knees, Pasha, stopped and looked hard at the man on the ground.

"Pasha! Pasha!" the man called weakly. The voice sounded like that of
Mr. Dave.

"Come, boy! Come, boy!" said the man in a coaxing tone, which recalled
to Pasha the lessons he had learned at Gray Oaks years before. Still
Pasha sniffed and hesitated.

"Come here, Pasha, old fellow. For God's sake, come here!"

There was no resisting this appeal. Step by step Pasha went nearer. He
continued to tremble, for this man on the ground, although his voice was
that of Mr. Dave, looked much different from the one who had taught him
tricks. Besides, there was about him the scent of fresh blood. Pasha
could see the stain of it on his blue trousers.

"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground, holding out an
encouraging hand. Slowly Pasha obeyed until he could sniff the man's
fingers. Another step and the man was smoothing his nose, still speaking
gently and coaxingly in a faint voice. In the end Pasha was assured that
the man was really the Mr. Dave of old, and glad enough Pasha was to
know it.

"Now, Pasha," said Mr. Dave, "we'll see if you've forgotten your tricks,
and may the good Lord grant you haven't. Down, sir! Kneel, Pasha,
kneel!"

It had been a long time since Pasha had been asked to do this, a very
long time; but here was Mr. Dave asking him, in just the same tone as
of old, and in just the same way. So Pasha, forgetting his terror under
the soothing spell of Mr. Dave's voice, forgetting the fearful sights
and sounds about him, remembering only that here was the Mr. Dave whom
he loved, asking him to do his old trick--well, Pasha knelt.

"Easy now, boy; steady!" Pasha heard him say. Mr. Dave was dragging
himself along the ground to Pasha's side. "Steady now, Pasha; steady,
boy!" He felt Mr. Dave's hand on the pommel. "So-o-o, boy; so-o-o-o!"
Slowly, oh, so slowly, he felt Mr. Dave crawling into the saddle, and
although Pasha's knees ached from the unfamiliar strain, he stirred not
a muscle until he got the command, "Up, Pasha, up!"

Then, with a trusted hand on the bridle-rein, Pasha joyfully bounded
away through the fog, until the battle-field was left behind. Of the
long ride that ensued only Pasha knows, for Mr. Dave kept his seat in
the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else. A man who
has learned to sleep on horseback does not easily fall off, even though
he has not the full command of his senses. Only for the