"As for the tubey player, he tried hard to stay in the middle of his bucker. But, bein' handicapped as it were, wid some thirty odd feet of German silver tubin' wrapped about his anatemy, an' it a-bumpin' an' a-bangin' agin his head every time the hoss struck the sod, he made hard work of it.
"After makin' some desperate efforts to find somethin' solid to hold onto, an' a-clawin' all the leather offen his saddle pommel in the effort, the wind jammer gives it up for a bad job, turned all holds loose, an' went up into the air like a musical sky rocket. The saddler sergint of G-troop sed he was a Dutch meteor.
"Ony how, he went up, an', encircled wid them great silvery pipes, made a fine landin' in the soft dirt, drivin' the bell of his tubey deep into it.
"The next minute his hoss was a-folerin' the kittle drums like Tam O'Shanter's ghost.
"Then there was a tall hungry Irishman—though what a dacent Irisher was a-doin' in that bunch of Dutchies I dunno—but there he was. He played a clarinet about a yard long, an' when his hoss decided 'twas time for him to do a little stunt of his own, in the buckin' line, he made a wild grab for his reins. But 'twas no good. Ivery time he comes down, he jabbed the sharp pint of that clarinet mouthpiece into the horse's withers, which didn't help matters a little bit.
"He was a-doin' some elegant reachin' for something to hold onto, but some way he couldn't connect wid anything at all. Wan jump an' he lost his cap, the next he landed behind the saddle, which gives his horse an opporchunity for lettin' out a few extry holes in his performance. Back into the saddle he goes, but not findin' conditions there to his likin', he continued on wid a forward movement finally landin' in front of the saddle, then a little furder forward, workin' out on the horse's neck like some sailor lad a-climbin' out on the bowsprit of a ship.
"Finally, the hoss took time enough to lift his nose from scrapin' the ground bechune his two front feet, an' have a look about him; in doin' which he turned the clarinet player end for end like a tumbler in a circus. Down he comes, wid his precious clarinet grabbed in his hand like a black-thorn shillalah, and when he lit, he bored a place in the dirt deep enough for a post hole.
"Over on the porch of the adjutant's office, a-takin' it all in, was the old gineral wid a bunch of ladies. When the last of the twenty or more riderless bronks disappeared over the brow of the hill down the road toward the creek, the old man turned to his orderly standin' near by an' ses, ses he, 'Orderly, prisint me compliments to the adjutant an' tell him that the band's excused from attindin' dress parade mounted till furder orders.'"
