mind, for the brute’s as full of tricks as a monkey.”

“I’ll mind, but I wish I’d a whip instead of these spurs. That will do!” he cried sharply to the syce, who had finished altering the last buckle.—“Now, then, old fellow,” he cried, going to the Arab’s head and taking hold of the snaffle on either side, “it’s of no use; I’m going to ride you, so none of your tricks.”

The horse whinnied and threw up its muzzle as the lad resigned it to the groom. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he took up the snaffle-rein, seized his opportunity when the off-side groom made the horse sidle towards him, thrust his foot in the stirrup, and heard Wyatt utter a kind of gasp as he sprang into the saddle, while the syces darted back to avoid the coming plunge.

Every eye was fixed upon the group, and the gunner who had been thrown smiled grimly at the sergeant, as much as to say, “Wait a minute and you’ll see.”

The horse uttered an angry squeal as he felt himself once more backed by a stranger, and then gave himself a tremendous shake as if to dislodge saddle and rider by bursting off the girths; but, finding this of no avail, he reared up till it seemed as if he must go over backward, and repeated the action again and again. But Dick sat fast, and gave and bent as if he were, as the sergeant said, a portion of his horse.

He reared up till it seemed as if he must go over backward.

“Bravo! Well done!” muttered the captain. “By George! Wyatt, the boy can ride.”

“Ride!” whispered the lieutenant in husky tones. “Look at that.”

For the horse, disappointed at the failure of its efforts, began once more to bound off the earth; but there was no better result, the young rider bending and giving like a cane, but always sitting slightly bent forward as the beautiful creature made another of its graceful bounds.

“Well, I’m blest!” muttered the sergeant.

“He’ll begin to buck directly,” whispered the gunner who was using one hand to softly rub his back.

But this did not follow till a few more bounds had been made: and then it was after two or three angry squeals, the animal’s back being arched, head and tail down, and feet drawn together for the necessary springs, each coming more quickly after the last, while every one who watched felt to a certainty that the rider must be thrown at the next leap, and the gunner wondered that the lad had not come off at the last.

But Dick’s mettle was roused; and, in spite of being nearly dislodged, he gripped the saddle fast and gave with his steed’s muscular efforts, getting fast again in his seat before the next effort.

Ten or a dozen of these mad leaps were made, the horse squealing fiercely as he bucked; but Dick was still in his seat when the Arab tossed up his head again, swerved to his right, and, laying himself out like a greyhound, went off at speed along the parade-ground for the opening at the end, and with his rider sitting well down to this comparatively easy work, disappeared like a flash.

“After him, Wyatt!” cried the captain. “Poor lad! I ought not to have let him mount.—You, too, Sergeant,—Follow them, Smith.”

The three set spurs to their horses in the same order as their names were uttered, and went off in single file in full pursuit, while a thrill ran along the ranks of the artillery-men, who had to hold in their horses, which participated in their riders’ desire to join in the chase.

The road ran straight away from the gateway for about a mile, and then turned off at right angles to where a bridge crossed the river; and Dick soon saw that if his swift steed tried to turn and make for the bridge, going at such a racing speed, they must for certain have a mishap. He was quite cool now, felt easy in his saddle, and knew that he could keep there no matter how the pace was increased. It was wildly exhilarating, and he had to repress the desire to urge the horse on and on. He looked back, and far behind he could see the dust flying in a cloud where evidently some one was coming in pursuit; but it was only a momentary glance, and then he was looking straight ahead so as to make out his course.

This was soon done. He had only to make the horse swerve a little to his right and there was the open country, where a long stretch of closely-cut grassland parallel with the river offered good going, and over which the horse might gallop till he could pull him in.

But to reach that land there was a broad dike to cross; and if, going at such a speed, the horse failed to clear it down they must come.

There was no time for thought. The great dike had to be cleared, and not many seconds later they were flying through the air, to land on the opposite side; and the horse uttered a tremendous snort as he stretched out more, and made the wind whistle by the rider’s ears as he tore on faster still.

“This doesn’t seem like mastering him,” thought Dick, “for he has mastered me; but I said I could ride him, and I can. I wish I knew the country so that I could make a round and take him back regularly done.”

He bore gently on the rein, increasing the pull by degrees; but the horse’s head was stretched straight out now, and, when it came to the hardest drag upon the reins, it had very little effect upon the swift creature, who tore along as fast as ever.

“Have your own way, then,” said Dick quietly; and thoroughly enjoying the pace now, he contented himself with trying to guide his mount and avoid doubtful-looking places and jumps that were too exciting, finding, to his great delight, that the horse was amenable to the lightest touch in this direction; while, when they had raced on for about a couple of miles, he began to slacken of his own accord.

A few minutes later the horse was fully under control, yielding to every touch, and stopped short, turned, and began to canter gently back till the little party in pursuit was sighted, when, apparently tamed for the day by the run, he suffered the fine charger Wyatt rode to range up alongside, and took no heed whatever of the two which fell into rank behind.

“My dear boy,” cried Wyatt hoarsely, “I’ve been expecting to come upon all that was left of you every minute since the brute bolted.”

“Have you?” said Dick, looking at him curiously. “It was nothing; one only had to sit fast.”

“Nothing? Well, perhaps you’re right, but you gave us a tremendous scare.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Dick. “But I hope you won’t have the horse sent away. I’ll buy him if the price isn’t too much.”

“We shall be glad to let him go cheaply, but you’ll never dare to ride him.”

“Why not? I dared to ride him when he was quite strange to me; and, of course, when he knows and is used to me it will be quite a different thing. He only wants plenty of work and proper using.—Don’t you, old fellow?” he cried, leaning forward to pat the beautiful, arched neck.—“Look, Mr Wyatt: I’m hardly feeling his mouth, and he’s as quiet again.”

“But the brute has such a temper.”

“Don’t call him names!” cried Dick merrily; and, turning, he rested his hand upon his saddle, to call back to the old non-commissioned officer behind, “I say, Sergeant, don’t you think I’ve got on well with my riding after only one lesson!”

“You managed him wonderfully, sir!” cried the sergeant; “but I can’t have you riding in the troop like that. You looked like a jockey at a race, with his shoulders right up to his ears.”

“That’s complimentary,” cried Dick. “Never mind; you shall teach me to ride with my shoulders down.—I say, you,” he continued to the gunner; “I hope you are not much hurt!”

“Forgot all about it, sir. Had something else to think about.”

“Why, the horse seems to like you on his back,” said Wyatt after they had been cantering steadily enough for a time.

“I hope he does,” said Dick. “I like to be there.”

“Walk!” shouted Wyatt, and the four horses dropped into the quiet pace at once, being kept to it till they came in sight of the great gateway, outside which a vedette was stationed ready to turn their horses and pass in.

