"At least he was riding Winston's horse, and had on the old long coat of his." Sergeant Stimson nodded, and pointed to the weapon lying with blackened muzzle at his feet.

"And I think you could recognize that rifle?
There's F.Winston cut on the stock of it." Payne said nothing, for the trooper signed to him.

"I fancy Shannon wants to talk to you," he said.
The lad knelt down, slipped one arm about his comrade's neck, and took the mittened hand in his own.

Shannon smiled up at him feebly.
"Winston's horse, and his cap," he said, and then stopped, gasping horribly.
"You will remember that, boys," said the Sergeant.
Payne could say nothing.

Trooper Shannon and he had ridden through icy blizzard and scorching heat together, and he felt his manhood melting as he looked down into his dimming eyes.