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Standing beside his superior, Mr. Billings looked towards the approaching trooper, who, with a quick, springy step, advanced to within a few yards of them, then stopped short and, erect and in silence, raised his hand in salute, and with perfectly respectful demeanor looked straight at his captain.

In a voice at once harsh and distinctly audible over the entire bivouac, with frowning brow and angry eyes, Buxton demanded,–

“O’Grady, where are your side-lines?”

“Over with my blankets, sir.”

“Over with your blankets, are they? Why in —-, sir, are they not here on your horse, where they ought to be?” And the captain’s voice waxed harsher and louder, and his manner more threatening.

“I understood the captain’s orders to be that they need not go on till sunset,” replied the soldier, calmly and respectfully, “and I don’t like to put them on that sore place, sir, until the last moment.”

“Don’t like to? No sir, I know d–d well you don’t like to obey this or any other order I ever gave, and wherever you find a loop-hole through which to crawl, and you think you can sneak off unpunished, by —-, sir, I suppose you will go on disobeying orders. Shut up, sir! not a d–d word!” for tears of mortification were starting to O’Grady’s eyes, and with flushing face and trembling lip the soldier stood helplessly before his troop-commander, and was striving to say a word in further explanation.

“Go and get your side-lines at once and bring them here; go at once, sir,” shouted the captain; and with a lump in his throat the trooper saluted, faced about, and walked away.

“He’s milder-mannered than usual, d–n him!” said the captain, turning towards his subaltern, who had stood a silent and pained witness of the scene. “He knows he is in the wrong and has no excuse; but he’ll break out yet. Come! step out, you O’Grady!” he yelled after the rapidly-walking soldier. “Double time, sir. I can’t wait here all night.” And Mr. Billings noted that silence had fallen on the bivouac so full of soldier-chaff and laughter but a moment before, and that the men of both troops were intently watching the scene already so painful to him.

Obediently O’Grady took up the “dog-trot” required of him, got his side-lines, and, running back, knelt beside his horse, and with trembling hands adjusted them, during which performance Captain Buxton stood over him, and, in a tone that grew more and more that of a bully as he lashed himself up into a rage, continued his lecture to the man.

The latter finally rose, and, with huge beads of perspiration starting out on his forehead, faced his captain.

“May I say a word, sir?” he asked.

“You may now; but be d–d careful how you say it,” was the reply, with a sneer that would have stung an abject slave into a longing for revenge, and that grated on Mr. Billings’s nerves in a way that made him clinch his fists and involuntarily grit his teeth. Could it be that O’Grady detected it? One quick, wistful, half-appealing glance flashed from the Irishman’s eyes towards the subaltern, and then, with evident effort at composure, but with a voice that trembled with the pent-up sense of wrong and injustice, O’Grady spoke:

“Indeed, sir, I had no thought of neglecting orders. I always care for my horse; but it wasn’t sunset when the captain came out—-“

“Not sunset!” broke in Buxton, with an outburst of profanity. “Not sunset! why, it’s well-nigh dark now, sir, and every man in the troop had side-lined his horse half an hour ago. D–n your insolence, sir! your excuse is worse than your conduct. Mr. Billings, see to it, sir, that this man walks and leads his horse in rear of the troop all the way back to the post. I’ll see, by —-! whether he can be taught to obey orders.” And with that the captain turned and strode away.