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.”