on, and
the major eyed Garrison intently and with some curiosity.

"Come, haven't you ridden before, eh?" he asked good-humoredly. "It's
no disgrace, boy. Is it hard-won science, as Crimmins says, or merely an
unbelievable and curious freak of nature, eh?"

Garrison looked the major in the eye. His heart was pounding.

"If I've ever ridden a mount before--I've never known it," he said, with
conviction and truth.

Crimmins shook his head in hopeless despair. The major was too
enthusiastic to quibble over how the knowledge was gained. It was there
in overflowing abundance. That was enough. Besides, his nephew's word
was his bond. He would as soon think of doubting the Bible.

For the succeeding days Garrison and the major haunted the track. It was
decided that the former should wear his uncle's colors in the Carter,
and he threw himself into the training of Dixie with all his painstaking
energy and knowledge.

He proved a valuable adjunct to Crimmins; rank was waived in the
stables, and a sincere regard sprang up between master and man, based
on the fundamental qualities of real manhood and a mutual passion for
horse-flesh. And if the acid little cockney suspected that Garrison had
ever carried a jockey's license or been track-bred, he respected the
other's silence, and refrained from broaching the question again.

Meanwhile, to all appearances, things were running in the harmonious
groove over at the Desha home. Since the night of Mr. Waterbury's
arrival Sue had not mentioned the subject of the overdrawn balance, and
the colonel had not. If the girl thought her father guilty of a slight
breach of honor, no hint of it was conveyed either in speech or manner.

She was broad-minded--the breadth and depth of perfect health and a
clean heart. If she set up a high standard for herself, it was not
to measure others by. The judgment of man entered into no part of her
character; least of all, the judgment of a parent.

As for the colonel, it was apparent that he was not on speaking terms
with his conscience. It made itself apparent in countless foolish little
ways; in countless little means of placating his daughter--a favorite
book, a song, a new saddle. These votive offerings were tendered in
subdued silence fitting to the occasion, but Sue always lauded them to
the skies. Nor would she let him see that she understood the contrition
working in him. To Colonel Desha she was no longer "my little girl," but
"my daughter.