"They'll talk about you to the end of time," said the Colonel heartily.
"That's all right, sir. That's a different kind of talk."
"We knowed it was all a mistake," he went on, with his head on one side, as he laid on artistic patches of ointment; "but we'd bin aching for a slap at the beggars, just to put a stopper on the mouth-wagglers nearer home. And we did slap 'em too, by----!"--and he lost himself for a moment in admiring contemplation of their prowess. "But they're vermin, them Roosians! Shot down their own men when we got all mixed up with 'em coming home, so they say."
"Yes, they did that. We saw it all from the heights."
"Well, that's not what I call right, sir."
"It was barbarous and damnable. No civilised nation would do such a thing."
"That's it, sir--barbarous and damnable and no civilised nation would do such a thing." And he said it over and over to himself, and gained considerable éclat by the use of it in discussion with his fellows later on.
"Jackson!" said a drowsy voice inside the tent. "How's Bob? And what the deuce are you preaching about?" And the brown horse gave a whuffle at sound of the voice.
"That's it. Thinks more of his hoss than he does of himself," said Jackson, with a wink at the Colonel. "Bob's patching up fine, sir. He's a good bit ripped up, but no balls gone in, s'far as I can see. He'll be ready for you, sir, by time you're ready for him, I should say. Gentleman called to see you, sir."
"My dear lad," said the Colonel, sitting down by his side on a stained-red saddle. "I am grateful for the sight of you. We doubted if one of you would come back alive."