“Gone to report our coming. They won’t need to send an ambulance, my lad,” said Wyatt. “Look here, Darrell, you’ve done something to-day, and I want Hulton to see what you can do. You ride on two lengths ahead, and go in first at a walk.”

“No, no; it will look so foolish.”

“Obey orders!” cried Wyatt sternly. Then, changing his tone from the military to the friendly, “It may mean the keeping of the Arab for you if Hulton sees that you really can manage him.” Then aloud, “Forward. Trot.”

Dick had gone on to the front, and at the word the horses increased their pace.

“Give him a word or two, Stubbs,” said Wyatt, reining in a little so that the sergeant and gunner could come up level; and the sergeant shouted:

“Don’t bump your saddle, Mr Darrell. Elbows back, sir; heels down; drop your right hand, and ride with the horse.”

Dick stiffened himself directly, and rode in through the gateway in regular military style, falling into it naturally, but flushing uncomfortably as he saw at a glance that the troop was drawn up as he had left it, and the captain, with the trumpeter behind, sat motionless on his horse.

Dick rode on straight for his commanding officer, the Arab going over the ground as if he hardly touched it with his hoofs; and the next moment discipline was forgotten, every man on the parade-ground bursting forth into a tremendous cheer which nearly drowned Wyatt’s loud “Halt!”

The next moment Hulton had ridden up to the young subaltern’s side.

“I congratulate you, Mr Darrell,” he said quietly. “I suppose you would like to keep your mount?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Dick eagerly.

“You had your riding-lesson this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you seem to have given us one since. Believe me, I am very glad you are not hurt. Give the horse up to the syces now.”

He made a sign, and the two white-clothed grooms hurried up, showing their teeth and glancing admiringly at one who was evidently about to be their new sahib.

But they were not alone, for unconsciously the lad had made himself the hero of the hour, gunners and drivers to a man subscribing to the dictum that a youngster who could ride Morrison’s horse like that was made of the right stuff for the troop.

“Yes,” grunted the oldest corporal, who was considered a judge; “he isn’t much more than a schoolboy, but that young chap’s up to the mark.”

Chapter IX.
A Boy at Home.

Dick did it as modestly as he could, and his words were as simple and natural as a boy’s need be, when he was questioned at the mess-table about his ability to ride and knowledge of horses; but it all had to be dragged out of him in replies to questions.

“Oh,” he said, “I had something to do with horses for so long a time back. I must have been quite a tiny little fellow when my father used to take me up before him, and set me astride on his horse’s neck. I remember that the scrubby mane used to tickle my legs dreadfully. And I often toddled into the stable to feed the horses with fresh grass. My mother used to be frightened, but my father said the horses would not trample on me; and they never did. They used to reach down to look at me with their great eyes, and blow into my neck.”

“So that you became quite used to horses very early?” said the captain.

“Oh, yes; I never remember feeling afraid of a horse.”

“Your father kept good ones?” said Wyatt.

“Splendid ones to go, but he was only a country practitioner, fond of hunting, and he never gave much for one, I should say; but he was always one of the first flight in a run.”

“And he taught you to ride quite early?” said the captain.

Dick looked at him with rather a puzzled air.

“I don’t think he ever taught me,” said the lad thoughtfully. “He used to tell me to stick in my knees and hold tight. I rode so much that it came natural.”

“What was the first horse you had?” said Wyatt.

“It was a donkey.”

“A bull, Darrell!”

“No, no!” cried Dick, laughing; “but I had many a ride on the old bull at the farm close by. You have to keep your balance there, for your legs are stretched out, and you can’t hold on with your knees.”

“But you couldn’t go to the hunt on a donkey,” said Wyatt.

“Oh, but I did for two years; but then it was something like a donkey!” cried Dick, warming up with his old recollections. “He had a horrible temper, and he’d kick and bite, and try to wipe you off by rubbing against posts or walls; and when that wouldn’t do he used to squeal something like these Arab horses, and lie down and roll over and over.”

“What did you do then?” asked Wyatt.

“I waited till he got up and jumped on again.”

“A nice brute for a hunter.”

“He was,” said Dick, growing excited. “As soon as he found that he couldn’t go back to the field, he’d give in and canter off. The worst of it was, he used to spoil the saddles so with rolling. But you should have seen him go.”

“Donkeys do go,” said the captain dryly; “they’ve a pace of their own.”

“Oh, yes,” said Dick; “but old Thistle used to go after the pack like a greyhound. He was thin-legged and light, and he could jump like a buck; and when a hedge was too big he’d scramble up the bank, squeeze through, leap down, and be off again. We used to go over and through places which plenty of the gentlemen on their big hunters wouldn’t tackle. It used to be capital fun.”

“Ever have any falls?” said Wyatt.

“Oh, lots; but I never used to get much hurt. I didn’t mind. Old Thistle came down with me once in a ditch, and rolled over me. He broke my arm, though.”

“Father mend it?”

“Oh, yes; it soon grew together again. When I was bigger I had a pony; but he was never so fast as the donkey, and couldn’t keep up so long.”

“Indeed?”

“Nothing like it. That donkey would keep up to the end of a long run, and when it was over, and his saddle was off, he’d just have a roll and be ready to go on again.”

“After the pony came a horse, I suppose,” said the captain.

“I never had one of my own, but my father had a large practice and had to go very long distances. He always kept three horses, and I could have one of them whenever I liked. I used to ride round with him to visit his patients. He never cared about riding then. He had all the accidents to attend that happened at the hunt.”

“How was it you didn’t turn doctor?” said Hulton.

“Wanted to be a soldier,” said Dick shortly. “I used to want to have a commission in the cavalry; but my father said he had no interest to get me a commission, and I must go to the Company’s college at Addiscombe, and fight my way up so as to get into the horse brigade.”

“And you were a lucky fellow to get appointed so soon.”

“Yes; but my father knew Sir George Hemsworth, and he promised to help me if I could show a good set of testimonials from Addiscombe.”

“And I suppose you did?” said Captain Hulton.

“I don’t know,” replied Dick quietly. “I tried all I could; but I was dreadfully disappointed to find I had to go into the foot artillery first.”

“Thought you ought to have been appointed to the command of a troop of horse right off—eh?” said the captain.

Dick shook his head.

“I wasn’t quite so stupid as that, sir,” he said quietly.

“No, that you wouldn’t be, Darrell,” said the captain, smiling. “Well, I’ll tell you something. We were dreadfully disappointed when we found Sir George had interested himself in your being appointed to our crack troop, and Wyatt, there, said it was an abominable shame for some pampered scrap of a boy to be put into an important place, when hundreds of clever, experienced officers would have been glad to have such a feather in their caps.”

“Here I say—gently!” cried Wyatt, who had sat at the table staring. “I didn’t say that it was you.”

“Was it?”

“Of course it was.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right—I did,” said the captain coolly; “but you agreed to it.”

