For almost two hours he slept, a sleep of exhaustion, due to the terrific strain of the past forty-eight hours, and woke refreshed, calm and strong.
"You are a lot better, dad," said Barry.

"I believe you are going to pull through, eh!" "A lot better, Barry," said his father, "but, my boy, we are soldiers, you and I.I shall not be long, but remember, we are soldiers." "All right, dad.

I'll try to play the game." "That's the word, Barry.

We must play the game, and by God's grace we will, you and I--our last game together." Through the afternoon they talked, between intervals of sleep, resolved each to help the other in playing to the end, in the manner of British soldiers, that last, great game.
They talked, of course, of home and their happy days together, going far back into the earlier years of struggle on the ranch.
"Hard days, Barry, they were, but your mother never failed me.

Wonderful courage she had, and if we were all right, you and I, Barry, she was always happy.