g grass, brown, yellow and green in a hundred
shades, lay like a carpet over the rolling hills and wide spreading
valleys, reaching up on every side to the horizon, except toward the
west, where it faded into the blue of the foothills at the bases of the
mighty Rockies.

Up the long trail, resilient to their horses' feet, they cantered where
the going was good, or picked their way with slow and careful tread
where the rocky ridges jutted through the black soil.

They made no effort to repulse the thought that this was their last day
together, nor did they seek to banish the fact of the war. With calm
courage and hope they faced the facts of their environment, seeking
to aid each other in readjusting their lives to those facts. They
were resolutely cheerful. The day was not to be spoiled with tears
and lamentations. Already each in his own place and time had made his
sacrifice of a comradeship that was far dearer than life. The agony of
that hour, each had borne in silence and alone. No shadow should fall
across this sunny day.

By the side of the grave, in its little palisaded enclosure, they
lingered, the father recalling the days of his earlier manhood, which
had been brightened by a love whose fragrance he had cherished and
shared with his son through their years together, Barry listening with
reverent attention and tender sympathy.

"I had always planned that I too should be laid here, Barry," said his
father, as they prepared to take their departure, "but do you know, boy,
this war has made many changes in me and this is one. It seems to me
a very little thing where my body lies, if it be offered, as you were
saying so beautifully yesterday, in sacrifice to our cause."

Barry could only nod his head in reply. He was deeply moved.

"You are young, Barry," said his father, noting his emotion, "and life
is very dear to you, my boy."

"No, dad, no! Not life," said Barry brokenly. "Not life, only you, dad.
I just want you, and, oh dad!" continued the boy, losing hold of himself
and making no effort to check or hide the tears that ran down his face,
"if one of us is to go in this war,--as is likely enough,--I only
want that the other should be there at the time. It would
be--terribly--lonely--dad--to go out myself--without you. Or to have you
go out--alone.--We have always been together--and you have been--so very
good to me, dad. I can't help this, dad,--I try--but I am not strong
enough--I'm not holding back fr