remembrance."

In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the
barracks.

He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived
so much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once in
arresting Young Aleck?

When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him the
flag for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion
papers in his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him
for many a throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: "I felt
sometimes"--but no more words did she say even to herself.

Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped close
in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for a
moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped.

Private Gellatly spoke softly: "Angels betide me, it's little we knew
the great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the love
of him."

In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least had
seen "the love of him." Perhaps the broncho had known it before.

Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had
life. "He's--too--ha'sh," he said slowly.

Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man's eyes were wet.

GOD'S GARRISON

Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o' God. "Out of this place we
get betwixt the suns," said Gyng the Factor. "No help that falls abaft
tomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition's nearly gone, and
they'll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We'll creep
along the Devil's Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and so
across the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and be
ready all of you at midnight."

"And Grah the Idiot--what of him"? asked Pretty Pierre.

"He'll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much the
better for him"; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders.

"If not, so much the worse, eh"? returned Pretty Pierre.

"Work the sum out to suit yourself. We've got our necks to save. God'll
have to help the Idiot if we can't."

"You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot," said Pierre an hour afterwards, "we're
going to leave Fort o' God and make for Rupert House. You've a dragging
leg, you're gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your
hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you've got
to cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Ch