Now, the evolutions were those of the field in war time.

The charge brought cheers from a thousand throats, and a great fluttering of handkerchiefs.
Then, while three platoons halted, remaining motionless in saddle, the fourth platoon, after starting at the gallop, sheathed sabres and drew pistols.
Crack! crack! Crack! crack! It was merely mimic war, with blank ammunition, but not an onlooker escaped the impression of how much death and destruction such a line of charging, firing men might carry before them.
Now the whole squadron was in motion once more.

At the sharp, clear order of the bugle the line halted.

At the next peal one man in every four stood at the heads of four horses, while the other three of each four ran quickly forward, in fine though open formation.
"Halt! Kneel! Ready! Aim! At will---_fire_!" Here was battle, real enough in everything but the fatalities.
Each man on the firing line fired rapidly, several shots to the minute, though real aim was taken every time the bolt was shot forward and before the trigger was pulled.

Tiny, almost invisible puffs of smoke issued from the carbine muzzles.