“Yes, I agreed to it all.”

“But we think differently, Darrell, now we have found out what sort of a fellow you are; and I’m speaking for old Wyatt here and myself when I tell you frankly that we’re very glad you’ve joined us, and may it be many, many years before we part.”

“Oh, thank you, Captain Hulton,” cried Dick warmly. “You’ve made me feel that I—yes, that I—I—I can’t say any more.”

“Nobody wants you to, my lad,” said the captain warmly. “We want acts, not words. You’ve done a thing to-day that has won over every man in the troop, and henceforth you’ll feel, I hope, that you are among friends.”

“I do!” cried Dick warmly.

“You mustn’t mind Wyatt. He’s a queer fellow, but he means well.”

“Here, I say—gently!” cried the gentleman named: but the captain went on as if no one had spoken:

“He’s big and old, but he’s a mere boy—not a bit older in brains than you are: but if you keep him in his place, I dare say you two will be able to get on together.”

“I say, I’m not going to stand this!” cried Wyatt.

He took his friend’s bantering remarks so seriously that Dick burst out laughing, making the lieutenant look annoyed for the moment; but by degrees a smile began to dawn upon his face.

“He sees the joke at last,” cried Captain Hulton. Then gravely: “Look here Wyatt; I want to talk to you about that ugly business.—It will not interest you, Darrell. It is something which occurred before you joined—court-martial.”

Dick took this as a hint that the matter was private, and he turned to converse with the next officer at the table—a sub-lieutenant in the detachment of foot artillery, very little older than himself.

Chapter X.
His Monkey Up.

The preliminaries were soon settled, and Dick was seizing every opportunity to, as he said, “go round to the stables and have a look at my horse.”

But “my” horse was far from perfect, and no one knew it better than the young officer himself.

He was a keen, observant fellow, and it did not take him long to notice that Burnouse was gentle with one of the late Captain Morrison’s syces, while the sight of the other was enough to make the animal roll back his eyes and bare his teeth.

Wyatt, big and old as he was, to fully justify Captain Hulton’s words that he was quite a boy still, showed it by attaching himself thoroughly to his young brother-officer, treating him just as if he were of the same age.

“I used to find it so dull, Dick,” he said once in confidence, “before you came. Hulton’s a splendid chap, and I quite love him like a brother, but he’s such a serious old cock. No fun in him for a companion. You and I are going to get on together, you know.”

“I hope so,” said Dick; “only I’m precious young, Mr Wyatt.”

“Mr. Wyatt! Look here, young fellow, drop that; we’re brother-officers. You’re young, but you’ll soon get over that. A fellow who can ride as you do, and drop into your place in the troop, with the men looking as proud of you and as smiling whenever you come on parade as if you were the very fellow they’d ride after anywhere, needn’t talk about being young. Age has nothing to do with a man being a smart soldier. Look here; we’re all glad you’ve joined, and there’s an end of it.”

But there was no end of Wyatt; he was always after his new brother-officer, and thoroughly enjoyed going with him to the stables to have a look at Burnouse, who, to do him justice, thoroughly hated him, and would not let him go near.

“Look here, Wyatt,” said Dick one morning.

“I’m looking, old chap. What is it? He seems as fit as he can be, and as nasty-tempered as ever.”

“Yes; that’s what I wanted you to notice. Did you see him show his teeth then at Dondy Lal?”

“Yes—just as if he’d eat him.”

“He wouldn’t eat him, but he’d worry him if he could.”

“Without salt,” said Wyatt.

“Well, have you seen Ram Dad go to him?”

“Yes; and seen him take hay out of his hand.”

“Well, what does that prove?”

“That he likes Ram Dad better than Dondy Lal.”

Dick said no more, but he was uncomfortable; and, on thinking over the matter, he felt that he should like to discharge Dondy Lal, who, with his fellow seemed to have come with the horse as a matter of course, and looked upon him as his new sahib, it being considered quite natural that an officer should have plenty of servants.

But Dick felt it would be an injustice to discharge a man upon mere suspicion; and, as he could not stoop to watch, nor question the man’s fellow-servant, matters remained in abeyance till fortune was kind to the horse one morning, when his master had risen extra early to go on to the riding-school for his lesson from Sergeant Stubbs.

It proved to be too soon, so Dick turned off in the direction of the officers’ stables to have a look at his favourite, when the loud trampling of feet and the sound of an angry voice delivering a tirade of abuse sent a thrill through the lad, and he hurried to the door, where the suspicions he had formed that the horse was brutally ill-used were at once confirmed.

For there, close to Burnouse’s stall in the half-dark stable, about a dozen of the native grooms had collected—to the neglect of the other officers’ horses—to stand grinning and looking on at the scene taking place.

As Dick passed through the door into the long, gloomy place, he was just in time to see his horse rear up as high as his halter would let him and rise on his hindlegs, striking out with his fore-hoofs, and snorting angrily at Dondy Lal, who, armed with a pitchfork, was standing just out of reach, teasing the animal, and striking it with the handle of the fork on head, neck, or leg, whenever he could get a chance—sharp, cruel blows, all dexterously given, and with just sufficient force to cause pain without leaving traces for his master to see.

Dick’s Hindustani was not perfect, and it was hard to make out exactly what was said amidst the jabbering and laughing; but the lad grasped enough to know that this was an exhibition got up for the amusement of the other syces, and to show how cleverly the Hindu scoundrel could torture the noble beast without getting hurt.

Dick was educated to be an officer and a gentleman, but the natural sturdy British boy in him boiled over on the instant.

“Ah, son of Sheitan, take that!” and there was a loud rap.

But it was not Richard Darrell who uttered the words in Hindustani, but Dondy Lal: and the rap was caused by the sharp application of the fork-handle across one of the forelegs which were vainly striking at the tormentor.

But there was an echo, followed by a rush and a scuffle.

The echo was caused by Dondy Lal’s head striking against the wall of the stable, consequent upon Dick’s charging through the semicircle of syces and delivering a fine, straightforward blow from the shoulder, backed by the weight of his body, right on the bridge of the man’s nose, sending him against the wall, from whence he dropped to the floor.

If a thunderbolt, or a shrapnel-shell from a six-pounder, had fallen in the midst of the group, they could not have dispersed more quickly; and the next minute there was a loud cissing arising from different stalls, where men were industriously rubbing down their masters’ chargers, and a sharp rattling of a bucket in the hands of Ram Dad, who trembled as he busied himself with water and brush.

“I thought so!” cried Dick savagely; and there was a loud neigh as the horse dropped upon all fours panting, and stamping with one of his hoofs. “What is it, old fellow? Have they been ill-using you? The scoundrels—the dogs!”

It looked dangerous with the horse in such an excited state, for his master went close up and began patting the netted neck and talking soothingly.

