Part 16 (2/2)

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

”What's that?” said d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k earnestly.

The sergeant chuckled.

”What are you laughing at?” cried d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, ”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.”

d.i.c.k 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 t.i.tle of ”pig-sticking”--an ill-chosen name for das.h.i.+ng charges with a lance at one of the fiercest animals of the Indian plains. But the coming hunt, the wild excitement in antic.i.p.ation, 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 appet.i.te,” he said to himself at last.

”Why, I've got Black Bob on the brain.”

CHAPTER TWELVE.

WYATT'S SERMON.

A second month had seemed to fly since d.i.c.k 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, b.u.mping 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 d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.ky,” 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 d.i.c.k, who had been wildly excited by the gallop.

”That we can!” said Wyatt, his face a.s.suming an air of disgust.

”There's a pretty sort of a fellow! Our troop would go anywhere.”

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