Trooper Tales — page 237: 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. 221 were brought to the troop headquarters. Something pained pitilessly in the brain of the splendid old charger ‘when he saw his master studying and stroking the limbs of those recruits. After that Sherry had no master. For a little while he was used for recruits to practice upon. “Old Sherry wouldn’t hurt a baby,” the first sergeant would say to the embryo cavalryman. There were no more pettings; no more sugar during those last days in Porto Rico, but deep down in the heart of the old black gelding there was a hurting wound. The soft dark eyes were wise and mild still, but at times they would seem to fill with shame and sadness. Sheridan could not keep back the weight which the years brought, nor the stiffness which came from the muddy Porto Rican hills. He thought more during those long, rainy days of the mother who had called to him from the far-away meadows. He longed for the first trooper who had so patiently taught him to be a good cavalry horse. Old Sherry drowsed and dreamed of the campaigns when he was the pride of the Black Horse troop—poor old Sherry. Then there came a sad, prophetic day. He learned then what had become of his old friends, Buster, Chero- kee, Rio Grande, Poncho and Mint Julep. Again there was the crushing weight of the tightened lariat, the red iron and the nausea. “I. C.” were the let- ters which slowly healed upon the shoulder of the old troop-horse now. “Inspected and Condemned,” is what the letters mean. Back to the hated civilian the veteran CONNIE HDOOMKSn(6O)