he nearby shanty. Skipper decided that he
would take a day off himself. By backing against the door he readily
pushed it open, for the staple was insecure.

Once at liberty, he climbed the roadway that led out of the lot. It was
late in the fall, but there was still short sweet winter grass to be
found along the gutters. For a while he nibbled at this hungrily. Then a
queer idea came to Skipper. Perhaps the passing of a smartly groomed
saddle-horse was responsible.

At any rate, Skipper left off nibbling grass. He hobbled out to the edge
of the road, turned so as to face the opposite side, and held up his
head. There he stood just as he used to stand when he was the pride of
the mounted squad. He was on post once more.

Few people were passing, and none seemed to notice him. Yet he was an
odd figure. His coat was shaggy and weather-stained. It looked patched
and faded. The spavined hock caused one hind quarter to sag somewhat,
but aside from that his pose was strictly according to the regulations.

Skipper had been playing at standing post for a half-hour, when a
trotting dandy who sported ankle-boots and toe-weights, pulled up before
him. He was drawing a light, bicycle-wheeled road-wagon in which were
two men.

"Queer?" one of the men was saying. "Can't say I see anything queer
about it, Captain. Some old plug that's got away from a squatter; that's
all I see in it."

"Well, let's have a look," said the other. He stared hard at Skipper for
a moment and then, in a loud, sharp tone, said:

"'Ten-shun! Right dress!"

Skipper pricked up his ears, raised his head, and side-stepped stiffly.
The trotting dandy turned and looked curiously at him.

"Forward!" said the man in the wagon. Skipper hobbled out into the road.

"Right wheel! Halt! I thought so," said the man, as Skipper obeyed the
orders. "That fellow has been on the force. He was standing post. Looks
mighty familiar, too--white stockings on two forelegs, white star on
forehead. Now I wonder if that can be--here, hold the reins a minute."

Going up to Skipper the man patted his nose once or twice, and then
pushed his muzzle to one side. Skipper ducked and countered. He had not
forgotten his boxing trick. The man turned his back and began to pace
down the road. Skipper followed and picked up a riding-glove which the
man dropped.

"Doyle," said the man, as he walked back to the wagon, "two years ago
that was the finest horse on the force--took the blue ri