The shrilling of the bugle's beautiful salute to the flag was ringing far and near along the canyon walls.
The flag began to drop, slowly, into the arms of the waiting man who had given oath of his life to protect it always, and to keep it still full high advanced.

It must never touch the earth at all, but remain a creature of the air--that is the tradition of our Army and all the Army's proud color guards.
Sim Gage stopped now, as every man in that encampment, soldier or laborer, had been trained punctiliously to do, at the evening gun.

He stood at attention, like these others; for Sim Gage was a soldier, or thought he was.

His eyes were fixed on this strange thing, this creature called the Flag.

A strange, fierce jealousy arose in his heart for it, a savage love, as though it were a thing that belonged to him.