“I’ll leave you, then. I can’t say I’m overfond of ’em myself. Besides, white men who haven’t a place to sleep in are more than likely to be thieves, and I’ve a good deal of Government property on my back. Come along, young ’un, and we’ll go back to our lines. Good night, Australia! See you on parade tomorrow, I suppose. Good night, old Hay-bale!—try to control your feelings, won’t you? Good night, Two Tails! If you pass us on the ground tomorrow, don’t trumpet. It spoils our formation.”
Billy the mule stumped off with the swaggering limp of an old campaigner, as the troop-horse’s head came nuzzling into my breast, and I gave him biscuits; while Vixen, who is a most conceited little dog, told him fibs about the scores of horses that she and I kept.
“I’m coming to the parade tomorrow in my dogcart,” she said. “Where will you be?”
“On the left hand of the second squadron. I set the time for all my troop, little lady,” he said politely. “Now I must go back to Dick. My tail’s all muddy, and he’ll have two hours’ hard work dressing me for the parade.”
The big parade of all the thirty thousand men was held that afternoon, and Vixen and I had a good place