But the wise old sergeant just across the aisle remained awake much longer.
He was summing up and he concluded that the seven hundred lads had done well.

They were raw, but they were being whipped into shape.
He smiled a little grimly as the unspoken words, "whipped into shape," rose to his lips.

The veteran of many an Indian battle foresaw something vastly greater than anything that had occurred on the plains.

"Whipped into shape!" Why, in the mighty war that was gathering along a front of two thousand miles no soldier could escape being whipped into shape, or being whipped out of it.
But the sergeant's own eyes closed after a while, and he, too, slept the sleep of utter mental and physical exhaustion.

The train rumbled on, the faithful Canby in the first engine aware of his great responsibility and equal to it.