XYIII 



And now, my hard -riding cross-country brothers, ye 

 who win glory in the polo-field ; ye who deem that twen- 

 ty-five or thirty miles in fine weather, over the best of 

 roads, without other weight than your own avoirckipois 

 and a light saddle, is a good day's work for man and 

 beast ; ye who (I know you don't mean it, or do it with- 

 out reflection) are wont to scoff at the West Point rider, 

 or listen to the persuasive ranchman as he runs down the 

 work of the Army because it does not always chime in 

 with his own peculiar interests ; ye who flatter yourselves 

 that you and your ilk are peerless horsemen, and who run 

 no risk beyond an occasional spill — will you not agree 

 with me that the above Army rides are hard jewels to 

 match? If you and I, on our thousand-dollar imported 

 mounts — not to quote fancy prices — should cover even 

 seventy miles in thirty-one hours (we should prefer to do 

 it in two instalments, you know, chappie !), should we not 

 have a good week's glory at the club, and be the cynosure 

 of neighboring eyes ? But do you think we should care, 

 with Captain Wood, to double up that distance, sit thirty- 

 one consecutive hours in the saddle, and do one hundred 

 and forty miles for tlie sake of — thirteen dollars a month 

 and duty? Not but what, in my youth and prime, I 

 might have done ; not but what to-day you might, under 

 parallel circumstances, do that very thing ! Good Amer- 

 ican grit is the same at all times and in all places. I am 

 not discounting your ability to perform ; and that your 



