“Where are they now?” asked Brace.
“In the north-west provinces,” I said eagerly, “at Nussoor.”
“Some hundred miles away, Vincent. You are not likely to meet them for some time to come. You will have to introduce me to your people when you do.”
Chapter Eight.
My work was hard at Rambagh, for I had no measured hours. I was ambitious too; eager to master my profession, and in constant dread of exciting derision by making some mistake.
Perhaps some lads of my age would not have worked so hard, but would have contented themselves by acquiring the necessary knowledge slowly; but that did not accord with my ideas, and I eagerly attended all the early morning drills, and though the sergeant sourly said that I wanted a deal of setting up, and the riding-master laughingly told me that I looked like a tailor on horseback, I suppose I got on pretty well. At any rate, I was able to keep my place without making many outrageous blunders.
I suppose it was a good deal due to the petting bestowed upon him, but I found my charger—the Sheik—as I called him, at Captain Brace’s suggestion, grew quite attached to me, and would follow me like a dog.
And in spite of the intense heat, it was a pleasant life when I grew more used to my work, and less conscious and afraid of ridicule. I had my servants, who were very obedient and servile, but not at all attentive. I was too easy with them, Barton said, and he told me that a good kicking would do them good. Certainly his men flew to obey every word, and shrank at every look.