“Nothing at all, sir,” replied Denham, with a smile. “Somehow I always do what I’m told.”
“That’s what makes him such a good soldier, father,” I said, laughing.
“Do you hear that, Bob?” said Denham. “You ought to take example from me. But, I say, can’t we have the horses out for a run?”
“Of course,” said my father, “if you feel strong enough.”
“Oh, I’m strong enough now,” replied Denham. “Nothing whatever’s the matter, except that one leg gives way sometimes. Here, let’s go and rouse up Joeboy. Will you come with us, Bob?”
That question was unnecessary; and soon Joeboy the faithful and true had brought round Sandho, Denham’s horse, and a fine young cob the black had captured on the night of the fight and given to my brother.
The horses were all fresh and sprightly from want of work; and when the three were brought to the veranda of the farm which my father had leased for a time, Aunt Jenny—who had rejoined us, and was looking as if nothing had occurred—warned us to be careful, for the horses looked very fresh.
We promised to be careful, and were off cantering towards the veldt, the horses soon making the dust fly beneath their hoofs in a wild gallop.
“Oh Val,” cried Denham, with flashing eyes, “isn’t this glorious?”
“Delightful,” I replied.