e was he terror-stricken, as he had been on his first day in the
cavalry, at hearing behind him the thunder of many hoofs. Having once
become used to the noise, he was even thrilled by the swinging metre of
it. A kind of wild harmony was in it, something which made one forget
everything else. At such times Pasha longed to break into his long,
wind-splitting lope, but he learned that he must leave the others no
more than a pace or two behind, although he could have easily
outdistanced them all.

Also, Pasha learned to stand under fire. No more did he dance at the
crack of carbines or the zipp-zipp of bullets. He could even hold his
ground when shells went screaming over him, although this was hardest of
all to bear. One could not see them, but their sound, like that of great
birds in flight, was something to try one's nerves. Pasha strained his
ears to catch the note of each shell that came whizzing overhead, and,
as it passed, looked inquiringly over his shoulder as if to ask, "Now
what on earth was that?"

But all this experience could not prepare him for the happenings of that
never-to-be-forgotten day in June. There had been a period full of hard
riding and ending with a long halt. For several days hay and oats were
brought with some regularity. Pasha was even provided with an apology
for a stall. It was made by leaning two rails against a fence. Some hay
was thrown between the rails. This was a sorry substitute for the roomy
box-stall, filled with clean straw, which Pasha always had at Gray Oaks,
but it was as good as any provided for the Black Horse Cavalry.

And how many, many horses there were! As far as Pasha could see in
either direction the line extended. Never before had he seen so many
horses at one time. And men! The fields and woods were full of them;
some in brown butternut, some in homespun gray, and many in clothes
having no uniformity of color at all. "Mars" Clayton was dressed better
than most, for on his butternut coat were shiny shoulder-straps, and it
was closed with shiny buttons. Pasha took little pride in this. He knew
his master for a cruel and heartless rider, and for nothing more.

One day there was a great parade, when Pasha was carefully groomed for
the first time in months. There were bands playing and flags flying.
Pasha, forgetful of his ill-treatment and prancing proudly at the head
of a squadron of coal-black horses, passed in review before a big,
bearded man wearing a slouch hat fa