“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant; “he can ride.”
“Won’t come off, will he?”
The sergeant shook his head.
“Trot!”
Away went the horse with his long, swinging stride, which without a saddle was rather a painful mode of progression for his rider.
“This is the finish,” thought Dick.
“Gallop!” was roared, and in an instant the horse bounded off, swinging round the long building, while, delighted with the change, his rider settled down to the easy pace with a profound feeling of satisfaction.
But as he passed the sergeant there was a roar at him to sit up, and he had to recall his instructions and ride according to them.
“Better!” shouted the sergeant as they dashed by, scattering the soft covering of the ring, while the horse covered the ground as if this were the natural pace to which he was accustomed. And the third time round the young rider was on his guard—he expected the word “Halt!”—and when it came, and the horse stopped short, he kept his place.
“Dismount!” cried the sergeant, and Dick threw himself off, hot and panting.