Dick rode on straight for his commanding officer, the Arab going over the ground as if he hardly touched it with his hoofs; and the next moment discipline was forgotten, every man on the parade-ground bursting forth into a tremendous cheer which nearly drowned Wyatt’s loud “Halt!”
The next moment Hulton had ridden up to the young subaltern’s side.
“I congratulate you, Mr Darrell,” he said quietly. “I suppose you would like to keep your mount?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” said Dick eagerly.
“You had your riding-lesson this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you seem to have given us one since. Believe me, I am very glad you are not hurt. Give the horse up to the syces now.”
He made a sign, and the two white-clothed grooms hurried up, showing their teeth and glancing admiringly at one who was evidently about to be their new sahib.
But they were not alone, for unconsciously the lad had made himself the hero of the hour, gunners and drivers to a man subscribing to the dictum that a youngster who could ride Morrison’s horse like that was made of the right stuff for the troop.
“Yes,” grunted the oldest corporal, who was considered a judge; “he isn’t much more than a schoolboy, but that young chap’s up to the mark.”