never a wheel touching, but always within three inches of disaster.
Loud applause greeted the wonderful spectacle of gunners, horses and
gun carriages inspired by an almost superhuman intelligence.

When the battery had passed out and the doors were closed there was a
short pause. The next and last event was the music ride by the
officers and girls, the prettiest sight in the world. Middle-aged
matrons and gray-mustached officers smiled in anticipation of seeing
their rosebud daughters, on beautiful horses, admired and applauded of
all.

In the C. O.'s box, Mrs. Fortescue, opening her fan, leaned over and
smiled into the Colonel's face.

"She'll do it," whispered the Colonel confidently, meaning that Anita
would do her act more gracefully and brilliantly than any girl who ever
rode a horse.

The band once more struck up, the great doors drew wide apart, this
time with a clang, and the procession of youth and beauty and valor
dashed upon the tanbark. The officers were resplendent, while the
girls, in their daring imitation of the uniform and with cavalry caps
upon their pretty heads, looked like young Amazons riding to war.
Broussard and Anita, who led the cavalcade, were the best riders where
all were good. Pretty Maid and Gamechick seemed on the best of terms
and their stride fitted perfectly.

The procession circled around the hall at a canter, and as Anita and
Broussard, leading the procession, reached a point in front of the C.
O.'s box, they both saluted, Anita raising her little gauntleted hand