wheels, with projecting additions, and other land-craft beyond
classification or description. And the people--the American Southerners;
rich whites, whites well-to-do, poor white trash; good country folks,
valley farmers; mountaineers--darkies, and the motley feminine horde
that the soldier draws the world over--all moving along the road as far
as he could see, and interspersed here and there in the long, low cloud
of dust with a clanking troop of horse or a red rumbling battery--all
coming to see the soldiers--the soldiers!

And the darkies! How they flocked and stared at their soldier-brethren
with pathetic worship, dumb admiration, and, here and there, with a look
of contemptuous resentment that was most curious. And how those dusky
sons of Mars were drinking deep into their broad nostrils the incense
wafted to them from hedge and highway.

For a moment Grafton stopped still, looking.

"Great!"

Below the Majors' terrace stood an old sergeant, with a gray mustache
and a kind, blue eye. Each horse had his nose in a mouth-bag and was
contentedly munching corn, while a trooper affectionately curried him
from tip of ear to tip of tail.

"Horse ever first and man ever afterward is the trooper's law," said
Grafton.

"I suppose you've got the best colonel in the army," he added to the
soldier and with a wink at Crittenden.