had seen
something of warfare in Egypt, and had taken his discharge from a
Fusilier regiment not unknown to you.

"And how do things go?"

"Very much as you please," said they. "There's not half the discipline
here that there is in the Queen's service--not half--nor the work
either, but what there is, is rough work. Why, there's a sergeant now
with a black eye that one of our men gave him. They won't say anything
about that, of course. Our punishments? Fines mostly, and then if you
carry on too much you go to the cooler--that's the clink. Yes, Sir.
Horses? Oh, they're devils, these Montanna horses. Bronchos mostly. We
don't slick 'em up for parade--not much. And the amount of schooling
that you put into one English troop-horse would be enough for a whole
squadron of these creatures. You'll meet more troopers further up the
Park. Go and look at their horses and their turnouts. I fancy it'll
startle you. I'm wearing a made tie and a breastpin under my blouse? Of
course I am! I can wear anything I darn please. We aren't particular
here. I shouldn't dare come on parade--no, nor yet fatigue duty--in this
condition in the Old Country; but it don't matter here. But don't you
forget, Sir, that it's taught me how to trust to myself, and my shooting
irons. I don't want fifty orders to move me across the Park, and catch a
poacher. Yes, they poach here. Men come in with an outfit and ponies,
smuggle in a gun or two, and shoot the bison. If you interfere, they
shoot at you. Then you confiscate all their outfit and their ponies. We
have a pound full of them now down below. There's our Captain over
yonder. Speak to him if you want to know anything special. This service
isn't a patch on the Old Country's service; but you look, if it was
worked up it would be just a Hell of a service. But these citizens
despise us, and they put us on to road-mending, and such like. 'Nough to
ruin any army."

To the Captain I addressed myself after my friends had gone. They told
me that a good many American officers dressed by the French army. The
Captain certainly might have been mistaken for a French officer of light
cavalry, and he had more than the courtesy of a Frenchman. Yes, he had
read a good deal about our Indian border warfare, and had been much
struck with the likeness it bore to Red Indian warfare. I had better,
when I reached the next cavalry post, scattered between two big geyser
basins, introduce myself to a Captain and Lieutenant. They