Hal wrenched his hand away, and, stepping a pace backward, stood looking critically at his friend.
Gerald was dressed in a uniform of khaki, not unlike that worn by the British troops in South Africa, but differing in one or more important respects. For instance, in place of the helmet, which is only required in the hottest countries, the American troopers had wide-brimmed, thick felt hats, calculated to withstand a fierce sun, and well able to shelter the head and shoulders when a torrent of rain was descending. Then, again, this felt hat had a decided advantage for men on active service, for, when they were lying down and skirmishing, it would not hit upon the back of the neck and be tilted over the eyes at the most critical moment. Another difference was that the Americans wore a light gaiter, instead of the puttee.
Gerald, with his head-covering pulled rakishly over one ear, looked a very smart and soldier-like young fellow, and seemed to be well able to manage the rifle which he carried in one hand.
"A trooper?" said Hal, looking at him closely. "Well, old man, you look every inch of it. Supposing you tell me how it is to be done, so that I may follow suit, and take my place at your side."
"That's easy enough," answered Gerald: "The ranks are filled up, but we'll find room for you; for I happen to know one of the staff officers, who will arrange for it, if I ask him. Why, Hal, I have a splendid billet! I am one of Roosevelt's own; one of 'Teddy's Terribles,' or 'Roosevelt's Rustlers,' as we are sometimes called. You must have heard of us by now. We're the cowboy lot, and we've all sorts and sizes in our ranks. Fellows who are out of all employment, and who have not so much as a cent to bless themselves with, and others who are the sons of millionaires, or millionaires themselves, with so much to jangle in their pockets that they would not miss it if you took the average man's yearly wages from them. But, whatever their wealth, they are all rattling good fellows, and all bent upon fighting. But we've no horses. That's the joke of this invading army. The fact is that transports are scarce as it is, and none could be spared for the mounts. However, we weren't going to allow that to stop us, and here we are, ready to have a fling at the Dons on foot, if need be."
"So you are one of the 1st United States Cavalry, sometimes known also as the Rough Riders, or by the other terms that you mentioned?" said Hal. "Gerald, I'm for it, too. We'll see this war through together."
"Right, that we will," Gerald answered eagerly. "Look here, we'll just take the bull by the horns, and arrange the matter at once. Let's go right away to the staff officer."
Hal agreed, and they at once ascended the steep slope leading to the camp, till they came to a pile of ammunition boxes, beside which a pole was erected, bearing a piece of crimson bunting, while beneath it stood an officer whose uniform proclaimed that he belonged to the staff.
"Well, Mr. Brindle, what is this?" he asked, with a smile. "Introduce your friend."
"He's Hal Marchant, the fellow who sneaked on board the Merrimac when she was about to be sunk off Santiago. You will remember, Captain Cromer, that the tale leaked out, and that Lieutenant Billing was said to have come in for a wigging."