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The Deserter by Charles King
page 14 of 247 (05%)
"That's what I like about that man Gower," says the captain, after a
moment's silence. "He is always looking out for his horse. If he were
not such a gambler and rake he would make a splendid first-sergeant.
Fine-looking fellow, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir. That is a face that one couldn't well forget. Who was the
other sergeant you overhauled for getting fleeced by those sharps at the
cantonment?"

"Clancy? He's on guard to-night. A very different character."

"I don't know him by sight as yet. Well, good-night, sir. I'll take
myself off and go to my own tent."

* * * * *

Daybreak again, and far to the east the sky is all ablaze. The mist is
creeping from the silent shallows under the banks, but all is life and
vim along the shore. With cracking whip, tugging trace, sonorous
blasphemy, and ringing shout, the long train is whirling ahead almost at
the run. All is athrill with excitement, and bearded faces have a
strange, set look about the jaws, and eyes gleam with eager light and
peer searchingly from every rise far over to the southeast, where stands
a tumbling heap of hills against the lightening sky. "Off there, are
they?" says a burly trooper, dismounting hastily to tighten up the
"cinch" of his weather-beaten saddle. "We can make it quick enough, 's
soon as we get rid of these blasted wagons." And, swinging into saddle
again, he goes cantering down the slope, his charger snorting with
exhilaration in the keen morning air.

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