Leaving his wife in charge of Dandy Irvine, as the most presentable man in the division, La Mancha went about the camp raking up ill-conditioned rags and worn-out garments to represent his kit, which was to be delivered over to the authorities, together with his arms and accoutrements. At another time the Quartermaster would have asked what scarecrow had been robbed, now he received the whole mess of rubbish with his blandest smile. Changing into his cowboy equipment, the Blackguard gave away his Government clothes to all who would accept them as his parting gift, reserving only a fine buffalo overcoat, a set of blankets, and some underwear for future use.
The Colonel hastily, sitting as magistrate, found means to discharge his prisoners on the ground of insufficient evidence. Then the Sergeant-Major presented La Mancha's discharge, filled in with the obvious falsehood that his character and behaviour were both, and had always been, "very good."
"Now, La Mancha," said the Colonel, "besides your pay you are entitled to transport and sustenance to your place of enlistment—Winnipeg. Will you have cash or a requisition?"
"Cash, sir."
The Colonel wrote out a cheque to cover the costs of this imaginary journey of twelve hundred miles, a second cheque for La Mancha's pay up to date, and a third in lieu of a wedding present from the officers of the division.
Dinner followed, Dandy and all the non-commissioned officers fighting among themselves for the right to serve the Señora La Mancha, who sat in state upon a buffalo coat near their camp fire, all smiles and blushes. This was her wedding breakfast, served under the frosty blue sky by a swarm of soldiers, who one and all would have offered with the beef and bread their hearts and hands, but for the prior claims of their comrade.
Meanwhile the Blackguard, respectfully declining invitations from the Officers' and Sergeants' Messes, dined for the last time with the troop, and afterwards, when pipes were lit before the saddling, accepted a wedding present from D Division which would materially help in his provision for married life.
Only Mr. Burrows and Mr. Ramsay, discharged from their arrest and welcomed by the Officers' Mess, were discontented with the wintry sunlight, the dry bright wind, the scent of the dying summer. Outwitted by the Blackguard, humiliated in their summary treatment by the law, their grievance received hilariously as a huge joke, they were only too glad to excuse themselves with a plea of pressing business at the Throne, while their crestfallen departure after dinner provoked the troop to a burst of ironical cheering.
But the Blackguard and his Señora, mounted on horses lent by the Sergeant-Major, rode out with the troop on its first stage down the valley, an adventure which Violet La Mancha will ever remember as the most delightful thing in her life. Indeed, it was a sight to stir one's blood, that march of frontier cavalry, to see the big bronzed men sitting their horses with careless grace, the tough, wiry bronchos walking sedately after a canter, the transport lumbering briskly in the midst, and all down the long double line of riders the gleam of blue rifle barrels, a glitter of belts, a glow of scarlet.
The valley reached away on every side in all its loveliness of bush and prairie, on either side hung white Alps above the misty blue of distant forest, and over all were soft little clouds like herds of driven sheep, while the sun raced westward to his setting through dim immensities of sky.