were by no means helpful to discipline.
Nevertheless, the officers yielded to the inevitable with the better
grace, inasmuch as no one else would voluntarily trust life and limb
to the vicious beasts in which Weldon's soul delighted.

Twice already, during the past five days, Weldon had handed over to
the authorities a chastened and obedient pony, and had made petition
to select a fresh and untrammelled spirit. The one of the afternoon
before had been the most untrammelled he had as yet attempted. The
contest had begun with the first touch of the saddle. It had
continued with Weldon's being borne across the camp on the back of a
little gray broncho who was making tentative motions towards a
complete handspring. By the time the pony was convinced of the
proper function of her own hind legs, Weldon found himself being
driven from the door of the cooking tent by Paddy and a volley of
potatoes. The broncho surveyed Paddy with scorn, rose to her hind
legs and strolled towards the corner of the camp sacred to visitors.
There she delivered herself of one final, mighty buck. When Weldon
regained the perpendicular, he found himself directly facing the
merry, admiring eyes of Ethel Dent. By Ethel's side, mounted on a
huge khaki-colored horse, sat the man he had met, only the week
before, in the driveway of the Dents' home.

Scarlet with his exertions, grimly aware that his sleeve was pulled
from its armhole and his left puttie was strained out of its usual
compact folds, nevertheless Weldon saluted her smilingly and, his
mount well in hand, galloped off in search of his squadron. That
night, however, his clear baritone voice was missing from the usual
chorus about the camp fire; and, as he thoughtfully drained his tin
billy of coffee, next morning, he was revolving in mind the relative
merits of his banker and a dead mother-in-law, as excuses for
demanding a pass to town, that afternoon.

However, afternoon found him moodily riding about the camp. His body
was on a subdued gray broncho; his mind was solely upon Ethel and
her companion. He liked the girl for herself, as well as for the
fact that, in this remote corner of the world, she represented the
sole bit of feminine companionship which is the rightful heritage of
every son of Eve. True, there was Miss Arthur; but Miss Arthur was
antediluvian. Under these conditions, it was galling to Weldon to
see Ethel absorbed by a comrade who, he frankly admitted to himself,
was far t