“Have you found a place for your horse?” he asked.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. I’ve just come.”
I pointed out Kiki through the door to the courtyard where he waited, stoically and calmly, under the snow. Perhaps he remembered the times not long ago that he waited for hours at the doors of the ranch under more wintry winds. Perhaps he imagined that he was still waiting for the rough Canadian pioneer who tarried for long discussions about business, warming himself the while with whiskey. At any rate Kiki waited stoically and quietly. He scarcely condescended to welcome us by a glance when I presented him to the lieutenant, who stroked his head.
“This is Kiki, Lieutenant. I don’t know his real name, for his record bore only his number, but that fits him and he seems to like it. He is a Canadian, seven years old, thin but strong, very gentle and a good jumper.”
“He’s pretty. Come along. We’ll put him in with mine. They’ll get along all right together.”
So I took Kiki by the bridle and the lieutenant and I went along talking, until we reached an improvised stable where the officer’s horse and his groom were quartered.
Zèbre was a great brown horse, with a huge, calm face. Everything here certainly gives an impression of calmness.
I took leave of the officer for the time being and returned to the quartermaster’s, where a steaming soup and scalding coffee were waiting for me. It was nearly noon and I had eaten nothing hot for the last forty-eight hours. It was four above zero and it was time.