Draw Swords! Part 12

"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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k. "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 d.i.c.k. "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 pa.s.s 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."

d.i.c.k 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 b.u.mp your saddle, Mr Darrell. Elbows back, sir; heels down; drop your right hand, and ride with the horse."

d.i.c.k 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.

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 NINE.

A BOY AT HOME.

d.i.c.k 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 gra.s.s. 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 pract.i.tioner, 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.

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k, 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."