I protested. "The horse is mine," I said, "I'd know him anywhere." "Get on," was the answer, "he belongs to my captain. Why, look at the brand." And, sure enough, on my poor pony's quarters were three big letters which represented, I suppose, his initials. But I was in no way cast down. To go and explain to the officer that a little mistake had occurred was, after all, quite an easy matter, and I approached the gentleman who was sitting under a mimosa bush having breakfast. I explained the matter to him, and asked permission to lead my property home. But the captain roared with laughter. "Lead my horse home?" he shouted in another burst of laughter. "I like that. Why, do you know that the dam of that horse belonged to my Uncle Jim? He was the first man in that part of the country. Why," and again he laughed, "I remember when that black pony of mine was foaled. It was the 7th, no--the 10th of October. I remember quite well, for three weeks after we had a big garden party and all the ladies fell in love with the little beggar because he ate bread and butter from their hands and was the greediest beggar you ever saw after chocolate creams. Why, damme, if I didn't take that pony home again, I believe my old governor would cut me off with a shilling." I stood aghast. What a fool, what a sanguinary fool I was to go and make such a mistake. My apologies were ample, humble and profuse. But as I passed the horse-lines again I could not help thinking how singularly like my lost pony was the animal which, as a foal, so amused the ladies at the garden party. And then I did the foolishest thing I ever did in all my life. I bought a new horse. Twenty-four hours afterwards it was claimed by four different officers, and I narrowly escaped hanging at the hands of the Provost Marshal, who at once ordered me to return the animal to its rightful owner. I gave it up to the four claimants, and let them decide among themselves the question of ownership. And now I had but one pony left--and I guarded it as the apple of my eye. But again the Fates were against me, and it went off--I do not for a moment suggest that it was taken off. Again I tried ----'s Horse and all the Regular and Irregular Corps in the force, and was indignantly rebuked for daring to look for a stray horse in their lines. And so I was reduced to walking to and fro at Paardeberg Camp. But one fine afternoon, returning across the huge endless plain, I was nearly ridden down by a subaltern, and as I glanced at the reckless rider I saw that he was riding _my_ pony. I shouted and yelled to him to stop, which he did. "You are riding my pony," said I. "I'm not," was the laconic answer. "But I'm sure of it." "So am I." "Well, you're wrong this time. That pony is mine. I've had him for three months and I know him as well as I know my own boots."