She Wore a Yellow Ribbon Page #3

There's going to be women

with this column...

...and I want you men

to watch them words.

- Watch them words!

- Watch them grammar!

Whose dog is this?

Whose dog is this?

Nice dog. Irish setter.

Poor Abby. She says everyone

will think she's running away.

It'll be tough on me.

I'll be a bachelor all winter.

In conclusion,

I respectfully protest...

...the decision of

my commanding officer...

...to saddle his troop

with his female relations...

- One L.

- At this critical hour.

Signed Nathan Brittles, so forth.

Sounds good.

Give it to me, I'll file it.

- Hochbauer.

- Yes, sir.

This is a hard decision

for you to make. Gonna miss Abby.

Hate to hamstring you,

but you will take precautions?

- Mac.

- Forget it.

As you were, Hochbauer.

Well, here I am, all ready.

How did he take the idea of

old Iron Pants riding with him?

- Under protest, my dear.

- A written protest, of course.

Always my pleasure

to escort old Iron Pants.

As long as you're going along, we'll...

That is the dad-blastedest outfit I

ever saw. Quincannon's old britches!

Yes.

- Good morning, Mr. Cohill.

- Good morning.

I hope you approve of my uniform.

Yes, indeed.

It's very lovely, Olivia.

So Ross has branded you

with his yellow ribbon.

How do you know

it isn't for you, mister?

I'd be very happy

if I thought it were for me.

Very happy indeed.

- Morning!

- Trooper Dandridge reporting for duty.

Well, proper trooper!

Right pretty, don't you think?

I do indeed.

A yellow ribbon? You know what

that means here? A sweetheart.

- It does?

- Who's it for?

Why, for you, Captain Brittles.

For me! I'll make

these young bucks jealous.

Good morning. You look nice.

I hope Ross notices

that yellow ribbon.

I hope you're wearing

that yellow ribbon for me.

Why, who else would I be

wearing it for, Ross?

Right by twos!

Report.

Trailed Mr. Rynder's buckboard, sir,

a mile below the Painted Post.

- Painted Post?

- Met two men in a wagon.

- IKnow who they were?

- No, sir.

Didn't seem prudent to inquire.

What do you suppose

they're doing that far south?

Well, that ain't my department, sir.

We'll pick them up on our

next go-round. Take a point.

- Sergeant?

- Yes, sir.

Right through that pass.

Romantic, isn't it?

Guidons gaily fluttering.

Bronzed men lustily singing.

Horses prancing.

Bunions aching.

Must you always be

so vulgar, Mr. Cohill?

- The cavalry isn't refined, miss.

- Cavalry.

Ridiculous business of dismounting

and walking every hour.

Might as well be in the infantry.

We would be, if we didn't ease

these mounts. Ride in the wagon.

No. Why don't they put springs

in the wagons?

The men said they'd rather

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