ly a glance or two had
passed, for Trooper Rawdon had instantly swung once more into saddle and
was reining back to his place.

"Stables going _yet_? Why, I thought it must be supper time. Colonel
sent me ahead to find him. Three of 'E' Troop horses act like they'd
been eating loco-weed. That's what kept us."

"Colonel Button's always findin' some way of sendin' you in ahaid, Marse
Lanier," grinned Chloe. "Ah don't wonder dey says _you_ can do anything
you like an' never get hauled up for it."

"You're a gossip, Auntie," laughed Lanier. "The colonel would cinch me
quick as the next man if I happened to rub his fur the wrong way. One
more swig now and I'm off. Tastes almost like the South again, doesn't
it?"

"Lak de _Souf_!" Aunt Chloe bristled, indignant. "Sho! Dat's no more lak
de buttermilk _we_ makes dan dat ar' hawse is lak de racers at Belle
Mead. Cows got to have white clover, Marse Lanier, an' white clover
don't grow in dis Gawd foh-saken country."

"It's good all the same. Thank you, heartily, Miss Dora. You, too,
Auntie. Er--Rawdon, you dismount and wait for Doctor Mayhew in case I
miss him. Give him the colonel's message and say the squadron should be
in by 7.30." And with that and a wave of his hand and a smiling
good-night, he took the rein of the troop horse and away they sped to
the stables.

Then Chloe vanished opportunely. The young trooper stood one instant
looking gratefully after his officer and those curvetting steeds, eager
to reach their home and supper. Dora, with glistening eyes and glowing
cheeks, retreated within the shelter of the bowered porch. Then,
bounding up the steps and turning with outstretched arms, thither Rawdon
followed.

Ten minutes later, at swift trot, came a third horse and rider, the
horse all that a cavalry horse should be in gait and build, the rider
well nigh as marked in build and proportions. He, too, was well-made and
muscular, though somewhat heavy and stocky; he was as soldierly, if not
as young, as the two so recently there in saddle. It was the face that
repelled, for it was black with wrath and suspicion. In front of the
little cottage of the veterinary surgeon he hurriedly dismounted, threw
the reins over the post at the horse-block, and strode, angering,
through the gate. The murmur of blissful voices had ceased at first
sight of him. Dora, her face paling, met him at the head of the steps.

Hardly noticing her by look or word, he brushed by, turned sha