But the beautiful animal had sense enough to know friends from foes; and, as if getting rid of his anger by stamping furiously, he lowered his crest, snorted and whinnied, and submitted to his master’s caress.

“You, Ram Dad!” cried Dick fiercely; “how dare you stand there and let that black scoundrel ill-use my horse?”

“Dondy Lal Ram Dad’s sahib, sahib. If Ram Dad say a word, Dondy Lal hit him with the stick, and not the horse.”

“You miserable coward!” cried Dick, as he went on caressing the horse and passing his hands softly down the bruised legs, with the effect of making the animal stand quite still; “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dondy Lal tells things sahib, or give Ram Dad poison. Kill Ram Dad, same as sahib kill Dondy Lal.”

“What!” cried Dick, starting in alarm to gaze down at the syce, who was lying perfectly motionless by the wall, with the light from the door shining full upon his dark face, showing that the eyes were puffing up and the blood running down over his mouth, chin, and neck, to stain his white garments.

“Yes, sahib: kill, quite dead.”

Dick stood gazing at his prostrate servant for a few moments quite aghast, till his strong common-sense began to teach him that such a blow as he had delivered could not have caused death; and the horrible dread which had begun to assail him passed away.

“The cowardly scoundrel is shamming,” thought Dick.

“You think he’s dead?” he said softly.

“Yes, sahib, quite dead. Ram Dad fess doctor?”

“No,” said Dick sharply. “I’ll soon see whether he’s dead. Here, Burnouse!”

He rushed to the horse’s head and began to unfasten the horse’s head-stall, but before he could unbuckle a strap Dondy Lal uttered a cry of horror, sprang to his feet, and ran, leaving Ram Dad grinning with delight.

“Now you go on with your work,” cried Dick sharply; “and if ever I find you ill-use my horse, I’ll thrash you till you can’t stand.”

“Ram Dad never hurt the sahib’s horse,” protested the man. “Burnouse good friends. See.”

He raised a hand to pat the horse, which gave a gentle snort.

“But you were cowardly enough to stand by and see the poor brute knocked about.”

“Ram Dad never dare say a word, sahib; Dondy Lal too big man.”

“Has this been going on long?” asked Dick.

“Will the sahib tell Dondy Lal?” whispered the syce cautiously, after a glance round to see whether the other grooms could hear.

“I’m never going to let him come into the stable again,” said Dick between his teeth. “Now tell me.”

The man nodded.

“Yes—long time. Hate Burnouse. Make him fight with stick.”

“That will do. Now you go on, and mind you never strike that horse, for I should be sure to know.”

Dick went back to pat the Arab, and then hurried away for his lesson.

Chapter XI.
Black Bob.

In the intervals of the riding, Dick told the sergeant what he had seen.

“The black, niggerly scoundrel!” growled the old soldier. “We’re not supposed to strike the natives, sir, but if I’d been you I should have knocked the blackguard down—or tried to.”

“I did,” said Dick quietly.

“Try to, sir?”

“No; I knocked him down.”

“Glad of it, sir,” said the sergeant, smiling grimly. “It’s a pity, though, because the scoundrel will go and talk it over with some of the meddling baboo fellows, and they’ll advise him to make a complaint.”

“What! after ill-using my horse?”

“Oh, he’ll swear that he didn’t, sir.”

“But he did; and there are all the grooms who were present to prove it.”

“Oh, they’ll swear anything for him, sir. But don’t you worry about that; only pay what’s owing to the nigger and let him go.—’Tention! I wish, sir, you’d make a bit more of a try about stiffening yourself up; it’s getting time you made some show.”

“Why. I thought I was pretty well all right now, Sergeant.”

“But you’re not, sir. You give too much to your horse. You don’t keep stiff. I’m having a deal of trouble with you.”

“Very sorry, Sergeant, but I don’t come off,” said Dick, smiling.

“No, sir; I’d almost rather you did, for then you’d learn our ways quicker. I have just the same trouble with you that I had with that Bob Hanson.”

“Hanson? Bob Hanson?” said Dick thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the man I heard Captain Hulton talk about?”

“Yes, sir; no doubt. No man in the regiment has been more talked about than he has.”

“A court-martial, wasn’t there?”

“Yes, sir; and he was under punishment. A precious narrow escape he had of being flogged.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Dick. “Horrible!”

“’Tis, sir; but what are you to do with a man who will do wrong?”

“Try kindness.”

“And be laughed at, sir. Tell a man who breaks out, and does everything a soldier shouldn’t do, that he has been very naughty and mustn’t do so any more. No, sir; that won’t do.”

“I know the man—fine, dark, handsome fellow.”

“Well, I suppose he is good-looking; but handsome is as handsome does, sir.”

“But I noticed him particularly yesterday when we marched out.”

“Very likely, sir,” said the sergeant gruffly; “and I noticed you.”

“Well, of course you would.”

“Sitting all of a heap in your saddle like a wet monkey, sir.”

“Get out! I was not!” cried Dick indignantly.

“You weren’t sitting like a soldier, sir. It made me wild to see it, after the pains I took with you, walloping about in your saddle just as if you were at home in quarters rolling in an arm-chair.”

“But we were riding easy,” cried Dick.

“I wasn’t, sir. I was riding downright uneasy, and as if the saddle was stuffed with thorns. I like a man to rest himself in a long ride, but I don’t like him to forget that he’s a soldier.”

“No; you want us all to be as stiff as if we had been starched, Stubbs.”

“Well, sir, it looks soldierly, and makes the natives look up to you. You see, we’re such a handful to all the millions and millions here, that I think we English ought always to be seen at our best. But, ’tention! We’ll have that gallop again, sir. You don’t sit up as I should like to see you yet, sir.”

“That’ll come in time, Stubbs. Your way always makes me feel unsafe in the saddle.”

“That’s because you haven’t drilled enough. Now then, sir. Forward at a walk—trot—gallop!” shouted the sergeant so that the rafters rang; and the old horse used for the lessons went round the building at full speed five times before the command “Halt!” was called.

“Hah!” exclaimed the sergeant, with a loud expiration of the breath and a grim smile showing on either side of his heavy moustache; “how long have I had you drilling, sir?”

“Just a month, Stubbs.”

“Yes, just a month. I don’t flatter people, sir.”

“You just don’t, Stubbs,” said the young officer. “You’ve bullied me sometimes as if I were a raw recruit.”

“Oh, that’s my way, sir, to force the teaching home; but I hope I’ve always been respectful to a young officer I felt proud to teach.”

“Ah, well, suppose we call it respectful, Stubbs. You’ve worked me precious hard.”

“All for your good, sir: all for your good. Look at the consequences. As I say, I never flatter anybody. I wouldn’t, even if I was teaching one of a king’s sons. But I do say this, that I’m proud of you, sir. I never saw a beginner do that gallop better than you’ve just done yours.”

“Then I can pass now, I suppose?”

