“I congratulate you, Mr Darrell,” he said quietly. “I suppose you would like to keep your mount?”
“You had your riding-lesson this morning?”
“And you seem to have given us one since. Believe me, I am very glad you are not hurt. Give the horse up to the syces now.”
He made a sign, and the two white-clothed grooms hurried up, showing their teeth and glancing admiringly at one who was evidently about to be their new sahib.
But they were not alone, for unconsciously the lad had made himself the hero of the hour, gunners and drivers to a man subscribing to the dictum that a youngster who could ride Morrison’s horse like that was made of the right stuff for the troop.
“Yes,” grunted the oldest corporal, who was considered a judge; “he isn’t much more than a schoolboy, but that young chap’s up to the mark.”
Dick did it as modestly as he could, and his words were as simple and natural as a boy’s need be, when he was questioned at the mess-table about his ability to ride and knowledge of horses; but it all had to be dragged out of him in replies to questions.
“Oh,” he said, “I had something to do with horses for so long a time back. I must have been quite a tiny little fellow when my father used to take me up before him, and set me astride on his horse’s neck. I remember that the scrubby mane used to tickle my legs dreadfully. And I often toddled into the stable to feed the horses with fresh grass. My mother used to be frightened, but my father said the horses would not trample on me; and they never did. They used to reach down to look at me with their great eyes, and blow into my neck.”
“So that you became quite used to horses very early?” said the captain.
“Oh, yes; I never remember feeling afraid of a horse.”
“Your father kept good ones?” said Wyatt.
“Splendid ones to go, but he was only a country practitioner, fond of hunting, and he never gave much for one, I should say; but he was always one of the first flight in a run.”
“And he taught you to ride quite early?” said the captain.
Dick looked at him with rather a puzzled air.
“I don’t think he ever taught me,” said the lad thoughtfully. “He used to tell me to stick in my knees and hold tight. I rode so much that it came natural.”