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Updated: May 26, 2025
"I thought perhaps you also might be departing." "Without coming to say good-bye to you!" he stammered. "Oh, conventions must be disregarded in time of war," she returned carelessly, continuing to shell peas. "I really thought I saw you riding away with the mules." "That man," said Burley, much hurt, "was a bow-legged driver of the Train-des-Equipages. I don’t think he resembles me."
A convoy of munitions crowded in the rear of the column, surrounded by troopers of the train-des-equipages; then followed more infantry, then cavalry, dragoons, who sat listlessly in their high saddles, carbines bobbing on their broad backs, whalebone plumes matted with dust. Georges rose painfully from his seat, stepped to the side, and climbed down into the road.
A peloton of the Train-des-Equipages and three Remount troopers arrived at Sainte Lesse to take over the corral. John Burley remained to explain and interpret the American mule to these perplexed troopers. Morning, noon, and night he went clanking down to the corral, his cartridge belt and holster swinging at his hip. But sometimes he had a little leisure.
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