Trooper Tales — page 229: what you’re looking at

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

THE STORY OF A CAVALRY HORSE. There was something of pathos in the high, clear whinny which was borne across the meadows one sum- mer morning of years ago. A fancy black three-year-old, trotting behind a shiny buckboard, picked up his ears and answered his mother in the only way’he knew. T he big man in the buckboard was a professional horse-buyer for Uncle Sam’s cavalry. “Scream again, my young beauty, while you’ve got the chance,’ the man said. “You'll soon be far away from . these meadows and the old lady over yonder who calls to you.” | The horse buyer looked back at the shapely gelding. His experienced eye took in the wide-distended nostrils with their crimson lining; the large, intelligent eyes as dark and deep as a starless ocean. The man in the buck- board saw again the easy grace of the colt’s stride, the power and elegance of his flat, thin limbs, the arched beauty of his glossy neck—and he chuckled at his bar- gain. Faint and far-away was heard the neigh of the mother back in the meadows. The colt plunged a little, whinnied nervously, and trotted on. GEomichooks EO