"'One blast upon his bugle horn is worth a thousand men.'
But ye did ride like thunder, Cap, that's a fac', an' I ain't ther only
one done up, neither. Jist take a squint et thet fat Dutchman thar."
The fleshy Sergeant was undoubtedly fatigued, yet he was a thorough
soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and although he moved as if his
coarse army trousers were constant torture, he was not guilty of
omitting any known requirement of his office.
"Chones", he shouted impressively, "dot is not a good vay to tie dot
horse. By Chiminy, he vould break his neck mit der rope. Glen, vy you
makes play mit der gun dot vay? Donnerwetter! ven I speak mit you,
stand op mit der little finger to der seam of der pantaloons. You vill
never be no good."
"Ebers," I interrupted, "let the men rest as they please. I regret
having ridden so hard, but I am used to soldiers who are toughened in
field work. Are you pretty sore, Sergeant?"
"By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle,"
he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. "It vos der rackin'
gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride."
"Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more
thoughtful in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?"
The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"I jist don't know, Cap," he answered mournfully.
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