Suddenly he rolls over and over! His brain, which keeps running on trees, has just time to complete the thought, “Now, you’ve fallen down!” when a kick on the head knocks him senseless. He remains lying in the path, his whiskers twitching, his legs kicking spasmodically....
Tambourine, who has joyfully given every muscle full play during his reckless gallop, jumps clean over his victim, causing the supple rider to fling himself backwards in the saddle. The man catches a glimpse of what has happened, pulls up, turns, and dismounts.
“What a shame! Poor little beast!”
He picks up the cat by its tail between his forefinger and thumb, and turns its body round. It bleeds neither at the nose nor at the mouth, but it does not move a hair. The sergeant feels it to see whether any bones are broken, then holds it by the scruff and examines its yellow eyes. Yes, it must be dead, after all—probably from a hoof-kick.... Well, to blazes with the beast!
He is just about to fling it in the ditch when the cat’s smooth, jet-black coat catches his attention!
“By Jove, what a splendid skin! That’s sure to be useful!” And without further ado he opens the left saddle-bag and lets the lifeless “Madness” sink to the bottom.
The old saddle-bag is worn thin, and the inside seam nearest the horse is gaping; but what does it matter—a cat, and what’s more, a dead cat, is safe enough there!
And the man pulls the strap extra tight.
Tambourine has been ordered a good run this morning, so that he shall go quietly at the next morning’s general inspection—and when at last, sweating and frothing with dilated nostrils, he is walking homewards towards the barracks, the reins hang loose on his neck.
Suddenly he feels some pointed “spurs” prod him in the side....