was in him. The colonel rarely rode in
those days, and cavalry-duties in garrison were few. The regiment was in
the mountains most of the time, hunting Apaches, but Van had to be
exercised every day; and exercised he was. "Jeff," the colonel's
orderly, would lead him sedately forth from his paddock every morning
about nine, and ride demurely off toward the quartermaster's stables in
rear of the garrison. Keen eyes used to note that Van had a way of
sidling along at such times as though his heels were too impatient to
keep at their appropriate distance behind the head, and "Jeff's" hand on
the bit was very firm, light as it was.

"Bet you what you like those 'L' Company fellows are getting Van in
training for a race," said the quartermaster to the adjutant one bright
morning, and the chuckle with which the latter received the remark was
an indication that the news was no news to him.

"If old Coach don't find it out too soon, some of these swaggering
_caballeros_ around here are going to lose their last winnings," was his
answer. And, true to their cavalry instincts, neither of the
staff-officers saw fit to follow Van and his rider beyond the gate to
the _corrals_.

Once there, however, Jeff would bound off quick as a cat, Van would be
speedily taken in charge by a squad of old dragoon sergeants, his
cavalry bridle and saddle exchanged for a light racing-rig, and Master
Mickey Lanigan, son and heir of the regimental saddle-sergeant, would be
hoisted into his throne, and then Van would be led off, all plunging
impatience now, to an improvised race-track across the _arroyo_, where
he would run against his previous record, and where old horses from the
troop-stables would be spurred into occasional spurts with the champion,
while all the time vigilant _non-coms_ would be thrown out as pickets
far and near, to warn off prying Mexican eyes and give notice of the
coming of officers. The colonel was always busy in his office at that
hour, and interruptions never came. But the race did, and more than one
race, too, occurring on Sundays, as Mexican races will, and well-nigh
wrecking the hopes of the garrison on one occasion because of the
colonel's sudden freak of holding a long mounted inspection on that day.
Had he ridden Van for two hours under his heavy weight and housings that
morning, all would have been lost. There was terror at Tucson when the
cavalry trumpets blew the call for mounted inspection, full dress, that
plac