e stern and
watched the black swarm of yelling devils fade in the distance.

He was thinking of his old professor at West Point. His insult had been
the one thing in life to which he owed most. He could see that clearly
now. His heart went out in a wave of gratitude to his enemy. Our enemies
are always our best friends when we have eyes to see.

The winter following he was ordered down to Winnebago.

The village of Chicago was the nearest center of civilization. The only
way of reaching it was by wagon, and the journey consumed three months.

There was much gambling in the long still nights, and some drinking. In
lieu of the excitement of the gaming table, he took his fun in breaking
and riding wild horses, and hairbreadth escapes were the order of his
daily exercise. It was gambling, perhaps, but it developed the muscles
of mind and body.

His success with horses was remarkable. No animal that man has broken to
his use is keener to recognize a master and flout a coward than the
horse. No coward has ever been able to do anything with a spirited
horse.

He was wrestling one day with a particularly vicious specimen, to the
terror and anguish of Jim Pemberton.

"For de Lawd's sake, Marse Jeff, let dat debbil go!"

"No, James, not yet--"

"He ain't no count, no how--"

"All the more reason why I should be his master, not he be mine."

The horse was possessed of seven devils. He jumped and plunged and
bucked, wheeled and reared and walked on his hind legs in mad effort to
throw his cool rider. The moment he reared, the Lieutenant dropped his
feet from the stirrups and leaned close to the brute's trembling, angry
head. At last in one supreme effort the beast threw himself straight
into the air and fell backwards, with the savage purpose of crushing his
tormentor beneath his body.

With a quiet laugh, the young officer slipped from the saddle and
allowed him to thump himself a crashing blow. As the horse sprang to his
feet to run, the Lieutenant leaped lightly into the saddle and the fight
was over.

"Well, for de Lawd, did ye ebber see de beat er dat!" Jim Pemberton
cried with laughing admiration.

Scarcely a week passed without its dangerous excursions against the
Pawnees, Comanches and other hostile tribes of Indians. The friendly
tribes, too, were everlastingly changing to hostiles in a night. Death
rode in the saddle with every man who left a fortified post in these
early days of our national life.

Th