We then knew that Seitz had thoughtlessly sunk the keen spurs he would persist in wearing; deep into the flanks of his high-mettled animal.
These accidents became so much a matter-of-course that when anything unusual occurred in the company our first impulse was to go and help Seitz out.
When the bugle sounded "boots and saddles," the rest of us would pack up, mount, "count off by fours from the right," and be ready to move out before the last notes of the call had fairly died away.

Just then we would notice an unsaddled horse still tied to the hitching place.

It was Seitz's, and that worthy would be seen approaching, pipe in mouth, and bridle in hand, with calm, equable steps, as if any time before the expiration of his enlistment would be soon enough to accomplish the saddling of his steed.

A chorus of impatient and derisive remarks would go up from his impatient comrades: "For heaven's sake, Seitz, hurry up!" "Seitz! you are like a cow's tail--always behind!" "Seitz, you are slower than the second coming of the Savior!" "Christmas is a railroad train alongside of you, Seitz!" "If you ain't on that horse in half a second, Seitz, we'll go off and leave you, and the Johnnies will skin you alive!" etc., etc.
Not a ripple of emotion would roll over Seitz's placid features under the sharpest of these objurgations.

At last, losing all patience, two or three boys would dismount, run to Seitz's horse, pack, saddle and bridle him, as if he were struck with a whirlwind.