With a curious smile, the boyish commander stood in the stern and
watched the black swarm of yelling devils fade in the distance.

He was thinking of his old professor at West Point. His insult had been
the one thing in life to which he owed most. He could see that clearly
now. His heart went out in a wave of gratitude to his enemy. Our enemies
are always our best friends when we have eyes to see.

The winter following he was ordered down to Winnebago.

The village of Chicago was the nearest center of civilization. The only
way of reaching it was by wagon, and the journey consumed three months.

There was much gambling in the long still nights, and some drinking. In
lieu of the excitement of the gaming table, he took his fun in breaking
and riding wild horses, and hairbreadth escapes were the order of his
daily exercise. It was gambling, perhaps, but it developed the muscles
of mind and body.

His success with horses was remarkable. No animal that man has broken to
his use is keener to recognize a master and flout a coward than the
horse. No coward has ever been able to do anything with a spirited
horse.

He was wrestling one day with a particularly vicious specimen, to the
terror and anguish of Jim Pemberton.

"For de Lawd's sake, Marse Jeff, let dat debbil go!"