ttle by little the doting mother at home began to
learn how very far away that longed-for commission might be. Her boy
himself flouted the idea. "I haven't the education," he said, "and would
be ill at ease and out of place among them." And so the magnate was
steadily importuned, and when at last the young fellow came home after
the Milk River campaign, and generals like Sheridan and Crook praised
his pluck and devotion, and the doctors said he simply couldn't go back
to service, they got him his discharge,--a medal of honor came
later,--and presently in the long list of railway officials of the Q. R.
and X. appeared his name as assistant general passenger agent, and for a
couple of years the way that great corporation dealt out passes to the
army was a matter that finally came up at directors' meeting and led to
a preliminary to the Interstate Commerce Law of '87, and a restriction
of the powers of the assistant. But there was no longer any hitch in the
maternal schemes for elaborate dinners to generals and staff. They
enjoyed meeting "the sergeant," as he rejoiced in being called, as much
as he could wish, and if they did not quite look upon him as she did, as
the central figure, the one Prince Paramount of the late campaign, there
was at least warmth and cordiality and comradeship enough to gratify
even a mother's heart.

But the Parson did not resign. He was away from the regiment again a
long month after Mira's flight, and again after her death, returning
suddenly on each occasion because of the imminence of Indian hostilities
which for a time seemed breaking out in new spots with every spring.
Between Cranston and himself there was ever the same firm and steadfast
friendship. He sought no intimacies anywhere, but in the same calm,
grave, consistent way he went about his duties in garrison, waking up to
something like enthusiasm or excitement only when "on the trail." For
three years after his brief absence in the summer of '79 he never left
his troop a day. A wonderfully good drill officer was the Parson, with a
powerful, ringing voice. "Make a splendid exhorter," said some of the
boys. He was an accurate tactician, too, and a man who had the faculty
of getting admirable results out of his command "without ever a cuss
word," said Truman, a thing which that old-time troop leader could not
understand. Davies lived hours in the open air, but read and studied
much. Popular he was not, and never cared to be; but, honore