Even these mute evidences of tragedy scarcely sufficed to make him realize all that had occurred in this lonely spot.

He could not seem to separate his thought from the cavalcade which had just departed, leaving behind the memory of that farewell wave of the hand.

To him it marked the end of a dream, the return to a life distasteful and lonely.
Mechanically the Sergeant loaded his rifle, and strapped the old Confederate haversack to his saddle pommel, staring again, half unbelieving, at the faded inscription underneath the flap.

Yet the sight of those letters awoke him, bringing to his bronzed face a new look of determination.

He swung into the saddle, and, rifle across his knees, his eyes studying the desolate distance, rode westward along the deserted trail..