n't hit the ground. An' the grey mare gets there. As cool as a
granadillar, down drops Colonel Byng beside old Gunter; down goes the
grey mare--Colonel Byng had taught her that trick, like the Roosian
Cossack hosses. Then up on her rolls old Gunter, an' up goes Colonel
Byng, and the grey mare switchin' her bobtail, as if she was havin' a
bit of mealies in the middle o' the day. But when they was both on,
then the band begun to play. Men was fightin' of course, but it looked
as if the whole smash stopped to see what the end would be. It was a
real pretty race, an' the grey mare takin' it as free as if she was
carryin' a little bit of a pipkin like me instead of twenty-six stone.
She's a flower, that grey mare! Once she stumbled, an' we knowed it
wasn't an ant-bear's hole she'd found in the veld, and that she'd been
hurt. But they know, them hosses, that they must do as their Baases do;
and they fight right on. She come home with the two all right. She
switched round a corner and over a nose of land where that crossfire
couldn't hit the lot; an' there was the three of 'em at 'ome for a cup
o' tea. Why, ma'am, that done the army as much good to-day, that little
go-to-the-devil, you mud-suckers! as though we'd got Schuster's Hill.
'Twas what we needed--an' we got it. It took our eyes off the nasty
little fact that half of a regiment was down, an' the other half with
their job not done as it was ordered. It made the S.A.'s and the
Lynchesters and the Gessex lot laugh. Old Gunter's all right. He's in
the Stay Awhile now. You'll be sure to see him. And Colonel Byng's all
right, too, except a little bit o' splinter--"

"A bit of splinter--" Her voice was almost peremptory.

"A chip off his wrist like, but he wasn't thinkin' of that when he got
back. He was thinkin' of the grey mare; and she was hit in three
places, but not to mention. One bullet cut through her ear and through
Colonel Byng's hat as he stooped over her neck; but the luck was with
them. They was born to do a longer trek together. A little bit of the
same thing in both of 'em, so to speak. The grey mare has a temper like
a hunderd wildcats, and Colonel Byng can let himself go too, as you
perhaps know, ma'am. We've seen him let loose sometimes when there was
shirkers about, but he's all right inside his vest. And he's a good
feeder. His men get their tucker all right. He knows when to shut his
eyes. He's got a way to make his bunch--and they're the hardest-bit
bun