" Weldon gasped, as he realized the enormity of the
crime. Then he laughed. In his haste to gain possession of a mount,
Paddy had taken no thought for his armament. His sole weapon was the
huge iron spoon, still grasped in his left hand.
"Whose horse did you take, Paddy?"
"I d'know. I never looked to see. I popped my toe into the stirrup
and came away, hot-foot; but," Paddy paused for a deliberate wink;
"as I was leaving camp, I thought I heard the voice of that pigeon-
toed little cockney Parrott, him that used to stub his toes on the
wall at Piquetberg Road, acalling out that some one had mislaid his
horse and he couldn't find it. I was sorry; but I was in a divil of
a haste and couldn't stop to condole with him then."
"But, Paddy, they'll run you out of camp for this," Weldon
remonstrated dutifully.
Paddy's shoulder mounted towards his left ear. "I'm thinking I have
run myself out, and that's just what I was meaning to do. I've been
a captain with four lieutenants under me. Any one of them can sling
the pepper and the salt, and they're welcome; but not one has the
fighting blood in his veins as I have. Let them mind their kettles
and leave me to mind the enemy.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155