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.”