“Oh, no, sir, not yet. You’ve got the right form, but if I don’t keep you at it you won’t grow stiff in it. You’ll begin to bend and bulge and dance about in your saddle again. Wait a bit.”

“Oh, very well, I suppose I must; but it comes hard when I know I could challenge any man in the troop to sit an awkward horse.”

“Oh, yes, I dare say, sir; but that’s just sticking on—it isn’t riding like a soldier.”

“Have it your own way, Sergeant. But, I say, what about that fellow Hanson? He rides splendidly.”

“Yes, sir—now. When he first joined he could stick on a horse well enough, but he always seemed to be reaching forward to see what was between his trooper’s ears.”

“He always looks to me the smartest soldier in the troop.”

“That’s just what he is, sir.”

“But you speak in a way that sounds as if you meant he was the worst.”

“And that’s just what he is, too, sir,” said the sergeant, with a chuckle.

“Best and worst! Then I suppose one must strike the happy medium, and go half-way.”

“Well, you see, Mr Darrell, it’s like this: as far as smartness and cleverness, and being well up in his drill, and a thorough good soldier, goes, Bob Hanson would, if marks were given, take the prize. But if the prize was given for a man being the most out-and-out scamp—as big a blackguard as ever stepped—there isn’t a man in the whole brigade, as far as I know, as could hold a candle to him. There isn’t a man in the troop as has such a bad report against him. He’s had twice as much punishment to get through as half-a-dozen of the other rough ones; and it’s got so bad that if he don’t look out he’ll find himself tied up to the triangles some fine morning, stripped to the overalls, and a chap standing by him with the cat.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Dick. “Horrible!”

“That’s right, sir; it is horrible. I don’t like it, and the officers hate it; but, as I said before, what are you to do with a man as will ask for it? We must have discipline.”

“Oh, but imprisonment, or bread and water.”

“What does he care for imprisonment, sir? He just lays himself out for a long snooze; and as for bread and water, he told his comrades that it did a man good, and he was better than ever when he came out of the cells the other day. Oh, the officers have tried everything with him, because he really does behave well in action. One feels as if one would like the whole battery to be made up of Black Bobs; but as soon as the fighting’s over, back he goes to his old ways.”

“But he looks so well.”

“There isn’t a better set-up man in the army, sir, and that’s why the officers have let him off scores of times when other lads would have been punished.”

“What a pity!”

“Pity, sir? It makes me wild with the fellow. I’ve done everything a non-com could to one of his men. I’ve spoke kindly and praised him, and held him up often as a sample of what a soldier should be to the other men; but you don’t catch me doing it again.”

“Why not?” said Dick. “I’m sure kindness is sometimes better than severity.”

“Sometimes, sir; but it isn’t in this case, and I found I’d made a regular fool of myself.”

“What! by trying kindness with the man?”

“No, sir; but by speaking like that ’fore the others. The lads were all drawn up in line, and as soon as I had held Black Bob up as a sample, a big grin began at one end of the line and ran along it to the other. But there—I’ve done with him now. I began being kind to him because I thought he meant to make himself a good soldier, but it was of no use. So I tried bullying; but you might as well bully a stone image in one of the Hindu temples. You’d do just as much good. I will say this, though: if I was in a tight corner with a lot of the enemy about me, I wouldn’t wish for a better comrade to back me up. Fight? Yes, he just can!”

“It is a pity, for he doesn’t seem to be a common man.”

“Not he, sir. He’s been a gentleman, that’s what he has been. Lets out Latin and Greek and furren languages. Knows more Hindustani than any man in the troop; and writes such a hand that they wanted him to be under the adjutant—but they were sick of him in two days. He’s one of those fellows as have kicked over the traces at home, just when the team was at full gallop, tangled his legs, and come down quelch! And him being a leading horse, he brings the whole team down atop of him, and upsets the gun and the limber, and then there’s a row. His commanding officer comes down upon him savage for not minding how he rode; and when his officer has done, every one who has been hurt begins, and the next thing he hears is that he’s to be tried by court-martial—sociable court-martial, you know, sir, as he wasn’t in the army then. No, that’s wrong; not sociable—social. That’s it. Then there’s all the evidence gone through, and every one comes to the same way of thinking—that he isn’t a fit man to ride in the team again—and they drive him out. They’ve done with him; and after they’ve cut off his buttons and facings, they send him about his business.”

“Yes, I understand,” said Dick; “he lost caste with his friends.”

“That’s it, sir; just as a nigger does out here. Then, you see, sir, as there’s nothing else for him to do, he does a wise thing—he goes to Charing Cross or King Street, enlists in the Honourable the East Indy Company’s service, goes through his facings at Warley, and then comes out here to be picked out for this troop; and it always seemed to me that it was the wisest thing a young man could do when he’d gone wrong through being high-spirited and not able to hold himself in. He can’t manage himself, so he comes into a service where he’s managed and taught how to behave himself, and has the chance to rise to an officer and a gentleman again.”

“Could one of the privates rise to a commissioned officer, Sergeant?”

“Of course, sir, if he has it in him. Look at me. I’ve rose to sergeant-major, and I’m not a fool. I know I shall get no farther, because I’m only a common man who never had much schooling. But here’s Black Bob, born a gentleman; he’s got breed and learning, and the look of an officer. He has the ways, too, of a man meant by nature to order and lead other men. If he’d set to, there was nothing to prevent him rising to be a general. But, instead of trying to make up for the past, he settles down to being a blackguard; and when a gentleman has made up his mind to that, he makes the blackest sheep you can breed. He’s so clever, and knows so much, that your everyday Tom or Jack’s nothing to him. Doesn’t matter what sort of scamps they are, they are reg’lar lilies to your gentleman. No, sir; I’ve done with Black Bob. He’s past cure; but he’s a good soldier when it comes to a fight, and that’s all I can say for him.”

“It sounds very, very bad, Stubbs.”

“Horrid, sir. I’ve only one hope for him.”

“What’s that?” said Dick sharply.

“That one of these days he’ll come to his end in a big fight when he’s at his best.”

“At his best?”

“Yes: doing one of those things as would have brought him promotion over and over again if he’d been any one else. I’ve known him go along full charge at a dozen to cut a comrade out. I’ve known him bring a wounded chap out of a tight corner with the bullets rattling about like hail, haul him up across his horse, and gallop back. I’ve known him jump down to give up his horse to save his officer; and I don’t know how many times we’ve give him up for a dead un on the field, cut to pieces as we’ve thought, and he’s turned up again all right. Fight? There isn’t a man like him in the army when there’s work on the way. He saved me being cut up one day in a scrimmage, when we were surprised and surrounded by a lot of those ghazee chaps with their long knives, and hadn’t had time to limber up and gallop off. I never forgot that, sir, and I’ve stood between Master Bob and punishment many a time when I’d have given other fellows away.”

