Directly to the right was a gentle declivity with a clear, rapid stream splashing the bottom grasses. Beyond the stream a low green hill rose, concealing the landscape and the river beyond. And here, on the breezy meadow slope, Egerton's Dragoons went into camp and sent out their fatigue parties and grand guards. Company and squadron streets were laid out, sinks dug, shelter tents pitched, firewood brought, horses picketed. Twenty paces in front of each pile of tents the kitchens were established; all the regimental cavalry waggons came up promptly and were parked in the rear of the picket line for sick horses; the belated and hated sutler of the 8th Lancers drove hastily in, deaf to the blandishments of veterans along the roadside, who eyed him malevolently and with every desire to work him substantial harm. Late in the afternoon there was much visiting along the lines and between distant camps; the day was cloudless and perfect; magnolia and china-berry scented the winds which furrowed every grassy hillside; flags fluttered, breezy gusts of bugle music incited the birds to rivalry. Peace and sunshine lay over all, and there was nothing sinister to offend save, far along the horizon, the low, unbroken monotone of cannon, never louder, never lower, steady, dull, interminable; and on the southern horizon a single tall cloud, slanting a trifle to the east, like a silver pillar out of plumb. Berkley's attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade; they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of the cannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed them in his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and, pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip with those he knew in other camps. "Hello, Burgess," he said humorously; "how are you making out?" His late valet's arm twitched instinctively toward the salute he dared not offer; he glanced stealthily right and left before answering: "I am doing very well, sir, thank you." "I told you to cut out the 'sir,' didn't I?" "Yes, sir--beg pardon----" Berkley eyed him. "You've got your chance," he said. "Your rank and mine are equal. Do you take pleasure in continually reminding yourself of your recent position of servitude?" "Sir?--beg pardon----" "Can't you help it? Is it born in you?" Burgess stood silent, considering, then he lifted his ugly face and looked hard at Berkley. "I am not ashamed of having served you. I am more comfortable under orders. . . . I liked to dress you up . . . I wish to God it was that way now." "Don't you want your independence?" "My independence," repeated Burgess, "I had it--more of it when I was looking out for you, sir, than I have now in this damn regiment----" "Well, what did you enlist for?" "You've asked me that many times, sir, and I don't know. . . . I'd rather be around, handy like----" "You'll get killed some day, don't you know it?"