But “my” horse was far from perfect, and no one knew it better than the young officer himself.
He was a keen, observant fellow, and it did not take him long to notice that Burnouse was gentle with one of the late Captain Morrison’s syces, while the sight of the other was enough to make the animal roll back his eyes and bare his teeth.
Wyatt, big and old as he was, to fully justify Captain Hulton’s words that he was quite a boy still, showed it by attaching himself thoroughly to his young brother-officer, treating him just as if he were of the same age.
“I used to find it so dull, Dick,” he said once in confidence, “before you came. Hulton’s a splendid chap, and I quite love him like a brother, but he’s such a serious old cock. No fun in him for a companion. You and I are going to get on together, you know.”
“I hope so,” said Dick; “only I’m precious young, Mr Wyatt.”
“Mr. Wyatt! Look here, young fellow, drop that; we’re brother-officers. You’re young, but you’ll soon get over that. A fellow who can ride as you do, and drop into your place in the troop, with the men looking as proud of you and as smiling whenever you come on parade as if you were the very fellow they’d ride after anywhere, needn’t talk about being young. Age has nothing to do with a man being a smart soldier. Look here; we’re all glad you’ve joined, and there’s an end of it.”
But there was no end of Wyatt; he was always after his new brother-officer, and thoroughly enjoyed going with him to the stables to have a look at Burnouse, who, to do him justice, thoroughly hated him, and would not let him go near.
“Look here, Wyatt,” said Dick one morning.
“I’m looking, old chap. What is it? He seems as fit as he can be, and as nasty-tempered as ever.”
“Yes; that’s what I wanted you to notice. Did you see him show his teeth then at Dondy Lal?”