been born and brought up between houses, and England ain't big enough to train 'em—not if you expect to preserve.”
' “Preserve what?” I says. “England?”
' “No. The game,” he says; “and that reminds me, gentlemen, we haven't drunk the King and Fox-hunting.”
' So they drank the King and Fox-hunting. I drank the King because there's something about Edward that tickles me (he's so blame British); but I rather stood out on the Fox-hunting. I've ridden wolves in the cattle-country, and needed a drink pretty bad afterwards, but it never struck me as I ought to drink about it—he-red-it-arily.
' “No, as I was saying, Mr. Zigler,” he goes on, “we have to train our men in the field to shoot and ride. I allow six months for it; but many column-commanders—not that I ought to say a word against 'em, for they're the best fellows that ever stepped, and most of 'em are my dearest friends—seem to think that if they have men and horses and guns they can take tea with the Boers. It's generally the other way about, ain't it, Mr. Zigler?”
' “To some extent, Sir,” I said.
' “I'm so glad you agree with me,” he says. “My command here I regard as a training depot, and you, if I may say so, have been one of my most efficient instructors. I mature my men slowly but thoroughly. First I put 'em in a town which is liable to be attacked by night, where they can attend riding-school in the day, Then I use 'em with a convoy, and last I put 'em into a column.
