“Yes, yes,” said the captain. “Captain Morrison was a magnificent horseman, and about the only man who could ride the beast. It’s quite out of the question.”
“Very well,” said Dick quietly; “I’ll wait.”
“Yes,” said Captain Hulton dryly, “you had better wait.—By the way, Wyatt, you may as well come across to Sir George with me. I think you ought to be there.”
“Very well. But what does he want?”
“It’s about that Hanson.”
“Oh, hang the fellow!” cried Wyatt.
“No we will not go so far as that this time, but I expect he will have to be flogged.”
Dick started, and looked sharply from one to the other, for the last word jarred upon him, knowing what he did of military punishments. But the two officers paid no heed to him, and it was evident to the young man that he was not wanted; so he strolled out, to look about and make himself better acquainted with the cantonments, where, in addition to his own corps, there were in barracks a couple of native regiments and a company of foot artillery, who, he rightly conjectured, had charge of the heavy guns.
It was all wonderfully interesting, and he was tempted to wander off into the town, and stroll through the bazaars, on his way to the grand old temple by the side of the river which flowed through the place; but he wanted to see the march out of his troop, and hurried back, finding that the time had slipped imperceptibly away, and that he was barely soon enough.
To his great satisfaction, though, he reached the parade-ground just as the men were forming up. They were only in fatigue uniform, but their appearance was wonderfully striking and businesslike, while the guns were drawn up in line with the most perfect precision.