his subordinate--"I'll--er--bring that Irish 'ginthleman' into the Post
for a summary explanation. Wire him of this man's transfer! . . . All
right, Sergeant-Major!"

"About-turrn!--quick-march!" growled again the bass voice of the senior
non-com; and he kept step behind George into the passage. "Here's your
transport requisition, Redmond. Now--take a tumble to yourself, my
lad--on this detachment. You're getting what 'Father' don't give to
many--a second chance. Good-bye!"

George gripped the proffered hand and looked full into the kindly,
meaning eyes. "Good-bye, S.M.!" he said huskily, "Thanks!"


Westward, the train puffed its way slowly along a slight, but continual
up-grade through the foothills, following more or less the winding course
of the Bow River. Despite the cold, clear brilliance of the day, seen
under winter conditions the landscape on either side of the track
presented a rather forlorn, dreary picture. So it appeared to George,
anyway, as he gazed out of the window at the vast, spreading,
white-carpeted valley, the monotonous aspect of which was only
occasionally relieved by sparsely-dotted ranches, small wayside stations,
or when they thundered across high trestle bridges over the
partly-frozen, black, steaming river.

Two summers earlier he had travelled the same road, on a luxurious trip
to the Coast. The memory of its scenic splendor then, the easy-going
stages from one sumptuous mountain resort to another, now made him feel
slightly dismal and discontented with his present lot. Eye-restful
solace came however with the sight of the ever-nearing glorious