“Then he can’t be a bad man, Stubbs,” cried Dick earnestly.

The sergeant chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” cried Dick sharply.

“I was only thinking, sir.”

“Thinking? Of what?”

“Of you, sir. You’ve reg’larly seemed to tame a horse as none of us could manage; you’d better see now if you can’t break in Black Bob.”

“I will,” cried Dick, “if ever I have a chance.”

“Then I wish you joy of your job, sir,” growled the sergeant, pulling out an old silver watch from his fob by means of a steel chain. “And here have I been chattering like an old woman for a good half-hour over your time for a lesson, and the trumpet will be blowing directly for the men’s breakfast. Dis—mount!—Here, run that trooper to the stables,” he cried to the syce waiting.—“Morning, sir. Hope you’ll make another man of Bob Hanson.”

Dick nodded shortly, and strode thoughtfully away to his quarters. But his thoughts were not of the welcome morning meal, nor of meeting Wyatt, with whom he was to make arrangements for joining in the exciting sport which goes by the butcherly title of “pig-sticking”—an ill-chosen name for dashing charges with a lance at one of the fiercest animals of the Indian plains. But the coming hunt, the wild excitement in anticipation, and the wonder whether he would be able to handle his spear without bringing upon him the derision of his friends, all fell into abeyance, so full was he of the account the sergeant had given of the black sheep of the troop.

“It seems to have taken away my appetite,” he said to himself at last. “Why, I’ve got Black Bob on the brain.”

Chapter XII.
Wyatt’s Sermon.

A second month had seemed to fly since Dick had joined his troop. There was so much to do. At the end of the first month he was in the thick of all the drill-practice, and playing his part well, for he picked up the cavalry evolutions and gun-practice with ease, winning plenty of praise from his brother-officers, while the men were delighted with the young subaltern, and had a bright look for him whenever he rode up to his place.

It was hard work, too—wild galloping over rough ground, with the guns and limbers behind their teams, bumping and leaping as the troop tore along, with the horses literally racing to some point of vantage. Then the bugle would ring out, the horses would stop pretty well all together, the men leap from the saddles, and the gunners dismount from their horses, which were held by their companions; then with amazing celerity the gun-trails would be unhooked, swung round in this direction or in that, to go into action, loaded and fired—with blank-cartridge, of course. Then the trumpet sounded, the trails were hooked on again, the men leaped back to their places, the trumpet rang out once more, and away they went, raising a cloud of dust as they dashed along, the wonder to Dick being that so few accidents occurred, for the officers, as a rule, made a point in practice of riding for the roughest ground.

“Nothing like it, Dicky,” said Wyatt one day when, after a long series of dashes here and there, a halt was called, and the men sat at ease wiping their streaming faces. “We’ve got to be prepared for everything and to go anywhere.”

“That we can,” said Dick, who had been wildly excited by the gallop.

“That we can!” said Wyatt, his face assuming an air of disgust. “There’s a pretty sort of a fellow! Our troop would go anywhere.”

“That it could,” said Dick shortly.

“Well!” ejaculated Wyatt—and again, “Well! this is a smack in the face. I shall have to tell Hulton. Here have I been priding myself on our having broken you in to our ways, and made a gunner of you that we could be proud of, and you talk like that.”

“I don’t see anything wrong in what I said,” said Dick wonderingly.

“Don’t you? Then I do. It’s very evident that you have not half learned your duty yet. Look here, my lad. We are emergency men, expected to go wherever our general orders, and we do it.”

Dick laughed.

“Worse and worse! Here, I give you up, Dick.”

“Nonsense! Suppose, the enemy was on the other side of a deep river. We couldn’t get through that.”

“We should, somehow.”

“But we couldn’t. The guns would sink, and the cartridges be spoiled.”

“Like your new uniform.”

“Shouldn’t be wearing it to fight in,” said Dick.

“But look here; we should make for the nearest bridge or ford.”

“Suppose there was none,” said Dick.

“Bah! I shan’t suppose anything. I tell you we should go anywhere. I’m not going to chop logic with you—you argumentative little beggar.”

“Then, again, we couldn’t charge a fort or stone walls.”

“No, but we’d close up and batter them down. Look here, young fellow; you’re one of us now, and what you’ve got to believe is that our troop of horse artillery can do anything, and do it.”

“Oh, all right,” said Dick merrily: “I’ll try. I suppose we’ve done for to-day. I’m hot and tired.”

“Rubbish!” cried Wyatt. “We’re never hot and tired. Always ready’s our motto. Talk like that after a field-day! What would you do if we went into action?”

“I don’t know; get so excited, I suppose, that I shouldn’t have time to think.”

“Of course you would. And now, look here; I’ll tell you something if you promise not to chatter about it.”

“I don’t chatter; but I’ll promise. What is it?”

“There’s something on the way.”

“Is there? What—war?”

“Oh, we don’t call our little fights wars, and I can’t tell you what is coming off, but Sir George dropped a hint to Hulton that he was to see that we were in perfect readiness.”

“Well, we always are.”

“Yes; but to be on the qui vive as to ammunition, tents, baggage, and provender.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Dick, and his eyes kindled as he sat there upon a knoll with his troop, gazing round at the two or three native regiments, a squadron of cavalry, and the foot artillery and their heavy guns, which had taken part in the field-day.

“It may be only a false alarm,” said Wyatt, “but I thought you’d like to know; only you mustn’t begin to howl about feeling hot and tired if we have any real work to do, nor yet think about running away.”

Dick bit his lip, and then said huskily, “Am I likely to feel disposed to run away?”

“Perhaps so, the first time.”

“Did you?”

“What?” cried Wyatt fiercely, as he turned upon the calm, imperturbable face looking in his. “Did you mean that as an insult, Mr Darrell?”

“No,” said Dick, his eyes twinkling with mischievous exultation. “Did you?”

“Got me!” said Wyatt, shaking his head and chuckling softly. “Hist! look out. Here comes the general.”

Captain Hulton gave the word, and in an instant the men were rigid in their saddles, with the line as regular as if they were on parade, for a little knot of horsemen came cantering up, the general and his staff a short distance behind.

He drew rein in front of the troop, and sat talking to the captain for a minute, and then walked his horse slowly along the line, keenly examining everything.

At the end of the line he turned and rode back, and this time Dick, who had often felt annoyed at the want of recognition on the part of his father’s old school-fellow and friend, flushed with pleasure, for Sir George checked his horse.

“Ah, Mr Darrell,” he said quietly, “you there! Getting used to the rough work?”

“Yes, Sir George.”

“That’s right. You seem to have a good mount.—How do, Mr Wyatt?”

He backed his horse a few yards, stopped, and raised his voice so that the whole troop could hear:

“Very good indeed, my lads. Capital.”

Then he turned his horse and rode away, followed by his staff.

