Trooper Tales — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

The Silent Trooper. 33 in a breeze that afternoon. The silken, tasseled flag which crested headquarters hung limp and motionless. The sun’s rays were slanting and vicious. They sapped the energy out of the breezes as they did out of every living thing. The men rolled about the tents in wet, wilted misery. Grooming call would soon be sounded. That meant three-quarters of an hour over a sweating horse in the sunshine. The men were putting on their dis- carded shirts now, and swearing in a listless monotone. Lieut. Mat Crim was a little, wasp-waisted chap, who had a dirty trick of getting mad. His West Point days were too fresh in his mind for him to be a good officer. He never allowed himself to lose sight of the fact that he was a commissioned officer and that a mighty stretch of superiority lay between him and a common, enlisted man. Crim had just been transferred to our troop. Lan- der had come from another regiment two months before. The two men met that hot afternoon—just before groom- ing time. Lander saluted. Crim stopped short, caught at his breath several times and began to relieve himself of a lot of livid English, all of which struck me as mysterious. Lander stood “at attention,” said something in a low voice and walked away. ; Lieut. Crim was ungovernable. He sprang after Lan- der, kicked him in the back and said: “T’ll make life a hell for you, Charlie Howard!” which I judge must have been Lander’s civilian name. eonnicelools (C@)