“Why, the horse seems to like you on his back,” said Wyatt after they had been cantering steadily enough for a time.
“I hope he does,” said Dick. “I like to be there.”
“Walk!” shouted Wyatt, and the four horses dropped into the quiet pace at once, being kept to it till they came in sight of the great gateway, outside which a vedette was stationed ready to turn their horses and pass in.
“Gone to report our coming. They won’t need to send an ambulance, my lad,” said Wyatt. “Look here, Darrell, you’ve done something to-day, and I want Hulton to see what you can do. You ride on two lengths ahead, and go in first at a walk.”
“No, no; it will look so foolish.”
“Obey orders!” cried Wyatt sternly. Then, changing his tone from the military to the friendly, “It may mean the keeping of the Arab for you if Hulton sees that you really can manage him.” Then aloud, “Forward. Trot.”
Dick had gone on to the front, and at the word the horses increased their pace.
“Give him a word or two, Stubbs,” said Wyatt, reining in a little so that the sergeant and gunner could come up level; and the sergeant shouted:
“Don’t bump your saddle, Mr Darrell. Elbows back, sir; heels down; drop your right hand, and ride with the horse.”
Dick stiffened himself directly, and rode in through the gateway in regular military style, falling into it naturally, but flushing uncomfortably as he saw at a glance that the troop was drawn up as he had left it, and the captain, with the trumpeter behind, sat motionless on his horse.