“He didn’t say much,” said Dick in a low tone.

“Soldiers never do say much,” replied Wyatt; “but I never heard him say so much before. My word! Old Hulton will be pleased.”

“I say, though: do you really think there is something on the way?”

“Yes. Are you sorry?”

“Sorry? No. I shall be delighted. It will be such a change.”

“Yes,” said Wyatt dryly, “it will be a change; so make the most of your comfortable quarters while you can. Next week you may be sleeping on a heap of stones after a supper of nothing to eat and a pannikin of dirty water.”

Chapter XIII.
Hanson Plays the Fool.

But the weeks rolled by without change, save that Dick felt himself quite at home in the troop, and was able to hold his own with the rest.

He had more than once asked Wyatt if there was any fresh news, invariably to receive a shake of the head and the reply:

“One never knows.”

Sergeant Stubbs had reported his pupil as having passed well through the riding-school routine; and this was the principal thing he had to master, for he had come out from college a trained soldier, and his year in a company of foot artillery had prepared him well for his new appointment.

“I shall be glad when we get away from this constant drilling,” said Dick one morning, with a yawn. “I don’t think I want to fight, but I should like for us to be going to some of the big cities, so that one could see the rajahs with their grand show and jewellery. I’ve been out here in India all this time, and seen so little. I say, Wyatt, that was all nonsense about our being ordered up-country.”

“Perhaps so; one never knows. You’ll see enough some day if you wait patiently,” continued Wyatt; “and after you’ve seen a rajah sitting like a figure of Buddha, dressed up in muslins and cloth of gold, and flashing with diamonds, in his howdah, you’ll think what a stupid old woman he looks, and be ready to bless your stars that you weren’t born a rajah or nawab or gaikwar out here, but an English gentleman, which, after all, is the finest title under the sun.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dick slowly; “there’s something very attractive in show.”

“Can’t be very comfortable to be going about dressed like a woman.”

“I shouldn’t dislike one of their jewelled swords.”

“Tchah! Our service-blade is worth a hundred of them. Why, there’s no grip to them; and as to the jewels, they must be always getting knocked out of the settings. All very well to have under a glass case. I say, did you hear about your friend the Black Diamond?”

“Bob Hanson? Yes,” said Dick gloomily. “I was in hopes that he was turning over a new leaf.”

“Not he.”

“It’s having leave to go out in the native quarters and getting that abominable arrack. That dose of cells ought to set him right again. Let’s see; he was out again this morning, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” said Wyatt derisively; “he was out again last night. Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard? Heard what?”

“Oh, of course: you went with Hulton to the Forty-fifth mess last night, and wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?” said Dick impatiently. “I never did know any one so slow at telling a story. Is this one?”

“Gently, young fireworks,” said Wyatt coolly, “and I’ll tell you. Black Bob was to have been out this morning, sober and wise after his last escapade. But he must have had some spirits smuggled in through his cell window, I expect; for, instead of waiting patiently, he must let the stuff get into his head; then he watches his chance, and after knocking at his cell and getting the sentry to open, knocks him down, and makes a bolt of it.”

“Oh, the fool, the fool!” cried Dick angrily.

“Good boy,” said Wyatt: “strong, but just. That’s just what he is.”

“But has he broken barracks?”

“Not he, my dear boy. The sentry objected to being knocked down, so he sat up and fired his carbine.”

“He hasn’t shot the man?”

“Not he. I dare say he felt savage. Being knocked down hurts a fellow; but, with all his blackguardism, the boys like Black Bob because of the way in which he can fight. Lots of them know how he stands by them in a scrimmage. The sentry only fired his carbine; then the sentry at the gate fired and turned out the guard, and my lord was caught.”

“Did he go buck quietly to the cell?” asked Dick.

“Did he do what?” cried Wyatt, bursting into a roar of laughter. “You should go and look at the guards’ uniforms. Tattered, dear boy, tattered. The leg of one fellow’s overalls was torn right up from bottom to top, another had his jacket dragged off, and two men have got pairs of the most beautiful black eyes you can imagine.”

“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated Dick.

“Oh, yes, he went very quietly back to the cells, but they had to sit on him first, three of the lads, for about half-an-hour till he cooled down; and then they had to give him the frog’s march—four of them to carry him like on springs, while four more marched alongside, ready to jump on the frog if he tried to hop.”

“I never saw that done,” said Dick; “they each take a wrist or an ankle, don’t they?”

“That’s it, Dicky, and turn him face downward; and its wonderful how a fellow like that can kick out just like a frog, and drive the bearers here and there. But they got him back safe to his cell, and pitched him in. He’s a beauty! Aren’t you proud of him?”

“It’s disgraceful!” cried Dick angrily. “Did he hurt the men much?”

“Can’t give fellows black eyes without hurting ’em,” replied Wyatt, swinging his big legs about as he sat on the table; “but the boys don’t bear him any malice for that. What they don’t like is having their uniforms damaged.”

“What will happen now?”

“Master Bob will have to take the heroic remedy reserved for bad boys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pussy,” said Wyatt, twisting his abundant moustache.

“The cat? Flogging?”

“That’s it, and serve the beggar right. And if that does no good, we shall have to make him a present of his uniform and his liberty after a pleasant little musical ceremony, but his buttons and facings will be cut and stripped off. Don’t like it, though. Looks so bad before the native troops. I’d rather they put him out of his misery at once.”

“What! shoot him?” cried Dick, with a look of horror.

“Yes; the poor beggar’s irretrievably bad. It would be a soldier’s death. Better for him than letting him go on disgracing himself, his corps, and the position of the British army out here.”

“It’s very, very horrible,” said Dick sadly.

“So it is, dear boy; but what can we do? As I’ve told you before, he has been let off no end of times. Ah, there goes Hulton to have Master Bob haled up before him. Ta-ta.”

Dick waited anxiously for the result of the military, magisterial examination of the previous night’s incident, and in due time he encountered Wyatt again.

“Well?” he said anxiously.

Wyatt laughed.

“Oh, they’re giving him another trial.”

“They’re not going to flog?”

“No. Double allowance of cells, and the doctor is to take him in hand. The poor beggar must be a bit off his head, I suppose. Diachylon says, though, he’s as right as any man in the troop.”

“Who’s he?” asked Dick wonderingly.

“Old Sticking-plaster—the doctor. So Bob’s got off again. Bread and water. Not savoury fare. The water’s so bad.”

An hour later Dick encountered the sergeant striding along, making the wind whistle with his big silver-mounted riding-whip, while his spurs jingled loudly.

He halted and saluted as Dick drew near.

“Heard about Black Bob, I suppose, sir?” he said.

“Yes, Stubbs; it’s a bad business.”

“Bad isn’t the word for it, sir. Wish to goodness he’d desert.”

“What? Why, his punishment would be ten times worse,” cried Dick.

