ge it up. Are you feeling
pretty comfortable?"

"Fine," said McCuaig with cheerful satisfaction. "We held them up,
I guess. They thought they was going to walk right over us. They was
comin' with their packs on their backs. But the boys changed their minds
for them, I guess."

A reminiscent smile lingered upon the long, eaglelike face.

Half an hour later Barry found a minute to run into the adjoining room
where the wounded lay.

"Anything you want, McCuaig?" he asked.

"A drink, if you ain't too busy, but I hate to take your time."

"Oh, you go to thunder," said Barry. "Take my time! What am I for? Any
pain, Mac?"

"No, not much. I'm a little sleepy."

Barry turned the flash-light on his face. He was startled to find it
grey and drawn. He brought the M. O., who examined the wounded man's
condition.

"No pain, eh, Mac?"

"No, sir," said McCuaig cheerfully.

"All right, boy, just lie still," said the M. O., beckoning Barry after
him.

"He is going out," he said when they reached the dressing room, "and
he's going fast. That wound in the back has been bleeding a long time."

"Oh, doctor, can't anything be done? You know he's got a remarkable
constitution. Can't something be done?"

"There are times when a doctor wishes he had some other job," said the
M. O., "and this is one of them."

"I say, doctor, will you get along without me for a while?" said Barry.

"Go on," said the M. O., nodding to him.

Barry took a candle and went in beside his friend. As he sat there
gazing upon the greying face, the wounded man opened his eyes.

"That you, Barry?" he asked with a quiet smile.

Barry started. Only in the very first weeks of their acquaintance had
McCuaig called him by his first name, and never during the past months
had he used anything but his rank title. Now all rank distinctions were
obliterated. They were as man to man.

"Yes, Mac, it's me. Do you know what I was thinking about? I was
thinking of the first time I saw you coming down that rapid in your
canoe."

"I remember well, Barry. I often think of it. It's a long time ago,"
said McCuaig in his soft, slow voice. "I've never been sorry but once
that I come, and that time it was my own fault, but I didn't understand
the game."

"You've made a great soldier, Mac. We are all proud of you," said Barry,
putting his hand upon McCuaig's. McCuaig's long thin fingers tightened
upon Barry's hand.

"I think I'm going out," he said, with his eyes on