Six o'clock
Back of `` C '' Troop 's quarters lolled a half-breed Mexican packer , with a brace of mules , one girt with saddle , the other in shrouding aparejo -- diamond-hitched , both borrowed from the post trader with whom Blakely 's note of hand was good as a government four per cent . -- all ready to follow the lieutenant to the field whither right and duty called him . There , too , was Nixon , the new `` striker , '' new clad as was his master , and full panoplied for the field , yet bemoaning the loss of soldier treasures whose value was never fully realized until they were irrevocably gone . Six o'clock , six-thirty , six-forty-five and even seven sped by and still there came no summons to join the soldier master . There had come instead , when Nixon urged that he be permitted to lead forth both his own troop horse and Deltchay , the brief , but significant reply : `` Shut yer gab , Nixon . There 's no horse goes till the captain says so ! '' At seven o'clock , at last , the post commander came forth from his doorway ; saw across the glaring level of the parade the form of Mr. Blakely impatiently pacing the veranda at the adjutant 's office , and , instead of going thither , as was his wont , Captain Cutler turned the other way and strode swiftly to the hospital , where Graham met him at the bedside of Trooper patient Patrick Mullins .