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, twisting up his fierce mustachios; “much worse.”

“Then why do you wish that?”

“Well, sir, between you and me, you can’t punish a man till you catch him.”

“No; but he would be sure to be caught.”

“India’s a big place, sir,” said the sergeant.

“Of course it is, but no English soldier could hide himself without being caught sooner or later.”

“Depends upon them as is looking for him, sir.”

“What? Oh, I see, you mean that the men wouldn’t try to find him.”

“That’s it, sir. I believe the boys would all go blind when they went after him, and come back time after time to report that they hadn’t seen him.”

“They wouldn’t find him, then?”

“That’s it, sir; and the officers wouldn’t say anything. They don’t want to punish the men.”

“Of course not, unless they are obliged.”

“Of course, sir. They want the whole of the troop to shine as bright as their helmets and buttons before the people here. It’s our character that carries everything. You’ve seen, sir, how the authorities, from the Governor-general downward, encourage the officers and men in their sports as well as the fighting, pig-sticking, hunting, and tiger-shooting, and the rest of it. They like the native princes and the people to think that there’s no one like an Englishman, and that makes ’em contented with being ruled over by us. There’s a tiger killing the poor women and children about a village, and the Hindu chaps run away. English officer hears of it, and he gets up a hunt. Perhaps he rides on an elephant; perhaps he walks the brute down, and shoots him. Don’t matter what it is, we’re there—the best riders and the most daring over everything; while, when it comes to one of our little wars, and a rajah brags that he’s going to drive us out of the country, he collects his thousands, and comes to drive us; and the general laughs, sends a hundred or so of us, and we drive him. ’Tain’t brag, sir; we do it. We’ve done it again and again, and before long you’ll be seeing for yourself.”

“Ah!” cried Dick eagerly. “Then you’ve heard news?”

“Only rumbles, sir. There’s a storm brewing somewhere, but it hasn’t broke. But you may make sure of one thing; that sooner or later we shall have one: so, if I was you, I’d give orders to the armourer to grind my sword up to the finest edge and point.”

Dick nodded, and looked thoughtful.

“That’s a thing, sir, that we neglect, and the natives don’t. An Indian’s proud of his sword, and gets it made of the finest steel. Why, a man might almost shave with some of the tulwars they wear. I think Government ought to see that we have as good, but it don’t.”

“Where do you think the war will be, Stubbs?” said Dick.

“Don’t know, sir. Haven’t an idea. I only feel that there really is something coming.”

“With real fights instead of sham, Stubbs?”

“That’s it, sir; and that’s why I want to see you carrying sword that isn’t all show.”

Chapter XIV.
Out of his Cage.

The first thing Dick did on retiring to his quarters that night was to take his sword out of its case and admire its appearance once more. The next, to draw it and hold it close to the lamp, about which the night-moths were buzzing and a mosquito was sounding its miniature cheerful horn.

The brightly-burnished blade flashed in the soft, mellow light, and Dick thought it was very beautiful; but now, for the first time, it struck him that it was shockingly blunt.

He was devoted to his profession, and proud of being a soldier, but he had never had a bloodthirsty thought. But now a fresh train of ideas had been started by the old sergeant’s words. That beautiful, specklessly-bright blade, with its damascening, was meant to cut; and it was perfectly plain that, though it might have divided a pear or a pumpkin with a very vigorous blow, it would not cut it; while, as to the result of a thrust with the point, its effect would have been almost nil.

The idea seemed rather horrible—that of cutting flesh, or running an enemy through; but Dick felt that it was too late to think about such things as that. He was a soldier, and he had his duty to do.

And besides, in all the sword-exercise and fencing, he had been most carefully taught to look upon his sword as a weapon of defence as well as of offence.

“If we come to fighting at close quarters at any time, I’ve got to take care of myself,” thought the lad, “so you’ll have to be sharpened up.”

He was in the act of sheathing his blade, and had it half back in the scabbard, when the report of a carbine rang out across the barrack-yard.

Clang! went the sabre as the hilt was driven home, and, quick as thought, the young officer began to buckle on the belt; but before he had raised it to his waist another carbine raised the echoes of the place, the shouting for the guard to turn out followed through the open window, and, as soon as the belt was fastened, Dick caught at his sword, hooked it up, put on his cap, and hurried down.

“That you?” cried Wyatt from out of the darkness.

“Yes. What’s the matter? Enemy?”

“Enemy! Nonsense! Black Bob again for a tenner.”

The lieutenant was right, as they found after doubling to the cells. The prisoner had broken out again after once more outwitting the sentry and knocking him down: and, worse still, they found on reaching the gateway, where a sergeant, along with the guard, was standing with a couple of lanterns, that the sentry had been knocked down there as well, and the prisoner had passed out.

Wyatt heard all this as they came up, the sergeant being engaged in bullying the second sentry with all his might.

“You might have stopped him if you had tried, you mop-headed idiot!” cried the sergeant.

“How was I to stop him?” retorted the man. “I gave the alarm.”

“And let the prisoner escape. It was your duty to have fired at him,” roared the sergeant. “I want to know what the officers are going to say.”

“Why didn’t you fire at him?” cried Wyatt angrily.

“Beg pardon, sir,” replied the sentry, drawing himself up as he recognised his officer. “I’m pretty good at firing-practice with carbine and pistol.”

“It doesn’t seem like it, sir,” said Wyatt sharply.

“I should have brought him down, sir,” said the man apologetically.

“Well, that’s what you were placed here for.—That you, Hulton?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Hanson broken out and escaped.”

The captain uttered an angry ejaculation, gave orders, and men with lanterns were sent in pursuit, divided into three parties, with one of which were Wyatt and Dick.

“He’s gone,” said the former angrily. “Hiding in the native quarter somewhere—the scamp! It’s like hunting for a needle in a bottle of hay.”

“Hi! Here: this way, lads,” cried the sergeant in front with a lantern, by whose light Dick indistinctly caught sight of a figure in shirt and trousers rising from below in the ditch.

Then there was a scrimmage, joined in by three or four men, and the man of whom they were in search was thrown and handcuffed, a pair being conveniently handy in the sergeant’s pocket.

“This is a slice of good luck,” said Wyatt as soon as the prisoner was secured. “Now then, let the fellow rise, and take him back.—Get up, sir.”

“Can’t,” growled the prisoner savagely.

“Lift him to his feet,” cried the sergeant. The prisoner was dragged up, and it was noticed that he stood on one leg only.

“Here, he has been hurt,” cried Dick. “Look at that leg.—What’s the matter, Hanson?”

“Sprained,” said the man surlily.

“How did you do that?”

“Jumping down into the ditch. You wouldn’t have caught me if it hadn’t been for the sprain.”

“He’s only shamming, sir,” said the sergeant. “He can walk.”

“I think not,” said Dick quietly.—“You are hurt, Hanson?”