Trooper Tales — page 174: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

162 The Good Which Was in Him. with big, pathetic eyes. Soon he became known as Kid, except in roll-calls, when he answered to “Allen, Num- ber Two.” The little fellow had nothing to say, but we could all see that he wasn’t cut out for a trooper. We knew, too, that he was making a game fight against that overpowering sickness which feeds upon the thoughts of home. The time came when both of the Allens were away back in the mountains of Porto Rico, and, like every other soldier on the island, they dreamed much of their native land. But the Kid brooded, which was bad for him. ! Retreat was just over for the cavalry detachment in Ciales. The troopers hung up their carbines and six- shooters, removed their hot blouses, and many strolled over to lounge in the plaza of the tiny town. Allen, the troop-clerk, walked slowly and thoughtfully down to the stables. His bay gelding, Rio Grande, whinnied softly at his approach. The big cavalryman stroked the animal and was silent. Perhaps it was because he was lonesome and heart-hungry that he sought the gloomy stables. A little way off the big river, after which the troop-horse | was named, plunged and boomed over the rocks. The valleys were growing dim with twilight, but high up on the Ciales hill, where the stables were, it was not dark yet. Allen wondered why there had been no mail steamer from the States in San Juan harbor for ten days. His shapely gelding seemed to be thinking about some- thing, too. Perhaps the troop-horse was wondering why there was so much rain up on the Porto Rican hills, or Eomicbooks.co